torstai 30. kesäkuuta 2016

June Community Painting Project

Good evening!

I'm simply loving the Community Painting Projects at /r/ageofsigmar as they really give a reason to paint up some really cool models!
This month it was turn for the Heroes of the Silver Tower to be painted, and I managed to slip in with my Archaon the Everchosen on foot as a Lord of Chaos. Without further talk, here's my submission:

Lighting did some queer tricks with my pics here, so I apologize if they look a bit grainy. I decided to give this badass here a little different theme to that of my other Chaos models, while still sticking to the same colour palette.
First off I painted the armour with a simple black, then drawing along the edges with dark blue, then blue, then light blue and finally white. Tried to get a bit of a glowing feel to it, as if some kind of energy was coursing through that damned set of mail.
The fur and the cloak I painted just like with my chaos warriors, to make him feel he really belongs to the group.

The base is dark dead ground, with a Free Peoples helmet and an arrow sticking out of the sand. I really think the base still needs something, and I'll probably add a patch or two of snow. Just to bring some light colour to the whole setup.

Archaon's backside looked a bit... less detailed, so I decided to put in a Marauder shield with the colours of my Chaos force. He is striding across a battlefield to bring destruction to his enemies (and mine) so it's only appropriate that his base is decorated accordingly.
The shield is there also to remind me of the fact that Marauders die quickly and are extremely expendable, thus I must not hesitate to sacrifice them to gain an advantage to my other units. Cheerful.

Then take a look at his sword. The Slayer of Kings. Hell yea!
I wanted to do something really special with this sword, so I went for a lightning effect. I was a bit nervous as I've never done it before, but it turned out alright. I think.

First I applied a thick line of orange, followed by the lightning bolt itself in white. I then washed the blade with Casandora Yellow, leaving the forking points white. When dried, I washed it again, this time the whole blade. The twice washed areas of white were now bright yellow, and the once washed areas were light yellow. Yay!
Finally I did the same to the edges of the sword and the "mouth" or whatever it is that gapes in the flat of the blade.

The shield got a pretty basic treatment. Black, gold and some blue glow on the edges in the same fashion as the armour. Done!

I didn't want to use him simply as a stand-in for a regular Chaos Lord in my games od Age of Sigmar, so I asked my regular opponents at our club if it was cool with them should I make a custom warscroll for him, as he has no mount at all, but the model in the legacy warscroll does. Here's what I ended up making:

It's simply the legacy warscroll with every mention of the mount (and a couple of Wounds) scrapped off. It was okay with my mates, so this is what I'll play him with!
After all, it's simply the mounted model with some tuning down.

All in all an amazing model to paint. So much armour to try effects on, fur to drybrush and a cloak as a large plain area. Very very satisfying. And he is a special Games Day (or something) model that came out in limited edition back in the time of Storm of Chaos worldwide campaign!
I'm very happy about the result of my hours-long work. Just take a last look at him, deep in the eye, and imagine him talking down to you in a powerful, hollow voice...

" I'll f*** you up, mate "

tiistai 21. kesäkuuta 2016

The Fate of Spellglass Sphere

G'day everyone!

I'm finally writing up the sequel to the story of Spellglass Sphere, posted a while ago in the form of my 10th Narrative Battle Report where an army of malicious Exile Aelves captured a revered artifact from the claws of the Seraphon. Now, in my 12th battle report I'm going to tell you how the story reached its conclusion. Sorry to keep you waiting!

Here's the setup for the game. We played a battleplan "The Hidden Artifact" where both of the forces start face-to-face, with the defenders trying to get an artifact to the other side of the board. The attackers have no idea which of the enemy units carries the artifact, so they must stay vigilant and slay any who try to reach the end of the board too hastily...
There are reinforcements for the attacker waiting outside the board to intercept the enemy with a flank attack. A very interesting setup indeed!

Let us start with the story...


Wind howled across the snowy tundra as Old-Blood Mazatl led his hunting party determinedly forward. After the defeat of Mage-Priest Tezozomoc at the Blackhill Barrows Mazatl had pursued the enemy tirelessly. With an army of saurus and skink at his back he had tracked the enemy to these desolate snowfields.

