The Darkwood Court

[KnaveOfScribes]

 

“Some foes you cannot defeat. Some you can only halt and push back into the deep for a time. Then all you can do is wait, and watch, and teach your children to do the same…”

Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal.

 

“…Life, red in tooth and claw…”

Common saying amongst the Free Peoples of Ghyran.

 

~

 

The ghuls, the feral once-men, flooded through the forest like a tide of unwashed flesh. They brayed and screeched to each other in their screaming tongue, lashed out at trees and each other with lengths of rusted iron, with salvaged weapons, with their cracked claws. The stink of them filled the cold air. Pack leaders, thick with sinewy muscle and grimed with the dried blood of the lion’s share of the packs kills, ran at the head of the tide, sniffing the winter air like true predators. This pack of ghuls was scores strong, the largest to enter the Darkwood itself in many years. The cold silence of the hallowed dead forest was broken and corrupted by their animal stink and heat.

 

Moralanith stepped from the shadows of the forest and swung his falchion into the nearest ghul. The obsidian blade passed through the creature’s thin chest with no resistance, misting the air with foul blackish blood as the severed halves of the beast fell. He continued the swing, burying the tip of his blade in the face of another screaming ghul. The blades of his fellow guardians rose and fell around him, glittering obsidian parting lean flesh with ease as they swung in graceful arcs. The faces of the tree-spirits were set in grim scowls, taking no enjoyment or glee from this butchers work.

 

The ghul pack howled and turned to throw itself against the guardian spirits, once-men and fleshborn crashing into each other and tangling together as they tried to swarm their attackers. The Darkwood itself worked against them, the deadened and blackened trees somehow moving to block paths or crush ghuls between ironhard trunks. Others were pierced by spear-like branches, entwined in thorned branches or simply disappeared into the shadows between the trees, but still the howling pack came on. The iron stench of diseased blood started to fill the cold clear air and stain the snow a blackish red.

 

The guardian spirits fought, with skilled sweeps of blades, with heavy punches from ironbark limbs. Where they were swarmed by ghuls, they grew twisted thorns that pierced their attackers, or melted away into the shadows to reappear behind or beside the flailing fleshborn, ending them in swift strikes. And still the howling pack came on, tearing at itself in its urgency to reach the reaving spirits.

 

His blade wet and heavy with the blood of the beasts, Moralanith buried heavy ironbark talons in the braying face of one ghul and ripped it from the skull in a wash of gore. The creature howled, fell to its knees clutching the ruin of its face and was immediately leapt upon by two of its packmates who tore into it with sharp teeth and claws, gobbling down hunks of still-living meat. The packs numbers were still high, but more and more of the fleshborn were ignoring the tree-spirits and gorging themselves on their fallen kin. The stench of fresh blood had overwhelmed the pack dynamics of the ghuls and the meat-frenzy was upon them. They were beginning to tear themselves apart.

 

Moralanith caught the eye of Numenorin and nodded. The spirit lifted his waypipe and blew a long low note that whispered through the black trees and blood-flecked snow. The note grew, blossomed into a funereal air that the guardian spirits knew and began to sing in quiet chorus, that entwined with the sounds of the forest itself and became the sound of wind in the branches, the creak of ancient limbs and boles.

 

The feral fleshborn, some still throwing themselves at Moralanith and his seed-kin, others feasting on the freshly killed or wounded of their own pack, couldn’t understand the beauty of the song nor its meaning. They were blood-sick, animals who had cut and torn themselves from the weave of Life even more so than the men they had once been. Their focus on flesh left them blind to all else, so they didn’t see the dark trees of the forest closing around them, cutting off all paths and trails, nor did they notice the failing light until darkness was almost absolute. They ate until the sharp blades of Moralanith and his seed-kin ended their lives in the dark.

 

~

“We do not relish slaughter, but we will not turn our faces from it.”

 

“All life dies and lives again, to do otherwise is an abomination.”

 

“We will protect this forest, our home, for as long as we need to, as we always have.”

