KnaveOfScribes

“A man once told me that nothing ever truly ends, that there is no finality to things and that endings are just new beginnings. He was a drunk Shyishian poet, so make of that what you will.” Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal. “Struggle all you want. Fight all you want. Flee, if that is your wish. It matters not. This bleak realm is mine and mine alone. Broken I may be, but I still bear many names of power and you will all dance to my tune. I am eternal and I am inevitable.” Mother Aldwynter. ~ They gathered in one of the deep places of the great Darkwood, a place thick with dead and dying tangles of great boles and twisted trunks, far from the gaze of their mad King or the foolish Elders. Fae-lights drifted in the cold air, casting a faint luminescence around them. This deep, this close to old death, the already-faint eversong of the Darkwood was the barest whisper in the blood-sap of the gathered treekin. They stood together and yet still apart, a trio and one alone who glittered with malice and laughter, born upon a writhing mass of sinuous vines that replaced her legs. This one’s power had grown quickly, even as her loyalty to an insane liege had waned. Still, the others did not and could not find it in themselves to trust her. Circumstance, and the last desperate hope of another had thrown them together but old wounds would never fully heal. Before them, His every aspect unveiled and his hulking form crowned with antlers and twisting boughs, puissance rolling from him in waves, the Reeve stood and told them His secret knowledge, told them of the deep knowing He had of their foe, and told them of their true enemy. Golden Antlered Harne told them of the All-Crone’s plans, of her search for the missing piece of herself, of the many names she had held over the countless ages of the Realms. He told them of the truth of their mad King, of his exile and the reasons for it, of the folly of those who would call themselves Elders of the Court. The Great Man-Stag spoke of the truth of the Darkwood, of the nature of stories and the need for a place for the nightmares and darkness to live. He told them of the roles that they were all cursed to play, and He watched as three of them wept and one of them howled with laughter. And finally, when the anger and misery and hurt had receded like the tide from the shore, Blessed Loclaranam told them that the Darkwood was eternal, but it was not unchanging. That the song sung by its children could be a lament or a dirge, and that the All-Crone would re-write the song to her own tune. He spoke of how she could be resisted, but not beaten, and that the faintest hope still remained. Then, when the talking was done and the skeletal branches and boughs behind him twisted and folded into an impossible portal of cracking and churning wood, He gathered the four treekin close. He marked them with power and burdened them with heavy purpose, and prepared them for the long journey they must make. ~ “You are blessed, and you are cursed, my brothers and sisters. You are the seasons of the Darkwood, the aspects of all who are still free of taint and remember how things could be. You are the truth in the eversong and the seed of hope.” “Numenorin, I name you Spring, the Guardian of growth. You will bear the life of your brother and sisters in your hands. Guard them well.” “Ilaranim, I name you Summer, the heat and warmth of the Lover. Passion is your burden to bear and your gift to share with the rest. Never allow yourself to stop feeling.” “Nilith, I name you Autumn, Wytch of the cycle of change. Balanced betwixt life and death, between sanity and madness. You are the truest envoy of the Darkwood.” “And you Moralanith, my oldest friend, you I name Winter with a heavy heart. The coldness of the Warrior, the harshness of the truth you bear and the will to survive. You have ever been the strongest and the closest to death of us all.” “This is the purpose I charge you with, though I cannot say how long it will take you, nor what will greet you at journey’s end. I cannot say if the Darkwood as you know it will remain for you to return to, or if you will be able to return at all. Find the Everqueen. Find the Everqueen and deliver to her a simple message. Tell her of the All-Crone. Tell her of the King-In-Horns and his madness.” “And more than anything, tell her we are sorry.” ~ Fin ~

