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Valley of Fallen Gods


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Isobiel quietly brought the latch of the wooden door down onto her finger. It caught without a sound and the house yet slept. She wiped the rendered flesh fat used to grease the mechanism before she'd left on her threadbare tunic. Breathing a sigh of relief she clasped her hands over her thundering heart. Her face was ruddy with joy from the night's rendezvous with a secret flame. The evening dark had hidden them away in its warm blanket and she returned undetected. All was well. All was great and she'd come to learn of love for the first time.

"Remember me well a time when I was just like ye."
Isobiel, startled spun around.
"Granmer, you mustn't tell about catching me!"
Her Grandmother continued as if uninterrupted - 
"...fluttering about like a moth to a tall handsome flame. Lifting me skirt to any rumoured Bullgor in the bunch, though most of the time it'd be bluster. Ah, what a disappointment."
The charred husk of a woman trailed off.
"Granmer, please tell me you won't." Isobiel implored again.
"Godsflame, girl!" The grandmother spat through gums barren of teeth.
"Me tattling on ye is the least of ye worries. Since the fall of the Agloraxi and Prismatikon is safe fer nought to be out past fire's set. Times ain't like before. There is talk around the market of girls gone missing. A hot wind rises and the Passionate God takes blood when he chooses."
"Is that what they speak of Mungoreth's fate?" asked Isobiel.
"In the throws of lust she was out, like you, on a night's tryst when snatched up by the Red One and desiccated."
"But, I heard she run oft with her love." 
"My girl, the Passionate God, the Red One, sacker of the Agloraxi is the only one whispering sweet nothings in her ear now."



Hello and thank you for looking! Inspired by many others on this forum I wanted to share a narrative story line and the models of key players in those events. I wanted to learn more about the fascinating Realm of Aqshy and the Flamescar Plateau map, but found there was a lot to be fleshed out. This plog is my attempt at doing just that. The names of the regions and the mysterious Agloraxi Empire completely drew me in. So, I picked one of the regions and ill be making a go at bringing it, it's environs, and denizens to life.



The Decimator


The Motivator


Overseer with an unfortunate soul


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6 hours ago, MachinaMandala said:

Absolutely fantastic. How long did the Overlord take you to do?

And where's the spider base for the Warqueen conversion from?

Thank you very much! The Overseer was really just taking a pair of clippers to Korghos Khul, then a hand swap from a Necromunda Goliath and green stuff to fill major gaps. A few hours I'd say.

The spider base is from LoTR Shelob.

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  • 2 weeks later...


A Joining, of Sorts

Blistering winds swirled behind him as the familiar smell of charred flesh eddied about his nose telling him they were dead. He lay on his forearms facing down toward the sand tonguing where his lips and cheek had been separated. As he watched the way his blood and saliva gathered up the sand particles a large man ran up to him and gingerly placed his hands on the prone man’s back.

                ‘Gelthasar, are you well?’

                ‘Well enough, Potter.’ He said rolling over to a seated position.

The Potter sat down beside Gelthasar and removed the terra cotta helm from his head, swiping coarse black hair from a wide dusty brow.

                ‘How did it hold up?’ Gelthasar asked, pointing to the helmet.

                Turning it over in his hands The Potter nodded approvingly, ‘I know it took a few knocks. Not so bad.’ He decided. ‘I see you took a knock.’ wincing towards Gelthasar’s smashed lip.

                ‘Eh,’ Gelthasar grunted, looking over the club still clutched in the hand of the blackened remains of a warrior. The warrior’s red armor indicated him as one of the areas many followers of the Blood God. Four other bodies similarly kitted lay nearby.  Their bodies bore the same seared flesh revealing bright red muscle beneath. A wooden caravan, target to the raiding band of warriors, sat crooked from one broken wheel with a corner of soffit and gable still aflame. Townspeople and travelers lay dead around the scene. With a great clattering like dice spilled from a cup in a game of chance came a Duardin tumbling from the caravan door, down the steps, and into a heap before the Potter and Bright Wizard. He patted out a fire on his sleeve and shook his hand as the embers singed his beard.