 

“And hope that one day our Kings madness ends and we can return.”

 

~

[KnaveOfScribes]

 

“Try to imagine the cold majesty of the aelves married to the dispassion of nature at its most fickle. That is the sum of the tree-spirits, the true people of your Everqueen.  Do you really think they care whether you live or die in Ghyran? Truly?”

Travels Through The Realms, Unfinished. Dieter van Ganza of Anvilguard.

 

~

“Do you see the sun? Do you feel the warmth on your face, your body?”

 

“Do you note the passing of seasons? The cycle of growth and wither and renewal.”

 

“Do not ask if we remember the sun. Do not ask if we remember the seasons.”

 

“All we know is winters bite. All we feel is cold.”

~

[KnaveOfScribes]

Afternoon everyone - sorry for the long pause in posting, I had to move house and get resettled which threw things out of whack a bit. I also got distracted by a couple of side projects, which are providing a much needed break from painting wood. However, progress is still being made on the Court, with the next chunk of stuff to be built sat waiting, a chunk of stuff waiting to be painted and a potential few new things to be added as well.

Of course, with the new edition dropping soon, things may change - the Nighthaunt are looking ever more appealing, but I want to get the Court up to 2k points at the very least.

I'm aiming to update with more stuff soon, like next couple of days soon and as always your comments and feedback are awesome to receive. Here's a quick look at what's on the painting slate at the moment:

More coming soon!

[KnaveOfScribes]

 

“There are always places for the lost and forgotten. How else would they become lost or forgotten without somewhere to hide themselves?”

Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal.

 

~

 

 

“Of the many and varied locales I visited in my travels across the Known Realms, few were as difficult to reach as the Grey Marches, also known rather poetically as the ‘Thrice-tenth Kingdom’. Sadly few locales were as dreary or indeed pointless as this supposed Kingdom, rendering our efforts to reach it somewhat pointlessly arduous.

 

Nonetheless, my vocation as cartomancer for the Trygalle Guild would allow for no laxity in the mapping of all the pocket realms, kingdoms, lands and Known Realms or all the various hidden paths, shadow roads, gates and crossing points into said locations. Thus, burdened with glorious purpose and heavy responsibility, I applied my not inconsiderable talents to the mapping of this frozen wasteland that appeared to manifest somewhere in the extreme borderlands between Ghyran and Shyish. Some travellers may have shown some trepidation at the mention of the Amethyst Land, however seasoned souls such as myself hold the lands of the dead in no ill favour – their lord is cold and dread, but he is just and fair in his way. Regardless, our reason for visiting this forgotten corner of existence was the rumour of a hidden way, a gate which could be exploited for travel through to many other Realms. Our guide, the ancient Wanderer who named himself Envoy, also made us aware of the existence of several fascinating sounding isolated branches of sentient peoples of the Realms, claiming that men, duardin and even aelves somehow had made their homes here. He warned us too of other, more dangerous natives, such as the feral Jheckals, the mist-born Ban-sidhes and the fell inhabitants of the sprawling great dark forest itself.

 

Suitably warned, we set forth through the snow and began our important work…”

 

 

“…even with the legendary constitution and lackadaisical approach to comfort that the duardin are famous for, I was surprised to see these native duardin wearing little but leather loincloths and heavy stone helms, surely no protection against the frigid elements of this land. Envoy introduced them as the Ur-Hesht, a long-isolated and forgotten breed of duardin that had almost escaped notice. For duardin they were a primitive and tribal lot, almost chthonic in their beliefs and person. They paid no heed to the traditional duardin pantheon, nor even to the ur-gold that is the sole love of the Fyreslayer Fyrds, instead believing only in a primal proto-god named Hesht or Hasht, possibly even Velasht, after which they named themselves: Ur-Hesht, or the ‘Sons of Hesht’. From what Envoy could translate of their near-incomprehensible tongue, their god was a great horned stone beast that slept deep underground near the heat and fire, or was the heat and fire maybe and that one day they would find this Hesht and wake him and his fire. The difficulty of translating their primitive tongue, even for one skilled in languages, made it hard to ascertain whether these were simply debased duardin trapped here for long years, or a harsher, darker cousin of the duardin we were familiar with, or merely a backward and ancient early form of the duardin themselves.