What ho chaps, how are things? Well, its been an interesting old week for us Sylvaneth players, what with some enterprising chap managing to get his hands on a ibook version of the new tome early and spreading its guts all across FB etc. The wails and lamentations of those players to whom Change is a filthy word have been gloriously amusing to behold. From what I've seen of the changes, they are all good - we are no longer a one-trick pony and the reliance on dryad tarpits and obnoxious spamming of wyldwoods is a thing of the past. We have actual viable list alternatives now, and a new wood that isn't a pain to play over. What's not to love about that? Anyway, enough of my views on the entitled state of some WAAC-players online, lets talk about the Court. In all honesty, not a lot is changing. My 3k list is broadly the same after the points changes, with perhaps a couple of Endless Spells added (most likely the Soulsnare Shackles and the Glade Wyrm as I have models I can use for those), and the Man-Stag and Knight of Feathers will be used as Arch-Revenants because that fits their look. I might have to grab a couple of the new woods, but that's about it really. As a narrative project first and foremost, the Darkwood Court was always going to have a set ending, and there are other things I want to move on to. All this really means is that Ylthari's Guardians are still the last thing to be done for the Court, and the painting is progressing somewhat slowly. Some of that is due to really life being busy over the last few weeks, and some due to the models themselves - they are gorgeous, but I seem to be finding them a whole new level of fiddly to paint compared to previous units. Maybe a bit of rust when it comes to painting revenants, maybe just a bit of fatigue on Sylvaneth, who knows. Here's a current WiP pic: The wood, green vines and bases are all done, the spirit parts are about a third complete. After that, there's still the obsidian to do, the little details, and tidying up the wooded parts where needed. And adding snow to the bases. And writing the fluff and epilogue. That's pretty much it from me today - I've got these chaps and an Ixion Hale to paint, a Stormcast Skirmish band to sort out and a Primaris project to plan. And a decision to make between Beasts, Gitz and IronJawz.... All the best, Knave

“There will come a time when you will need to admit defeat. A time when you will need to accept a loss, to walk away, to cut ties. To do otherwise is to trap yourself, to leave yourself shackled and chained to the withering of your hopes and dreams. Swallow your pride, children. Swallow your pride. And. Walk. Away. “ Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal. “What are we, but the forgotten seeds of a last desperate hope?” Moralanith, scion of the Darkwood Court ~ “He told us that we were the best of the Darkwood, that we were clean of the Crone’s taint.” “The Wych.” “The Warrior.” “The Guardian.” “The Lover.” “And then He told us what our task would be. And we wept.” ~

“Leave too many loose ends and they will eventually knot themselves into a noose for your own neck.” Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal. ~ “There’s blood on your lies” “The scars open wide and there is nowhere for you to hide.” “The hunter’s moon is shining.” ~

And Lo, did an update appear from the depths of time. Really sorry about the long silence folks, but its been a quiet couple of weeks really and I've not had too much left to do on the Court in all honesty. With only the wolf left for the actual 3k target, and the new Underworlds warband for narrative purposes, the end is very very close. And of course I'm already jumping ahead and planning my next two projects. Back to current stuff though, and the Child Of The GodBeast is finished. Pics will come soon, but she was vey enjoyable to paint - even with the multiple thin layers of white glazing and feathering to build up texture on the smoother limbs. Was fun to push my conversion and sculpting a bit more as well. Here's a wip shot of the legs, showing how the texture and shading was being built up: This was about halfway through the process, and she ended up looking rather lovely even if I do say so myself. I also managed to snag the Ylthari's Guardians warband, because of course. They are lovely models so I'm not planning to convert them too much but they will be getting a few tweaks to fit them into the Court better. The first step I knew I wanted to take was replacing the horns on Skhathael - from the pics released they had struck me as just a bit oversized and looking a little unfinished compared to the rest of the intricate detail on the models. In the flesh (or wood, or plastic) they weren't as plain as I feared but still a bit big for my tastes. So off they came, and on went these: Still some blending work to do, but already looking more like a warrior of the Court. Again, there'll be minimum tweaks to the other three as they are fantastic models, with some of the best sculpted bases I've seen, but they will be getting that Grimmdark Fairytale touch that is the hallmark of the Darkwood Court. And that'll probably be it for my Sylvaneth. I'll be grabbing the imminent new Battletome of course, and potentially whatever new terrain piece replaces the wyldwood, but I doubt I'll be getting more units or Endless Spells. It's time to dabble in some other bits and pieces. More soon, and thanks for your continued interest. Knave

Honestly, I'd be happy with a simple change to the Wyldwood model, with no or only minor changes to the mechanics. Something like the Gnawholes, but individual big magic trees instead, would be great - you still get all the buffs and movement shenanigans etc, but they're much easier to transport and actually place on the table.

I totally skimmed Ylthari's rules and forgot about them - good call. To be honest, I'd still prefer +1w over potentially fighting first in some circumstances, but that's just me. Kurnoth are definitely looking tastier, which is a good thing - people need to remember that there's more to Sylvaneth than just dropping 90 odd dryads down.

Hear hear. Be good to send the end of Sylvaneth being seen as one-dimensional wood-spammers and that being the only "right" way to play them.