                ‘Did I hear someone was in need of a mend?’ asked the Duardin pulling out a vial of red liquid from one of the many pockets on his vest.

                ‘How do you know we won’t gut you?’ asked The Potter.

                ‘Look, Human,’ said the Duardin ‘the way your friend took out those Bloodreavers leads me to believe he has been aggrieved by them. And from the look of your armor…well it looks like the only thing you’d tackle is a garden daisy. You’re certainly no warrior.’

                ‘I’d like to be one!’ said The Potter. ‘I made this armor myself - in my shop. I’m the town Potter, well I was, now I’m an adventurer with Gelthasar here and we’re going to find his daughter!’

                ‘So, you’re a knight forged from the kiln? Can’t say that I’ve seen that before. Even the Duardin of Grungi‘s skin runes offer more protection. Clay has no use for my kin. Too breakable a material, really. My name’s Marvli, the Potion Seller. And those Khornites have run off with a full Azyr’s Gleaming of my earnings.’

                Looking over the scene Marvli intoned, ‘Say, don’t you rough up and score pieces of clay before joining them? I’d guess the three of us are roughed up enough to stick together. What do you say?’

The two Humans looked at each other. The Potter with a mirthless laugh said, ‘I guess we are.’


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  • 2 weeks later...
  • 2 months later...




The duardin and two humans walked out into a landscape arid and dry. Heat waves rippled and glinted off baked earth like ribbons of river stretched across a dusty hue. Slick wet faces blinked sweat from eyelashes. Marvli wiped his face with a scrap of Hammerhalian silk. The Kiln Knight removed his helm. A thick smog hung over the land like a noose strangling the light into a garish white that reduced vision to a squint. But as hard as the elements made this passage the target they pursue makes it easy. Khornite warriors were never ones for subtlety and heavy tracks made by the warriors and their captives in the parched clay left a clear trail.

A night and a day and another night the rag tag group of three made chase. They had been following the Khorne warriors who had ambushed Marvli’s caravan leaving the Direbrand Tribe’s village to sell wares in larger cities of Aqshy.  Marvli had hidden away as Gelthasar and the Kiln Knight chanced upon the broken scene that cobbled them together like an old shoe made of disparate parts. As night drew up around them they settled in for an anxious rest.

    ‘We’ve never got to worry about lighting a fire with the likes of you about.’ The Kiln Knight said to Gelthasar as the Bright Wizard breathed life into a flame as easy as a morning greeting. Immediately the fire was cheery and lit their faces as they ate the leftovers scavenged from the ambushed caravan. They spoke the way people do when forced together in adverse moments. Gelthasar picked up a red apple and absent mindedly brushed its waxy skin on his rose madder dyed waistcloth. His mind began to wander. He thought back to a time many years ago, before his beloved daughter Mungoreth had gone missing, before this quest to find the truth about her.

    ‘Daddy, look! That man who sells the sweet apples.’ Mungoreth pointed at a market vendor in a black high necked top and spectacles. She picked one out after touching what seemed like them all. 
    ‘Daddy? Can I eat it when we get back to the dormitory?’
    ‘Yes, Once we get back to the Bright Order you can have it.’ Gelt said as he paid the vendor for the fruit. 

Since Mungoreth’s mother’s death during childbirth the pair had lived in the dorms of a Bright Order outpost in the Direbrand Village. Leaders of the school took pity on their former student and allowed him to teach in exchange for lodging. Foul portents had brought dread to the beleaguered villagers who got on with life in a determined routine.

The village had lost every young girl coming of age. Families with young daughters had left, moved away from the terror that was taking them. Gelthasar thought Mungoreth would be different thought that he could protect her in the high walls of the towers surrounded by wizards like him. He had watched more Burning of Embers ceremonies to mark the dead than he cared to remember. Knowing that they were just going through the motions with no actual corpse present to offer the Winds made the hurt worse. Empty rooms with corn husk dolls and combs and gowns made of linen were all that remained.  

Geltasar remembered Mungoreth’s room. He knew what she would do with the apples she got at market. He had chanced upon a little arrangement on the windowsill one morning. He saw a spider’s web glint in the Voidsday morning sun and went to remove it, but as he did something else caught his eye. Small bits of apple had been cut up and left out in a pile, a pyramid that led up to the web. Beneath the web the windowsill was littered with the remains of ants. The apples had seemingly been placed to bait the ants to their death.  A spider, fat as his thumb, rested in the center of the web.