 

Regardless of their lack of modern trappings, the Ur-Hesht proved themselves to be as skilled workers and craftsmen as their cousins, albeit in a far more primal form. Eschewing the use of metal (for no ore was to be found in these lands) and wood (superstitions abounded regarding the cursed nature of the forest itself), these duardin instead worked almost exclusively with obsidian and were able to craft the hard volcanic rock into creations of impressive skill and complexity.  Each Ur-Hesht wore a fully enclosed helm of obsidian, including a stone beard, and all their weaponry and accoutrements were fashioned from the same dark glasslike rock. Their skill was truly a marvel, a combination of ordinary stonemasonry and some darker chthonic geomancy as Envoy explained.”

 

“Before leaving the Ur-Hesht, who while fascinating were also rendered sinister and off-putting by their stone visages as well as their disturbingly primal beliefs, our expedition imagist was allowed to take the accompanying lithographic etchings of one of the Ur-Hesht.”

 

 

“Giving his name as Khor Dazhborg (I was unable to clarify if Khor was a title or forename, or even if Dazhborg was a name or tribal role), this individual seemed to perform some sort of diplomatic or leader role within the tribe and was our main contact throughout our sojourn with the Ur-Hesht. The obsidian full helms, facemasks and weapons are much in evidence here with Khor Dazhborg explaining that he had shaped or formed them himself, as all his people do. As stout and hardy as all duardin, he bore great branded marks across his back and shoulders that doubtless held some significance within the tribe. Most disturbing was the articulated stone gauntlet he wore on his left arm – I did not want to pry too closely but it appeared as if the stone itself was becoming one with, or growing from the very flesh of Khor Dazhborg, something he merely referred to as ‘the cost of age’, which frankly made no sense at all and thus I believe Envoy’s translation to be flawed.

 

“Of course, as disturbing as the Ur-Hesht were, we would come to look back on their chthonic nature with great affection after future encounters with the other denizens of this gods-forsaken land….”

 

Excerpt from Travels Through The Realms, Unfinished. Dieter van Ganza of Anvilguard.

[Kronos]

Hot damn that is a cool dwarf. Who'd have thought a headswap would have such a big impact. great idea with the stone/metal hands too. Awesome, now make many more  

[AthlorianStoners]

Awesome work. 

Weird request but could you give a quick rundown of your lore so far? You’ve done so much quality writing I don’t want to feel like I’ve missed anything.

[KnaveOfScribes]

Afternoon chaps and chappesses

So, I'm still behind writing wise, but trying to catch up - will hopefully be posting a new unit up by the end of this week. Fingers crossed. By way of apology, there's a pic coming up of everything completed so far, and one of my current distractions.

Kronos - Thanks man, glad you like the Ur-Hesht duardin. Without the somewhat silly crests the Fyreslayers are pretty decent models. I've got enough bits to do the same thing with the rest of the Chosen Axels but I doubt I will - I've got trees to paint and there's other inhabitants of the Grey Marches that I want to show off.

AthlorianStoners - Cheers bud, much appreciated. I can sort out a quick recap this week, or I can pull everything into a PDF and pop it up here for people. Let me know what you'd prefer.

Onto the pics then. First up, here's how the Court stands currently:

Looks like a decent chunk, is only about 600pts altogether haha. Still lots more to go. Would help if I didn't get distracted by this chap:

Test lineelf for my Dark Elf Blood Bowl team, the Korinth Gorgons. Really looking forward to doing these guys.

Also considering a new project for the new edition - maybe Nighthaunt, maybe Maggotkin. Maybe just concentrating on trees. So many options....

Knave.

[BangDoll]

Beautiful army ! Love the colors. 