According to his scouts the warmbloods were heading to an abandoned fortress in the middle of these plains. That was not good. However fierce and experienced his warriors were, they didn't have the time or numbers to lay siege to a fortress, abandoned or not. Should the aelves reach their destination, the Old-Blood would have to call back his warriors and give up chase, leaving the powerful artifact in the hands of these mortals. That couldn't be allowed to happen.

Mazatl and his forces climed up a snowy dune and finally found their enemies... and the old fortress. The Old-Blood roared an aggressive command and his warriors obediently surged forward. The enemy had to be stopped before they reached the gates that loomed in the horizon!

Aelven lord Arocadel turned as the heard the roar. His eyes flew wide open.
"Nirihar, turn around and hold the line with your troops! Do not let them reach us or I'll flay you myself!" he commanded, grabbing the shoulder of his Standard Bearer and shoving him towards the approaching enemy.
"Of course... My lord," Nirihar replied, gritting his teeth.
"Halt advance! Here we shall face the foe!"

As soon as the Standard Bearer's command was issued the aelven infantry stopped in their tracks, turned around and snapped into formation. No cold-blood would cross this line.

As his infantry made their stand, Lord Arocadel glided away carried by his wings.
"Keep up the pace, we're almost there!" he yelled out to his cavalry as they raced forward, leaving their comrades behind.
He cared none for his underlings. They had been born to serve him, and now something more valuable than the lives of a few servants was at stake: they had to secure the Sphere before the Seraphon could claim it back to themselves.

The aelven line was bracing for the inevitable impact under the stern gaze of Nirihar the Standard Bearer.
"Is that what you call leading? Step aside and let me handle this..." an armour-clad aelf called out as he stopped beside Nirihar.
"How did you ever rise to the position of holding aloft our lord's colours?"
"Get lost, Enead. This is my command and my turn to bask in glory," the flagbearer hissed back.
"Is that so? Then I assume we have a split command this time. I was ordered to hold back these daemons just as you were," Captain Enead smiled.
"Never...!" Nirihar begun and drew his blade. Before the sword had wholly left its scabbard, Enead's warscythe was buried in the Standard Bearer's left eye socket. The body fell heavily on the ground.
"Right, it seems it's my command now," the Captain mused as he cleaned the blood from his blade.
"Hold the line, brave warriors! For lord Arocadel!"

The tide of ferocious saurian warriors crashed against the aelven line with bone-shattering force. Mazatl himself led the Temple Guards in a charge against enemy spearmen on the left flank, bouncing over the shieldwall to wreak havoc amidst the foe. His personal retinue of elite warriors followed his example, clawing their way through the shields and shredding the enemy battleline. Covered in steaming red blood, the Old-Blood let out a triumphant roar as he caved in yet another helmeted head with his starmace.

The centre of the Seraphon assault did not fare so well. Warriors crashed into the aelves, biting and hacking and clawing, but after weathering the initial losses the warmbloods commenced a brutal counter-attack to drive back the attackers. The Black Guard lowered their halberds and advanced, slicing their way deep into the saurus formation with measured strikes. Polearms rose and fell in perfect unison, taking several daemons to the ground with every strike.
"No, this cannot be.." thought Mage-Priest Tlaxinzi as he watched his warriors fall. Stretching out a three-fingered hand he conjured another bolt of lightning into the ranks of the aelves, taking down a couple more smoking carcasses. His spells were too little and too late, he realized, when a towering Hydra crashed into the fray. With its multiple snapping jaws and clawed limbs it tore into the saurian ranks, leaving no survivors in its wake.

The din of battle echoed across the plains of snow as Skink Priest Ecotta led his followers into the battlefield. In his wisdom Old-Blood Mazatl had commanded Ecotta and his cohort of skinks to circle around the enemy flanks, all the way to the old fortress where they would then intercept any mortals trying to get inside. Their mission was to locate and reclaim the lost artifact that someone among the foe was carrying.
Emerging from behind a batch of trees the skinks spotted the aelven cavalry making for the gates of the abandoned fort. On the opposite flank swarms of venomous jungle snakes slithered forth, guided by the magics of Ecotta the Priest. The mortals were now surrounded.

Mazatl and his Temple Guard had already broken through the lines of enemy infantry and were closing in from behind Lord Arocadel's mounted retinue, while Mage-Priest Tlaxinzi hovered his palanquin away from the many-headed war beast, battering the Black Guard with bolts of lightning as he went. Many aelven elites were blasted from their feet but this did little to suppress their morale in the thrill of battle.
By then only one loyal follower remained to defend the Mage-Priest: it was a Skink Chieftain, Tzatehe, who was keeping a group of spearmen at bay with his blowpipe and shield. As long has this brave skink still drew breath none would reach his revered master.

