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The clarion horns sounding...

The clamour of battle raging...

The mix of blood and sweat hanging heavy in the air that can only mean, the attack has come...

Urgluk reached for his sword of grey, donned his ancient armour of glittering grey and raised his clans battle standard, a device as old as his bloodline - a grey fox rampant on a grey mountain range. He took one last bite from the feast set out before him, wiping grey juice from his maw as he downed the last of a bottle of vintage elven grey wine liberated from the northen province of greysun... Wait a minute, sonethings not right here...


You wouldn't read fiction like this, so why PLAY fiction without colour?

Email me today to discuss your needs - secure payments, swift service and excellent results. Paypal and brushes are waiting










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