[KnaveOfScribes]

Thanks Bangdoll, much appreciated

Just a quick update while I work on background and contract stuff - been poking away at this chap for a week or so now and he's coming along nicely. Operation: Make This Guy Less Chaosy is almost complete.

Just the greenstuff hair and fur to do now.

Proper update to come soon.

[AthlorianStoners]

@KnaveOfScribes PDF or here, whatever’s easiest for you man!

[KnaveOfScribes]

“They say wisdom comes with age. But wisdom is a difficult thing to find. More often than not, the older you get, the more mistakes you have made and the harder it is for you to learn from them.”

                                                            Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal.

 

“The oldest roots run the deepest. Enduring, resistant. Stubborn. This is not always a virtue.”

Moralanith, scion of the Darkwood Court

 

~

He stood surrounded by giants. Ancient, weathered and gnarled giants, clad in dark bark that had petrified and turned to something like stone over the long cold years. They clawed into the sky with dark skeletal branches, formed huge buttresses of wall-thick dark roots at their base.  Trunks and boles bore twisted runnels of faded and blackened bark, whorls and lines and patterns that formed something that hinted at ancient faces in the shadows. The cold air was thick with power, a gathered puissance that whispered and scratched at the senses. No sunlight reached these wooded depths, only faint glimmering spirit-lights and fae-lures broke the darkness with their soft blue light.

 

Moralanith stood there, surrounded by the ancient petrified giants, and waited for the elders of his grove to respond. The cold wind sighed through skeletal branches and around withered boughs, stony bark rubbed together and dark limbs brushed against each other and somewhere in all this faint half-heard noise, a voice made itself heard.

 

… NO… OUR..KING..WILL..REIGN..STILL…

 

“Our King slips deeper into madness every day” Moralanith failed to keep the snarl from his voice. “The hag has her claws deep in him and every time she brings him back, her grip grows tighter. End this, I beg you.”

 

The wind sighs again through the sky-scraping black tree-giants and it seems as though an age passes before the elders’ voice echoes through the glade.

 

… THE..KING..ENDURES… WE..ALL..ENDURE… THE..DARKWOOD..STANDS…

 

“And for how much longer? How much longer until we all bear the mark of the hag? Before we all carry the soul of a dead man in place of our own? She cannot be trusted. She is a rot at our heartwood.”

 

… THE..ALL-HAG..HAS..BEEN..TRUE..TO..HER..WORD…

 

“What? What word?” Confusion twisted Moralanith’s face. “What did she promise? What did you promise her?”

 

… WE..ENDURE… STAND… DEFEND… OBEY… THAT..IS..REQUIRED..OF..YOU…

 

The revenant turned away in disgust, anger warring with confusion in his mind. The elders were distant, far removed from the living of the grove, and had been rooted to this dark and frozen land since the beginning of the Darkwood’s exile. They were rooted in the past and repeated the same mistakes in the manner of those rooted in the past.  Bitterness filled his voice.

 

“Stand? We will be lucky to see out another season without every one of us feeling the touch of the hag. The fleshborn numbers grow, and there is talk of haunts on the borders. We are too few. The Darkwood cannot stand long.”

 

Something moved in the darkness between the giant trees. In the shadows and half-light of the glade it seemed as though one of the behemoth dead trees split and broke and moved apart from itself. Bleached skulls crowded its shoulders, grinning at Moralanith with cold empty sockets. Witch-light spilled from glyphs carved into its body and from the cracked mask of its face. The treelord slowly closed fists of tapering talons as long as Moralanith’s own blade and stared down at him with a sole cold eye. Long antlers crowned its head, raking at the sky. Ingharnanasharal, elder of the Grove. The Warmasked.

 

…WE..WILL..STAND..WITH..YOU.. THE..WARMASKED..WALKS..AGAIN…

 

~

“Our Elders stir infrequently, content to let our King rule as he sees fit.”

 

“Exile has not suited them well and they lose themselves in memory.”