Mazatl ran as fast as he could, speeding across the drifts of snow in pursue of the enemy. The aelf lord flying ahead of him had to be put down at any cost, for he was responsible for the events at the Blackhill Barrows and most likely carrying the Spellglass Sphere. Next to their master rode the heavily armed Drakespawn Knights, their duty to ensure his safety. The Old-Blood growled a short command and the nearby forest burst to life...

From amidst the snow-covered trees a formation of Temple Guard surged forth, hitting hard and fast into the enemy's rear. Warriors jumped on the reptilian mounts, battering the riders to death with their clubs before felling the beast itself. The knights fell into total confusion. Before they managed to even get their lances pointing at the right direction, the last of the Drakespawn riders was pulled from his mount and torn to shreds.

Meanwhile the Mage-Priest was making his escape. Harnessing his great magical powers, Tlaxinzi zapped three more enemies into the dirt with his bolts of azyric energy before gazing into the skies and mentally working his way through the sequence of a very complicated spell. 
Just as the aelves were closing in on him, pushing past the courageous Skink Chieftain, the Mage-Priest finished his incantation. The complex runes and carvings in his palanquin began to glow bright blue, and the stone throne rose up higher and higher into the air. Without any apparent effort on the Slann's part the seat carried him over the enemy lines towards the abandoned fortress in the distance.

Things looked grim for the Exiles. Their lord was surrounded by a host of celestial daemons and the route to the fort would soon be cut off. Would the carrier of the Sphere get there in time?

Seeing his master float away from the danger gladdened Chieftain Tzatehe. Now he could focus on these pesky mortals and keep them away from where they were truly needed.
The spearmen closed in behind the cover of their shields, making only quick thrusts with their weapons. Tzatehe took two blades into his buckler, kick aside the third and sent a glowing bolt from his blowpipe into the direction of the fourth shaft. The bolt hammered into the face of an unfortunate aelf, drilling through his skull and slaying him outright. 
The sight of their blown-up friend's limp corpse falling to the ground made the aelves doubt for a while, but the fear of their own lord was stronger. From behind the first warriors more charged into the fray, thrusting their spears past their comrades into Tzatehe's exposed flesh. The Chieftain backed away, bleeding from cuts in his sides but determined to stay up.

Sensing that the Sphere was close, Priest Ecotta gave the command to fire a volley at the foe. As of one mind the skinks drew their shortbows and sent a cloud of glowing bolts into the Dark Riders. The blue missiles found their marks, thudding into the aelf cavalry like a lethal rain. Horses screamed and riders fell off their saddles, slain by countless bolts before they even hit the ground. Only one Dark Rider made it through, his fellows absorbing the shots before they could reach him. Seeing his friends perish so swiftly racked the poor rider's mind, but he had his orders and he would follow them until the end. Tucking a round object more firmly into the depths of his cloak, the aelf continued galloping for safety.

With the Drakespawn Knights now nothing more than gory prone forms on the ground, the Temple Guard spread out to block the aelf lord's path. At the same time Mazatl reached his prey, bouncing through the air and landing on the aelf's back.
His claws dug into the pale flesh, but as he raised his starmace for a killing blow, lord Arocadel twisted his upper body around and drove a jagged dagger into the Old-Blood's shoulder. Mazatl fell, but clenched his fangs around a wing and pulled his adversary down with him.
They thumped into the ground, rose up, and charged at each other roaring challenges.

Exile Lord Arocadel had been stopped and was now dueling with Mazatl for his life, and the Dark Riders had been decimated but for one individual who raced full-tilt towards the gates of the fortress. Captain Enead was leading the Black Guard towards their beleaguered master and the remaining aelf spearmen were surrounding the lone Skink Chieftain to prevent him from providing aid to he Mage-Priest who was confronting a War Hydra face-to-face(s). Anything could still happen and victory was hanging in the balance...