I'm impressed with the direction they seem to be going with the Arch-Revenant - I've been crying out for a low-mid points cost combat hero that's not Durthu for ages, for those of us who don't enjoy going the multiple-tarpit Dryad/Wych/Wood/Ancient route and want be a little more aggressive with the Sylvaneth. Hopefully the basic revenants themselves will get some kind of tweak to make them a decent option, even if its something as simple as 2 wounds. The fact that the Arch-Revenants attacks and rules seem to be a perfect fit for my own Man-Stag conversion is just the cherry on the wooden cake. And regarding Wyldwoods, I wouldn't at all be surprised to see the old model replaced with a single big tree, in the style of the Feculent Gnarlmaw or Herdstone. Easier to transport, easier to physically play around, and of course easier for GW to make money on (which we cant really begrudge them for, as they are at the end of the day, a business.) - and for everyone who already has a bunch of the old woods (which lets face it, aren't great models), just think about the awesome forest themed gaming tables you can do for narrative games (yes they exist still) as well as for interesting and different looking matched play games. Old and replaced doesn't mean obsolete and useless.

Afternoon folks, and time for a quick update while I feverishly try and resist the urge to spoil Avengers Endgame for myself before seeing it tomorrow. @Ravinsild - Ah that's great to hear that you're all inspired and enthused to try your own narrative take on the Deepkin man, it always means a lot to know my stuff has given someone the same fever. Cant wait to se what you come up with. In terms of the glowing skulls, its really simple - I painted the entire sockets completely white, and a small rim around the sockets white as well, then washed it with a couple of thin coats of blue ink. Once that was dry, I went back with a very thin glaze of white over the blue to wash it out a bit. Hope that helps. So, there's been a small amount of progress on the wolf, basically just getting the undercoats, zenithal highlight and basic shading in place, as seen here: Still a lot to do obviously, building the colour up to a very very light grey and then glazing etc. But I'm looking forward to painting her. I'm also looking forward to getting hold of Ylthari's Guardians soon as well, as they will be the final piece for this project. There's a couple of tweaks I'd like to make, but finding the right pieces is proving difficult. More to come soon, Knave

“Pity the children, for they live with our legacies. Pity them, for the weight they must bear.” Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal. “It is no small thing, to truly kill something. Ending a life is easy, but to truly kill something, you must go further. Kill its memory, kill its inheritance. Find every root and branch of its family and burn them. Salt the very earth that it walked upon. Only when you have left no trace that it ever existed, have you truly killed something.” Attributed to Kwan-Xi, warrior philosopher of the Jade City of Shyish. ~ The ruins lay tumbled throughout the skeletal dead trees like a giants toys, thrown aside and discarded by their owner. Weathered granite and dusty marble, choked with twisted ivy and broken roots, statues whose features were lost to the uncaring passage of time; they all lay abandoned in this forgotten corner of the Darkwood. Ilaranim repressed a shiver – even for the cold and eternally dying forest of the Darkwood, this pace was devoid of the song, the pulse of life that all treekin felt. It was a cold, dead space, a void that lay empty of everything. Everything, except that which the King’s Reeve, Blessed Loclaranam, had brought her here to see. He stood with her now, in the shadows of twisted boughs and gently falling drifts of snow, his huge bulk smoking with puissance and the musk of animals. His presence made her sap run hotter, a heat that bloomed throughout with the whispered promise of so much, if only she would join her song to the Hunt and run. “I do not understand, Great One. What gifts can be found here?” “Patience little sister. Our guest is… shy.” “Guest? I see no one, feel nothing –“ Ilaranim froze as a deep rumbling growl spread through the frozen air. It was a predators warning, and more than that, more than a simple beasts call. It filled the ruins like thunder, was something you felt in your soul as much as heard with your ears. It was the promise of fear, of hot breath on the back of your neck, and sharp teeth in your flesh. “I will tell you of the Jheck, little sister, and of their godling. I will tell you of the great she-wolf they worshipped, and of how she and all her pups were hunted and killed by the hands of the Crone.” Amongst the ruins, Ilaranim caught a flash of silvery-white fur. It moved like smoke, difficult to follow and impossible to grasp. “I will tell you of the single pup, the runt of the she-wolf godlings litter, that they wounded and thought dead, and of the mistake that the Huntsman of the Crone has made.” And in the cold, moonlit air, it stepped into view. A great white wolf, impossibly large, its lupine form wavering like fog in the frozen night. It stood, painfully lean, agony carved into the snarl that twisted its lips around its maw. Crimson blood fell from a gaping wound where one eye used to sit, the other gold-rimmed eye burning with a pain and anger that was more than animal in nature. The primal, divine growl filled the cold air still, an almost physical force that Ilaranim could feel pressing against her. “This is our gift. The Child of the God-beast, wounded and raging, and but a fraction of the power of its dead kin. But more than enough. More than enough to tear the rotted heartwood from this Grove.” ~ “Bright is the moon, high in starlight. Chill is the air, cold as steel tonight.” “We shift, call of the wild. Fear in your eyes, it's later than you realized.” “So seek the wolf and not the man.” ~