 

“The Warmasked is their anger. Their strength. Their glory.”

 

“As faded and broken as the rest of us.”

~

[KnaveOfScribes]

 

“Little quickens the blood of the old better than anger. Anger at how things are, anger at how things used to be. Anger with others, with themselves. If you want to rouse your elders, get them angry."

Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal.

 

~

“No shepherd nor guardian he, when roused from slumber.”

 

“No teacher nor patron either, when walk he does.”

 

“Born only to kill, living only to slay.”

 

“Wrath and rage and the ruin of foes.”

 

“Warmasked and warmarked”

 

~

[Kramer]

29 minutes ago, KnaveOfScribes said:

 

“Little quickens the blood of the old better than anger. Anger at how things are, anger at how things used to be. Anger with others, with themselves. If you want to rouse your elders, get them angry."

Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal.

 

~

“No shepherd nor guardian he, when roused from slumber.”

 

“No teacher nor patron either, when walk he does.”

 

“Born only to kill, living only to slay.”

 

“Wrath and rage and the ruin of foes.”

 

“Warmasked and warmarked”

 

~

Stop it you! Bacause of your brilliant work I’m getting closer and closer to starting my own Sylvaneth army! I always found them kind of goofy but with your paint job it really fits the grimeyness I like in warhammer flawlessly ! 

[KnaveOfScribes]

I atent dead!

Sorry for the silence folks - been a busy old week or so and sadly I've fallen slightly behind on the writing side of things which delays all the reveals of course. Trying to catch up this week as the Soul War release has me all excited about AoS again, if not a little apprehensive about the huge focus on magic this time round. I'm also a huge fan of the Nighthaunt stuff and trying hard not to succumb to buying them all as my wallet can't support the Court, a new rulebook and GHB and a new army. Besides, the Court is only about half done, so I should really concentrate on that above all else. With that in mind, I'm probably going to start painting my Kurnoth soon, or possibly the Man-Stag himself, depending on which one I want to reveal first. Or maybe Raest. Too many choices.

AthlorianStoners - working on getting a PDF sorted out at the moment mate.

Kramer - ha thanks man  Give into the call of the Green.  You know you want to.... In all honesty, the Sylvaneth do look great with darker, more natural colour schemes and can have a really bleak, Grimm-dark fairy tale vibe to them. Give it a go.

Also, just to get my hobby juices flowing again, I did some painting last night - its not technically AoS but it is Blood Bowl.... shush, I wont tell if you wont...

The Korinth Gorgons reveal the new seasons kit, modelled by first signing Jeremiah Krayle

 

That's all for now - hopefully back soon with some more stuff in the next few days.

Knave

[alasdair]

Awesome concept, fantastic execution with your Sylvaneth. Been following them eagerly on Instagram. 

Also I love that Elf, a big far cry from the usual vibe of Blood Bowl minis we see but it works extremely well.

[Davariel]

This thread is full of so much incredible stuff it's hard to decide what to compliment first! You've put a lot of love into this army and it really shows. The conversions, painting, background... it's all just fantastic.

Eagerly awaiting the next installment

[Kramer]

17 hours ago, KnaveOfScribes said:

Kramer - ha thanks man  Give into the call of the Green.  You know you want to.... In all honesty, the Sylvaneth do look great with darker, more natural colour schemes and can have a really bleak, Grimm-dark fairy tale vibe to them. Give it a go.

 

Something with new edition, magic expansion, a new army and a wallet that can't support everything at once. But you'll be the first to know  

[KnaveOfScribes]

Afternoon folks!

Just a quick little update from me today - more of a teaser really. I'm a little distracted by the new AoS stuff. I mean, the Nighthaunts just look gorgeous and even the Sacrosanct 'Cast look great - adding robes to the SCE really makes a difference. I can't lie, a Nighthaunt project is reply tempting and may happen at some point, unless I go totally the other direction and want to do something with bigger, more armoured models. Until then, the Court is all.