The enormous warbeast charged at Tlaxinzi, its all six heads roaring with restrained fury. The heads descended to attack, snapping at the Slann from all directions, only to be forced back by crackling batches of lightning that leaped from the palanquin's glowing carvings. Each head in its turn attacked, got blasted by lightning, and drew back screaming in agony. With the Hydra reeling from the strikes he'd given it, Tlaxinzi focused his powers on one of the heads and blasted it off with a stream of white energy.

Chieftain Tzatehe fought with all the skill he possessed, dodging the weary strikes of the spearmen. He trapped one of the shafts with his buckler, pulled the wielder closer and spit a bolt in the exposed chest through his blowpipe. Another thrust came his way, but the danced around it, grabbed another spear blade and directed it into the attacker's throat. The few aelves that were left backed out a step, keeping a healthy distance to this awe-inspiring fighter.

The last Dark Rider was almost at the gates of the fort, the hooves of his black horse drumming on the wooden surface of the ancient drawbridge.
Skink Priest Ecotta felt a burst of desperation in his mind. Part of it was his own, but he knew the Mage-Priest was also telepathically guiding him.
"Stop the warm-blood. Take him down. Now," were the words that the Slann formed up in Ecotta's mind.
Hissing a command the Skink Priest ordered his cohort to fire at will. The rider had to be stopped. A hasty stream of arrows sprang from the bows of the little creatures, hungrily closing the distance to the aelf...

Arrows clattered on the stone walls, thudded on the wooden drawbridge and hissed in the air around the rider. Even shots that were directly heading to the aelf and his mount missed at the last moment, and a dim glow could be seen under the horseman's cape.
The Spellglass Sphere was protecting its carrier.
However, arrows came in such numbers that not even the mighty artifact could deflect them all. One shaft sank into the horse's flank, another into the riders leg, and soon a whole bunch of shots found their marks.

The aelf cried out in rage as he realized he would never reach his destination and fulfill his master's orders. The cry was abruptly stopped by an arrow piercing his throat. He fell off his mount and thumped onto the drawbridge, his horse collapsing on the run. 
The glowing orb rolled from the depths of his dark cloak, falling off the drawbridge and embedding itself in the snow.

A group of skinks left the formation to reclaim the artifact, carefully carrying it back to Priest Ecotta.
"Our duty here is done," he thought, knowing that the Mage-Priest was still connected to his mind.
"Good. It is time for us to take our leave," was the reply that formed in Ecotta's mind.

The skink cohort fell back into the woods and swarms of snakes slithered back to their holes in the rocky outcrops. The Temple Guard sprinted away, followed by Mazatl the Old-Blood who separated himself from the aelf lord. Both combatants were badly bloodied, bearing grievous wounds from their savage duel. Arocadel made no move to stop the Seraphon general as it vanished into the woods, instead he collapsed sitting into the red snow.
"I'll have my revenge on you, daemon," he murmured to himself, spitting out the last word as if it were a curse. His captain and the unit of Black Guard ran over to him.

"My lord! Are you well? Here, take my arm and we'll get you to safety," Enead smiled and outstretched his gloved hand. The Captain's dagger was not in its scabbard.
"I don't need your help...servant," Arocadel hissed as he made himself rise to his feet despite the pain. He knew full well that showing weakness now would only earn him a knife in the back. He glanced across the battlefield and saw the Slann disappear in a flash of light, leaving the confused Hydra looking for its prey.
The rest of his men were slowly gathering around him, tired and beaten.

"We'll make camp in that fortress and resume our march at first light," the Exile Lord decreed, sending the remains of his army slogging towards the open gate. Standing alone in the snow, Arocadel winced as broken ribs moved in his chest.
"I was so close to unlimited power..." he sighed as he started limping after his men.


A very close game, this one!

We were both sure the game was over when it was my opponent's time to move the lonely Dark Rider in the middle of the board. It was a miracle in itself that the chap survived the ~30 shots from the Skinks, but then it seemed that this peculiar horseman would win the game for him, too.
When he measured the distance to the gate (reaching the doorstep was all he needed) we couldn't believe our eyes: he was left half an inch short!

The rest, as they say, is history. One Dark Rider against 30 shooting Skinks. No chance. In the end the lone rider took about 5-6 wounds and the game was finished, as he was the last living member of the unit carrying the hidden artifact.

All in all a good game against a good opponent.

Until next time!

perjantai 10. kesäkuuta 2016

The Bigger They Are, The Harder They Fall

Good day, everyone!

