Hi guys,

short update: After concider if I shall either stop at 2 models or go on, I finally decided to keep going with the Ghostclaws. Currently I am about to build the next 2 Models for the army. As converting the Frostlord was a lot of fun that really motivated me to do more for the hobby, the next two models will be also used as plattform for conversions. Aim: 100% more cool. 100% more creepy.

Before I can share them I will also post the update on my mournfangs as I am about to finish 6 of 8 models within the holiday time.

To celebrate the first Kit I am about to assemble this evening, I would like to tease the upcoming conversion with a short story.

Arthur held up his lantern into the pitch black night. The marshes were silent this night, which was quite unusual concidering all the usual chirping and buzzing. Also, the fireflies were gone. Shyish was not a realm well known for it´s beauty, yet the violaceus marshes were one of the most breathtaking places Arthus has ever visited. It was a vast landscape of elusive ponds that reflected every single shyishian sunset with a vibrant violett taint that led to their name. The high grass around the swamps and the purple fireflies were a motif that Arthus desired to bring down on canvas since the first tales he heard about from merchants. It was risky, but together with Ghvan and his men, sellswords from Anvilgard that pledged to be honorous men of a proud guild of protectors, he managed to travel safely, almost  unworried by the dangers of the realm. It was a long and expensive trip from Anvilgard to this shyishian oasis, but it was worth it. Well, at least the last 2 days which he could spend the evenings in painting his new piece. This wonderfull depiction of the beauty of the realm would be his last masterpiece in his series "7 Realms of Beauty". But this evening was different. There was no sunset. Instead the marshes just went darker and darker until Arthus and Ghvans' men were stranded in this darkness.

"Well, no painting for you today. I assume you want to stay longer here so you can finish that picture of yours. I assume the additional days are paid on arrival, too?" Ghvan intoned, coming from behind with a gleefull smile. "It´s not a picture, it´s a portrait of the landscape, a masterwork tha.." Arthur started, but the Leader of the Sellswords burst out with laughter. "Well, if you manage to turn this into gold to pay us, I´m fine with it!" said Ghvan, slaped on Arthurs back and went on to his men. The sellswords sat at a campfire nearby. Some went on patrols and most of time was spend drinking and singing as the men were bored. Since they entered the marshes there were no deadwalkers or other undead around, so the general tone was more relaxed than during the rest of their journey. Indeed, the sellswords have shown an affinity for the swampy landscape and found a quite safe route through the treacherous terrain.

The night went on as pitch black as it started. After hours most of the men laid down to sleep, while Arthur stayed to finish some details from memory, at least as far as he could. When Ghvan approached him, he didn´t look up but stayed focused on the line of shadow he was blurrying to add another touch of distance on the canvas. "We have a problem" he said. Arthur sighted ."I told you already, I will pay on arrival". "It´s not about the payment". Arthur looked up and noticed the quite young and usualy impish expression on Ghvans face gone. Instead he saw frustration and fear in the mans eyes. A look he last saw when portraing a man sentenced to death. "Two patrols are gone. Simply disappeared. Six well trained men. Also some other men said that they heard some strange noises. Grunting. Gurgling. It seems that there is something out there". "Well, then deal with it. Isn´t this what I am paying you for?" Arthus said, suprised by his own harsh tone that burst out to cover his fear. Ghvan nodded contemptuosly and went back to his men.

Later in the night, after Arthur laid down and tried to sleep, the camp was pierced by the scream of a man in terror. Arthur shoot up from his sleeping place and turned into the direction of the screams. His jaw opened wide in shock and awe. What he saw was beautifull and terrifying at the same time. The sky glowed green behind the high grass that surrounded the camp. The men whos scream woke up the camp knelt in front of a giant creature. Weird shapes wormed through the air, iluminated by the light glow of the sky. That ghostly aurora got brighter and brighter while that creature aproached the camp. Arthur could not understand what his eyes saw. It was a huge monster, it´s horns spread wide to the sides, each single tusk larger than a full grown man was tall. And then, there were all thoose squigling and coiling things that looked like tentacles of the sea creatures that were common to the coasts of Anvilguard. On top of this abstract beeing sat an ogor, glowing in the same ghastly green as the sky. Two skulls were tied into his beard and a plate of steel was boltet on his head. The ogor chuckled, tighted the reins and the giant beast leaped forward. With a single stomp and the sound of crackling bone the body of the kneeling man was pushed deep into the ground. Tentacles leashed out strangling several men at once, while horns catapulted others far away. Some men were drawn by the beast into the dark of it´s throat. A hoarde of ghosts loomed from the skies, floating through the scene of this massacre. Arthur couldn´t move. What he saw was beautifull and terrifying at the same time. The tense motif of a predator and it´s prey. The desperation of thoose, who saw sure death approaching. The exotic shapes of what is incomprehensible. The weeping dead which mourn for the yet living. The fact, that he too would be part of this subject, pierced his heart. It would bring him fame to paint this scene. But what was the worth of fame in a moment as this, he tought, while the beast lashed out a tentacle at him. The grip was cold, not the grip of a living thing, but something alien. Arthur started to weep, as his soul lifted from his body. The dark sun of the realm was rising on the firmament, but he didn´t noticed. He wept, as the beauty of this moment would never manifest on a canvas. He wept with the other souls.