Alasdair - Ah thanks man, great to hear you found me here through Insta. And thanks for your kind words too - they are much appreciated.

Davariel - Too kind mate. I've always been about the story more than the gaming, so I'm not going to rush something or do a basic job just because its good in game and I need to get it down on the table. Story and atmosphere is everything and its great to hear that its all coming across in the right way to people and that you enjoy it too. There's still plenty more to come.

Kramer - Ha tell me about it man, I'm already trying to work out how to get the Sourcebook, GHB, more trees and Revenants, and some BB and Inq28 stuff this month...

Work on the Court has resumed this week - Raest has been undecorated, and his bound riders are almost completely assembled (god I love the Vanguard Pallador models), and I've started on the background for the next unit to be revealed. Who is it? Well, this gives a fairly major hint:
 

The Man-Stag cometh...
 

More coming in the next few days.
Knave

[Lavieth]

Beautiful miniatures amd what an amazing concept you are working towards. Projects like this are the gems of the hobby. 

How did you paint the metals on the bloodbowl figure? 

Cheers!

[Kirjava13]

Oh deer oh deer oh deer!

[KnaveOfScribes]

 

“Can there be nobility in failure? Honour in defeat? Or is that all just pretentious nonsense spouted by those who would make excuses for their shortcomings? There is a case to be made, I think, for stubbornness. For not meekly lying down and accepting your fate. But never for fooling yourself into thinking that you are not defeated. Accept the wound, and live with it.”

                                Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal.

 

“They speak of some great beast that apes the shape and language of man, some creature that has reason and thought behind its bestial mien. Harne. Shai-tan. Amaethon. Countless other names that every pisshole village in this Realm has given this thing, this Man-stag. It’s just a beast. Just a beast.”

                Sidric Affentall, the “Beast-hunter” of Iron Marrow, last seen entering the Hrafn Weald of Ghyran.

 

~

 

Mother Aldwynter could feel him there, in the shadowed trees beyond the skull-topped fences of her garden. A raw, animal presence tempered with infinite patience. And behind it all, the red wrath of the wild. This was… unfortunate. She hadn’t expected the Reeve to return so soon. All her eyes and ears in the sprawling Thrice-Tenth Kingdom had failed to spot him, to tell her of his return. A dim, spiteful flicker of anger kindled in her breast. Gripping her twisted staff, she opened the door of her crooked cottage and shuffled out into the freezing night air. In her presence, the skulls affixed to the lintel and the fence tops ignited, pellucid blue flame licking from empty sockets and silently gaping jaws. The forest beyond the light of her skulls was dark, crowded with skeletal black trees that moved slowly in the chill winds. Her lone eye flickered from one shadowed hollow to another, searching for her visitor by sight as much as she did with her carefully hoarded power. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel him there, oh yes she could. All that animal power, that dry musk scent in the air.

 

“Crone.” It wasn’t a voice as such, more the huffing sigh of a large beast, the call of a male in rut.

 

Mother Aldwynter sneered in reply, finally glimpsed something moving in the shadows beyond her fence. Something big, crowned with antlers and branches, hunched and hulking with mass.

 

“Step forward why don’t you, Reeve? Let me get a look at you. It’s been so long, my little godling.”

 

The dark shadow stopped moving, shook with something that might have been amusement, might have simply been the movement of a beast shaking free a flea. Dark humour now touched the deep rumble of that bestial voice.

 

“Crone. I know you now. I know your poison.”

 

“Do you now, little godling?” Mother Aldwynter spat, anger rising behind her iron teeth. “You know nothing. You are nothing. A forgotten eidolon, a minor spark of power in my land. Just a king’s messenger boy who sees nothing and speaks only what his master tells him to. Run away, Blessed Loclaranam, run back to your frail little tree-spirits and think on what you do not know of me.”

 

Silence reigned in the cold night air for a brief minute before power roiled from the hulking shadow in puissant waves, breaking over the skull-topped fence and washing into her with such force that Mother Aldwynter staggered and clutched her crooked staff for support. The ghost-lights of her skulls were snuffed in an instant leaving only thin moonlight to illuminate the King’s Reeve as he stepped out of the shadows.