Just a quick post on my newest Casualty Marker additions. I got some requests on making these for a couple of more races, so here I present you the Ogor, Troggoth and Yehetee markers!

Now you have some bigger creatures to litter the bloody ground of your epic battlefields!

Pick your favorite or take all of them, here are the links:

I hope you enjoy them. Don't hesitate to contact me if you have a request or an idea for more casualty markers!

Here's a link to the previous markers: Taking Casualties!

maanantai 6. kesäkuuta 2016

Heroes of Chiselwind Cemetery

Greetings weary travelers of the internet!

Today I'll give you my 11th Narrative Battle Report with a very special scenario, pitting a small group of duardin heroes against a horde of greenskins!

Here, have a look at our setup:
As you can see the deployment sure looks pretty one-sided, with one faction having a serious advantage over the other. I mean, look at those poor greenskins marching into the jaws of death with ignorant smiles on their faces!

In all seriousness, I had five hero -keywords against his uncounted horde of regular troops. The objective was to annihilate the opposing force to the last man(or duardin, or orruk, or grot) to gain control of a makeshift cemetery, represented on the field by two small stretches of wooden palisade wall.

Me and my opponent agreed that my heroes could all use their Command Abilities despite only one of them actually being the general of my army. The forces looked so mismatched on the table that it only felt suitable to give a little buff to the underdog.

Let's get started with the narrative, shall we?


After the magnificent victory over the greenskins at the Battle of Bronze Plateau, the Iron Company had camped near the corpse-strewn field to collect loot and tend to their wounded. Patrols scouring the area reported that the beaten enemy had pulled back for many miles and the route ahead was clear. After four nights of repose the Company broke camp and set forth to reconquer their lands from the hated foe once again. All that was left behind was a hastily built graveyard for those who fell at Bronze Plateau, surrounded by a palisade wall to keep scavengers from digging up the deceased.

As the columns of duardin resumed their steady march towards the coast, Commander Ungrim Ironhelm made a last tour around the cemetery with his lieutenants to honor the dead.
"Rest assured my friend, yer passin' will be remembered an' avenged," Ungrim swore, kneeling beside one of the makeshift graves. 
It was a shallow grave marked by a grey stone with the name Ethred the Prospector chiseled on its rough surface. Similar stones littered the grassy ground inside the circle of palisade walls, each marked with the name of the warrior resting beneath it.

The Commander took a handful of dirt from the ground and let it slowly flow in between his gloved fingers.
"I think we should leave, m'lord. The rest o' the Company has disappeared from sight already an' I just had a queer shiver down me spine," said Gomrund Redaxe, a Thane with a bloody reputation of letting his weapon of choice do most of the talking for him.
"I agree with 'im, there's a smell of a glorious death in the air!" declared Malakai Smensson, a Slayer Lord and a long-term friend of Ungrim.

There was a long, hollow sound in the air, echoing through the surrounding forest. All five duardin stopped to listen. Soon the sound could be heard again, this time much closer.
"That's a greenskin warhorn, make no mistake. We must get back to the Company and..." started Burlok Dorinsson the Brewmaster before getting cut off by Ironhelm himself.
"There's no time, lads. We'll stand an' fight to preserve our fallen kin from these savages. Follow me!" Ungrim bellowed, picking up his hammer and starting towards the gates of the cemetery.

As soon as they arrived at the palisade walls the forests around them spewed forth a howling mob of greenskins, most likely errant survivors of the recent battle. Their weapons swinging wildly in the air, the attackers strode towards the cemetery in pursuit of easy loot and a measure of revenge for their previous defeat.
At the forefront of the assault marched a spearmob of grots, flanked by small herds of squigs being poked into the direction of the walls. Behind them came hordes of orruks and a pack of Wolf Riders, with more enemies in the distance that could not yet be recognized.

"Stand firm, heroes o' the Iron Company! The odds may be stacked against us, but that's ever been the case for our proud race. We stand, we fight and we prevail!" Ungrim Ironhelm shouted out, lifting his hammer into the air in a defiant gesture.
On Ungrim's left side Gomrund Redaxe readied his axe, while on his right the Daemon Slayer Furgil bellowed his berserk frustration at the oncoming foes and Malakai Smensson was still casually sharpening the edge of his runic axe. Behind them Burlok Dorinsson took a swig from his tankard.

Then the greenskins rushed upon them.