    “Hey, Wizard,” said Marvli snapping his fingers and pulling Gelthasar back from daydreams. “Where’d you go?”
    “I was just thinking about my daughter gone missing” said Gelthasar.
    Marvli made a thoughtful grunting sound. “Aye, everyone has heard:"

"A child is boren amonges Direbrand
Her life is taken by unseen hands,"
the Dawi recited.

She had indeed been taken by unseen hands. Gelthasar had his hands on her little shoulders, asking about her arachnid pet. 

    “Father,” she had told him, “he can speak to me!” A predilection to the Amber Order, besides her unkempt appearance which people around town attributed to her being raised solely by a man who did in his time try in vain to tame her wild hair and no matter how well coiffed she’d always return looking like she’d run through a hedge. He could still see the glint of wonderment in her eyes after revealing to him this power.

Instantly Gelthasar was brought back to the present as a glint of something off in the dark caught his eye from the fire light. He teleported a flame from the camp fire to where the glint was coming from and illuminated the entire area with it. Five hulking masses of muscle and hatred ran at full tilt toward the camp. Five Khornite warriors with murder on their frenzied minds.



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  • 7 months later...



Molten innards erupted past incinerated skin stretched and crispy with a withering heat. Three of the Khornite warriors charred black and engulfed in flame face planted into parched earth. Red meat glistened under their taunt burning remains. Gelthasar raised his hands above his head as if lifting a column from deep within the ground. His eyes bulged and every fiber of muscle labored to get his arms skyward coaxing the great column up. As he did one of the two remaining assailants shot into the night sky as heat ripples made the stars dance in his wake. The flying Khorne barbarian reached his zenith and fell earthward as the column of super-heated air dispersed. A thud and a bounce and he was dead. The final enflamed warrior continued his run directly towards Marvli.

Gelthasar whispered into his palm and in a pushing motion swept his hand forward fingers wide across the on-rushing assailant. Wispy cords of flame lashed out and cut the worshipper of Khorne into five parts that flung themselves toward where Marvli was standing. Marvli’s mouth hung agape and he clutched at the vials of tonic and potion as they clinked in his jittery grasp. He took a few steps back from the top of the head that rested in the sand and sat down hard as his legs gave out. Panting, Marvli looked at the remains of the warrior focusing on the thick black hair in a topknot with golden clasps holding it in place.  Marvli looked at Gelthasar wide eyed and only managed to utter,

‘I…’ and then,


The Potter began packing the camp away. Gelthasar, sweat slick from the effort of conjuring, joined him as Marvli took a few more moments to collect himself after the brutal display of the Bright Order’s power in the realm of Aqshy. They gathered their meager belongings and made a path out of the barren valley towards the Sporehollows Mountains the same direction the Khorne warriors came from.


Dawn lit a Khorne encampment and the band of three approached it with caution. They could make out large cages on wheels and beasts of burden around blood stained stones and a smoldering fire pit.

‘I imagine those that attacked us last night left guards here to watch those slaves,’ Intoned Marvli as he pulled the stoppers from his potions in the case of an attack.

The other two nodded in agreement and crept into the bivouac. As they did the wretched folk chained in the wheeled cages began to take notice.

‘Save us!’ they rasped. ‘Break our chains before the brutes return!’

Many of the captives took off as soon as their shackles loosened, headed back to civilization. A few of the stronger folk stayed and began to tell Marvli, the Potter, and Gelthasar of what they had seen. Taken from villages all over the Flamescar Plateau into slavery by barbarians they were to be given to a growing warband called the Goretide. Passed between the captives on hushed breath names like “The Overseer”, “Decimator”, and “The Motivator” were coming to collect them and take them to the Goretide to work in forges and build their arsenal.

‘Have you seen a girl with unkempt black plaits who can speak with arachnids?’ asked Gelthasar.