 

He had grown in stature since she had last seen him, was swollen with power and the raw vitality of the Wild. A towering white stag, hooved and crowned with darkly gleaming antlers, white fur marked with twisting lambent glyphs and spirals that could have been tattooed or carved into his very being, standing upright with the hunched bulk of a bull-Orruk or ogor. Branches of dark wood erupted from his hunched back and shoulders, hung with skulls and marked with more glyphs. An intelligence more than animal, more than human, gleamed behind those dark eyes. Blessed Loclaranam spoke again, that deep huffing beast’s voice emerging from a stag’s mouth that did not move.

 

“I know you. I know the pieces of yourself you seek, the webs you have spun to find them. The Maiden, the Mother.”

 

The skulls over the lintel, topping the fence and her crooked staff seemed to whisper into the rolling power that washed from him, whispers that were only on the edge of hearing, that were little more than the sighs of the wind

 

…Baba Yaga…

 

Mother Aldwynter hunched forward into the waves, could only snarl in reply as the huge white man-stag stepped back into the shadows of the surrounding Darkwood and faded from view.

 

“Be wary, Crone. Your game is known now, and others will seek to play. The Court is not your pawn.”

 

The waves of power ended with a snap, taking with it the tension that had filled the cold night air and leaving her alone in the dark, surrounded by countless whispering skulls.

 

~

 

He is the beast in the forest, and the man in the beast.

 

The wrath of the wild and the peace of nature.

 

The hunter circling round the ironwood, the antlers of the wild stag,

 

And the lifeblood that spills upon the ground each season.

 

Blessed Loclaranam, herald of Darkwood.

 

~

[terrainguy]

OMDeerGod!

That is a wonderful conversion.

[Painbringer]

This is a fantastic thread! Concept is great and you have really put a lot of effort into this. Keep up the good work!

[Kirjava13]

I adore everything about the Reeve. Amazing!

[KnaveOfScribes]

Afternoon folks

Lavieth - sorry for the delayed reply man, and thanks very much for your compliments, hearing things like that really make my day. The metal on the Gorton players was done like this, using Vallejo paints:

Basecoat of Old Bronze, glaze with vey thin Bronze Green, stipple highlight with Old Bronze again and then an edge stipple with Chainmail. Glaze with very thin Black Glaze, then a second very very thin glaze of Bronze Green in the recesses.

Kirjava13 - ha, puns! You got 'em. Glad to hear you like the Reeve as well.

Terrainguy - love a good pun buddy  And thanks, I'm really happy with how the conversion turned out. Wasn't 100% sure it was going to work at first but yeah think I nailed it.

Painbringer - Ah thanks very much man, much appreciated. Plenty more to come.

Yep, I'm pretty damn happy with how the construction of Blessed Loclaranam went (I will get out of the habit of calling him Man-Stag...) and hopefully the painting will go just as well. Already made a start on him, or at least the fur, as seen here:

The fur is only about half done here, it needs bringing back up to white and the recesses lightening a bit before a few more grey glazes, but I'm already loving the look of him. By the time the branches, antlers and bark-belt are done, visually he's going to be a nice reversal of the colour scheme established so far - white with dark accents as opposed to dark wood with white accents. After him will probably be the Knight-Question, then the Kurnoth and the Palladors.... and then I just need to get 15 more Spites, another 2 woods and the King himself, which should take me to 2k points. Fun times.

Course, I might get distracted by Nighthaunt because dear Gods the Mortarch of Grief is sublime, but there's always Blood Bowl to do and an urge to get back on the Inq28 train (actual 40k doesn't really hold any appeal at the moment, not sure why but just can't maintain any enthusiasm for an army idea) or maybe just taking the Court up to 2500 or 3k... There's always the Maiden and Mother splinters of the Baba Yaga to explore...

Silly hobby magpie.

Knave.