The green tide crashed against the thin duardin line, grots running in with spears waving and screaming excitedly while squigs pounced on the heroes in pursuit of fresh meat. All this was for naught.
Axes and hammers carved arcs of destruction among the tightly packed ranks of the diminutive creatures, sending green limbs, heads and bits of brain flying in the air. It was a meatgrinder.
On the left a squig jumped at Gomrund with a gaping maw opened to its limits, only to be cut in half seconds after by a downward cut of an axe. 
Next to him Ungrim took the bulk of the assault. A squig wrapped its jaws around his left arm, rendering his shield useless for a time and creating an opening for the zealous grots to have a poke with their spears. Several blades slid past the links of his chainmail hauberk to draw blood beneath. With a grunt Ungrim twisted to the side, shattering the spears and sending his hammer out to return the favor. Skulls cracked and shields splintered before the grots took steps back to escape the deadly reach of his weapon.
Furgil and Malakai waded into the midst of the enemy with their giant axes, carving up groups of grots with every swing. So terrifying was their advance that only a single spear made it into contact with Malakai's flesh, with the arm holding it being cut off immediately after.

Such a bloodbath was more than enough to route the grots. With the majority of their number laying mutilated on the bloody ground the rest abandoned their shields and weapons to disperse into the forests with all due haste. Until now the orruks had stood back, laughing at the excessive slaughter of their smaller cousins, but as the last grots ran away the green brutes picked up their weapons to have a go at these stunties.
"The first wave was just a warm up," muttered Furgil the Slayer under his breath. "They were testing out resolve."
"Aye, and we've showed 'em that we mean business," replied Ungrim with his hammer at the ready once again.

A tankard was passed down the duardin line, each warrior taking a long gulp of refreshing ale. Both Ungrim and Malakai felt the pain of their wounds fade away.
"That's what I call a fine beverage!" Gomrund Redaxe laughed, wiping the foam from his beard.
"I could do this all day long!"

Cries of "WAAAGH!" erupted as the orruks accelerated to running speed, ready to push through the line of duardin to separate and slaughter them one by one. It soon turned out that the orruks were the ones getting slaughtered, with many being cut down before even having a swing at the damned stunties!
Redaxe was enjoying himself. After the swig from the Brewmaster's tankard he now fought with renewed vigour, hewing down his bulky adversaries one after another while singing ancient duardin drinking songs in a pompous voice.

"There are worse ways t' leave this world than this, eh?" he called out to Ungrim while decapitating yet another green beast with a sideward cut.
"Aye," Ungrim replied, his warhammer caving in a head with a burst of gore. "Gettin' stomped by a gargant, bein' poisoned by 'em nasty spiders..."
"Chokin' on food, gettin' killed in a drunken brawl..." Furgil the Slayer joined in. Spatters of blood dotted his orange mohawk as he forced his way through the orruks with apparent ease, felling foes left and right.
"An' don't forget gettin' stuffed down a gargants smelly trousers!" Malakai called out from the far right, currently pulling his axe out of an orruk skull. "That's a bad bad way t' leave..."

Soon the remaining orruks turned tail and ran, disappearing into the woods while claiming to "catch up dem grots n' bring 'em back to da scrap".
Malakai put his hand under his magnificent orange beard, winced, and the hand returned bloody.
"Tis but a scratch," he claimed as the others gazed at him. "Pass me that tankard, Dorinsson, an' I'll be fine."
Ale was passed down the line once again, refreshing the warriors. Just after Gomrund had passed the tankard to Ungrim, a screaming grot appeared from behind the palisade. Before Redaxe had time to react the greenskin's spear punched into his flank. Grabbing the spear, Gomrund yanked the grot closer and sliced it in two with a swing from his axe.
"Bloody grots..." he murmured under his breath as the two halves of the creature fell to the ground.

Allowing the stunties no more time to repose the second wave of orruks came rushing in, eager to succeed where all their fellows had failed thus far. But recent history repeated itself as the defiant cries of "WAAAGH!" were reduced to a chorus of death screams in a whirlwind of axes and hammers.
Malakai Smensson and Furgil the Slayer were both getting frustrated as their deaths would not come.
" 'Ow many o' these savages do I 'ave t' carve up b'fore I get my glorious death?!" Furgil bellowed, kicking aside a squig-hide shield and sinking his axe into the green flesh beneath it. "Come at me, ya bloody good-for-nothin' 'shroombrains!"
Two orruks came charging straight at him with murder and delight in their eyes, but before the impact Malakai swooped by, swiftly cutting the orruks down.
"Don't ya steal my glory ya pesky Daemon-Tickler!" he said, casting a mean sideways look at Furgil. "I'm the Slayer Lord 'ere an' I deserve t' die b'fore ya."
"Oh, we'll see 'bout that!" was the Daemon-Slayer's reply.