‘No.’ came the reply from most as one of the freed women looked off to the mountains with furrowed brow. The question brought with it a gloom over the scene as they all remembered the stories of young girls gone missing across the valley.

Among the spoils of the camp were Marvli’s old Cold One which had been taken off him in the ambush that brought the band together, a lava flea mount, aether-gold, weapons, and much needed food and water. The three adventurers portioned out the provisions with the newly released folk and they gathered up to head separate ways.  Again they asked the band to join them on the journey back to civilization and were again refused. As they were parting one of the women took Gelthasar by the arm and thrust a scrap of cloth into his hand.

‘I followed my daughter to ruin. Saw one husk of a man lure her out of the village and I followed them into the wastes toward Sporehollows. She went in a trance to him and he embraced her and took her off into the night. I became lost so far from the village, but found this where he took her.’

Gelthasar looked down into his open hand at the crumpled thread bare square. Unmistakable beneath the grime and dirt was the dull magenta red of the madder root. The same Rose madder color as his Bright Order robes. He looked the woman in her anguished face. Her features seemed to be carved from wood.

‘By the God-King, I will find what has happened to our daughters. I will find where they have been taken and like Sigendil shine light on this curse.’ he told her.

The woman, broken by life in Aqshy, made little more than a narrowing of her eyes and hurried off to join the others on their trek south into the valley toward the villages. The Potter and Marvli gathered the mounts and the trio made ready to take their leave of the camp. Dark red clouds began to gather in a yellow sky as a passionate wind brought dusty sand about their noses and eyes.  The three watched as purple clouds chased away the red in the scintillating light.

Cupping his hand to his ear the Potter cried out, ‘Can you hear a banging?’ He clambered up the Lava Flea mount and scanned the horizon.  ‘More raiders! We must leave this place,’ he called down to them pointing toward a larger Khorne war band.

‘Why don’t we fight?’ asked Marvli, pointing enthusiastically toward Gelthasar. ‘If we fall,’ said Gelthasar ‘it might be better to draw them away from the villagers first.’ Marvli nodded.

Gelthasar joined the Potter on the flea and Marvli took to his Cold One and they made haste, headlong into the approaching night toward mountains growing ever larger.


‘We should move up to that escarpment. The footing looks rocky and would hide our tracks. Hopefully we’ve given the raiders enough to follow us instead of the townsfolk,’ opined the Potter. They urged their mounts up to the higher ground and carried on before first gleaming.

Violaceous morning found them weary and the band laid their tired bodies down in a rock fissure where they would not be discovered. The trio fed and watered themselves and the mounts. All were exhausted from the hard ride; all were covered in dust from the desolate piedmont. It was not long before they nodded off in the quiet of the protective alcove.

Marvli awoke to a soft hissing noise in his mind. He tried to move his shoulder to roll over, but found he was pinned. The heel of a blade pushed under his jaw and his eyes saw the glint of a great scythe point in his peripheral view.

‘What is this?’ Marvli breathed through clenched teeth.

‘Never question,’ snarled a voice both very near and very far at the same time.





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Ever so slowly getting back on track with these. Here I am giving away some of the story not yet presented. Below is the Stiltwalker, a lesser demon of Slaanesh who is looking to influence a certain trio into settling an old slight that dates back eons. Demons seem to have long memories. Keep watch here for more on this aether-gold addicted solider in the Prince of Pleasure's army and find out what she wants with Gelthasar and the boys. I'm sure there will be pain involved!


                                                                                                 The Stiltwalker, lesser demon of Slaanesh.


                                                                                                 The Stiltwalker, lesser demon of Slaanesh.

Presented in their full glory (albiet tabletop quality paint jobs, sheesh having a kid and getting him upright and walking and not in every drawer, shelf, and bookcase is quite the challenge, as I am getting my paintbrushes back to ABOVE tabletop quality. I hope. We will see. Ugh.) is the Overseer himself and his merry band of Khornite muscle. These guys have been oppressing denizens of Aqshy  from the Wretch Sea to the Searing Sea and everywhere in between. Stay tuned to this spot true believers to find out if Gelthasar, Marvli, and the Potter will outrun them and find the missing Mungoreth. Bye for now.


                                                                                                                    The Overseer's retinue


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