Just then the fighting paused once again as the few surviving orruks ran for their lives. As a drink was passed down the line, Ungrim Ironhelm eyed his tiring warriors.
"If we fall into infightin' an' arguments we'll all surely perish," he warned his subordinates. "Keep yer tongues an' thoughts t' yerself or I'll halve all your wages!"
There was a silence among the duardin.
"Right, now back to business! I intend to lead my Iron Company for decades t' come and push 'ese greenskins out o' my lands," Ungrim said after hearing no objections. He picked up his hammer and prepared for another wave.

The Wolf Riders charged in.

Like a rolling thunder the pack of wolf-riding grots ran into the stunties with spears lowered in the fashion of knights' lances. The charge hit home, and hard.
Ungrim cracked the skull of the first wolf with his hammer but the second leaped directly on top of him, sinking its fangs into his right arm.
Furgil the Slayer hacked the wolf and the rider away from his Commander but another Wolf Rider crashed straight into him, punching a spear into his shoulder.
Gomrund Redaxe too was overwhelmed by this avalanche of raging fur as wolves tore at his arms and legs while his armour got battered by numerous grot spears.
Malakai had no troubles at all, un-wolfing grots and beheading mounts with grim determination and measured strikes. Even Burlok Dorinsson put aside his tankard for a while and stepped up, dispatching a Wolf Rider that was about to bounce on the Commander.

In a feat of strength and resilience the duardin overcame the cavalry charge, sending the survivors fleeing after their footslogging comrades. Now they found themselves facing an Orruk Warboss and his personal retinue of 'Ardboyz.
"Ya stunties are a tough lot!" the Warboss called out. "Ya carved up me boyz an' sent me grots runnin' away. I won't 'ave dat. I's da great Gormag Crushstompsmash, an' I's gonna crush an' stomp an' smash ya all to da ground!"
Gesturing with his enormous choppa, Gormag sent his 'Ardboyz charging at the cemetery gates.

The big, dark orruks smiled wickedly as they waded through the sea of corpses between them and their hated enemies. Malakai leaned in closer to Furgil.
"Now if ye kill even one beast that's comin' at me I'll..."
"Malakai! Shut yer beard and put yer axe t' work," Ungrim interrupted the Slayer Lord before the sentence was finished. For a time Smensson glared at his Commander but then did as he was bid.
The orruks had reached them.
Weapons swung, armour cracked and blood was spilled. The duardin suffered many wounds with Ungrim taking a spiked mace to the side, Furgil getting his face scraped by a giant axe and Gomrund Redaxe having his left arm dislocated while running into a towering orruk. But no harm could be done on Malakai Smensson who danced through the enemy ranks with a bloodied axe in hand, felling foes like a duardin god of war.
Not long could the orruk retinue survive against such adversaries, and soon the 'Ardboyz mob leader fled the battle as his last boyz were cut down.

All that was left was Gormag Crushstompsmash, standing with his jaws wide open. A flame of anger ignited in his eyes.
"Ya unda-grown hairy pinkies, look at wat ya dun to me warmob!" the Warboss yelled out. "How's I gonna be a right-mighty Warboss if I has no boyz to boss around!"

Ungrim watched the orruk went its rage.
"I don't need any upstart green generals rallyin' my enemies after I defeat 'em," Commander Ironhelm called out to Gormag. "Ye'll die 'ere an' now b'fore ye cause any more trouble."

"Oh yus, ya got dat right, little stunty! Someone 'as to die, but ain't me dis day!" the orruk replied, grasping its choppa with both hands.

"Let me handle it, m'lord," Malakai asked while measuring the greenskin up and down with his eyes. "I'll take that poor creature down in one."

Ungrim gazed long at his friend and the rest of his fellow warriors.
"Yer the only one o' us in good enough health to face the beast, Malakai," Ironhelm admitted while leaning on his hammer and holding his blood-stained side. "I'll permit ye t' face it. Good luck my friend."

Smensson snorted.
"If I'm in luck I'll find my sweet death t'day."
With that the Slayer Lord marched off to face the Warboss.

The combatants strode towards each other, Gormag huffing and puffing like an angry bull and Malakai hefting his runic axe in his hands. They both took more steps, accelerating to steady jog. Soon they were running. Seconds before impact Gormag lifted his choppa in the air high above his head while Malakai leapt into the air and did the same.
There was a metallic crack and a wet smack. Something thumped onto the ground.

Malakai was standing atop Gormag's corpse with his axe buried deep in between the orruk's eyes.

"MAAALAKAAAAAIIIII!" the Slayer Lord cried out to the skies in triumph.

As soon as the thrill of the kill passed, Smensson's expression darkened.
"No death fer me again..." he muttered into his beard. Leaving his axe in place, Malakai jumped down from the orruk's carcass and started walking around in circles, talking to himself in low tones about his cursed luck.

Commander Ironhelm limped to his friend supported by his hammer. The others spread out to examine the piles of corpses.
"Well done, Malakai. Yer as good as ever, I see," Ungrim pointed out and put a hand on Smensson's shoulder.
"Don't ye mock me, Ironhelm. I'm cursed t' walk 'ese realms for all eternity..." Smensson said, looking down.
"Now excuse me I've an axe to retrieve."
He climbed atop Gormag's motionless form and yanked his weapon free.

"T'was a good day, but I suggest we 'ead back t' the Company. I need my arm fixed if I'm ever t' swing an axe again," Gomrund proposed, his mail-clad arm hanging limply as he moved.
"A-ha!" Furgil shouted with glee as he spotted a wounded grot crawling for safety. One strike of an axe later the Slayer continued his tour around the battlefield with a smile on his face.

"I agree. Take the leader's 'ead, we'll use it t' raise morale at the camp tonight," Ungrim adviced his weary companions.
"The events o' this day'll make one hell o' a story by the campfire..."


This game was absolutely fantastic, although a bit one sided. But this only proves the point of Age of Sigmar in general: you don't need perfectly balanced armies to have fun with your miniatures. You don't have to win to have fun with your miniatures.

Me and my opponent both enjoyed this mismatched match where a group of heroes faced off with a horde of enemies. It was like the movies where the main characters slay countless enemies with apparent ease!

A combination of very capable duardin melee heroes with two Slayers and a Josef Bugman to heal them is quite effective, even when facing vastly superior numbers. These kinds of "few elite guys vs redshirts" -scenarios are truly interesting to play, no matter what side your on. 
We were kinda expecting that the duardin heroes were in for a glorious last stand and heroic deaths, but as it turned out they overcame the opposition and escaped with their lives. Fascinating!

There will be a couple of Battle Reports more for this "Iron Company vs Urgokh's Waaagh" storyline. Then I'll gather them all up in one post to tie up loose ends and unite the timeline of the story. We'll see when they come out, there's plenty of painting and campaigning yet to do!

Until next time!

keskiviikko 1. kesäkuuta 2016

May Community Painting Project

Hey there!

I loved the /r/ageofsigmar Community Painting Project in April so much that I attended the next one too, with the focus on units this time.

I signed up with a unit of 5 Marauder Horsemen from my Slaves to Darkness warband and here they are, barely finished on the last day of the project:
Very enjoyable chaps to paint, these old Horsemen models. With plastic horses and men of metal (heh) they have the sufficient weight to make you feel comfortable and still remain light enough to push around without too much worries.

For the colours I chose the blue, purple and bone that I use across all my Tzeentch-dedicated Slaves to Darkness models, applied in many layers with washes in between.
Who doesn't like blonde barbarian raiders?
Just look at those muscled backs and arms. My absolute favorite parts to paint on these models! 
What I hate doing is the edge highlights on their armour, although it makes them look nicer in the end...
My entire Chaos army is currently standing on blank black bases, but I'm planning to use this tundra-like theme on them all as soon as I find the time and motivation to do so. Dark ground with patches of snow and yellowed grass. I like it!

That's about it for this painting project, I'm already looking forward to the next one. Really helps me get my heaps of models finally painted. Soon I'll show you a speed-painting technique I've created for my horde of 30 Marauders, 'till then!