“Every gift becomes a two-edged sword. Even those given freely will create a debt that needs to be repaid.” Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal. ~ “A man, ragged in every way.” “Arms, armour, raiment and form; broken all.” “A tattered wing, a shattered mind.” “Madness surrounds him as thickly as his flocks of feathered brothers.” “This broken thing, this Knight of Feathers. Our surest ally.” ~

Thanks gents, much appreciated. @Fairbanks - I haven't done any updated group shots for a while, other than a few pre-game army shots on my Instagram. Once the last two characters are done, I'm planning to get a whole bunch of army and group pics done. In terms of custom rules, not really. Everything has been designed to be easily recognisable as something in the actual Sylvaneth Battletome with the exception of the Man-Stag really. I did play around with creating a custom warscroll for him, but for regular Matched Play games, he's usually run as a Lord-Castellant ally.

“No man ever truly knows another. Lies fall easier from the tongue than truths, and a man’s thoughts are his own secrets. A common goal, a common interest. A common enemy. This is most you can hope for from other people in your life.” Follies; Everard Hemp of Hammerhal. “Cruelty breeds consequences. The good will kill you quick, and kill you clean. The cruel will torture and maim, and leave loose ends behind them as they do so. Crippled and forgotten you may be, but dead you are not. And the dead cannot have their revenge.” Attributed to Kwan-Xi, warrior philosopher of the Jade City of Shyish. ~ The Grey Marches was a place where the lost and forgotten came to rest as they were cast aside by the twists and vagaries of their lives. No one would truly chose to live here, only those who clung to the tattered echoes and shreds of whoever they used to be. No, only the lost and forgotten found themselves here. And the mad, mused Moralanith as he regarded the ragged and skeletal figure perched atop the ruins that tumbled across the barren plateau like a giant’s discarded toys. The mad could be found here too. The wind whispered around them, probing with chill fingers and tugging at what may have been rags or ragged feathers that wrapped around Moralanith’s solitary audience. He sighed, called up to the seemingly-uncaring figure above once again. “This isn’t Court business. I’m not here on behalf of my King. You know who sent me.” The emaciated figure cocked its hooded head, a gesture oddly bird-like in movement, and something like a harsh laugh coughed out into the wind. “He said you would stand with us. That you had your reasons to stand with us.” That harsh, cawing laugh again. Like a raven had found madness and a sense of humour all at once. Suddenly uneasy, Moralanith looked around. Birds had begun to appear all around, perched on shelves of rock and spurs of broken pillars, on rubble and tumbled masonry. Corvids mainly; crows, ravens, smaller jackdaws and rooks, white-splashed magpyrs, like scraps of shadow someone had carelessly tossed around. But bigger raptors stood among them, golden eyes gleaming; shrikes, nightwings, even a sole vulcatrix, at once regal and sinister. They were silent, eerily so, their countless shining eyes fixed on Moralanith. The thin figure moved finally, leaving its perch and descending in a series of hopping jumps that looked as much uncontrolled as they did elegant. It landed in a cloud of dry dust from the plateau on bent, backward-jointed and skeletally thin legs that ended in a raptors talons. Scraps of weather-beaten, faded cloth fell away from cracked and stained armour, huge grey-black feathers tumbling around it. That hooded head twitched again, a hint of a thin slash of a mouth showing in the shadows. “Man-Stag said did he? Reasons have I? Ha!” the voice was harsh, cracked and broken with disuse and madness. The figure twitched again, and from over its shoulder rose a single great wing, dark-feathered and ragged. In thin arms it cradled a notched and battered greatsword, as a mother would a child. “Everqueen’s tears,” breathed Moralanith. “It’s true. What they say she did to you. It’s…” “Ha! What she took, yes. What she gave, yes.” The ill-fated Knight of Feathers took a jerking step forward, the way a bird would walk. “Tell your Man-Stag, tell him. I’ll stand.” He began to laugh his cracked, cawing, harsh saw of a laugh, and every one of his silent avian audience suddenly burst into flight like a feathered explosion, blooming into the sky like ink dropped into water. Amidst the thunder of countless wings beating, and the raucous cawing and screeching of the birds that seemed to echo the Knight of Feathers own maddening laughter, Moralanith could hear him still, screaming to the feathered sky. “I’ll stand! I’ll die, but I’ll stand! Ha!” ~ A knight once held a blade to the Baba Yaga and demanded the Knowing of birds. She gave him the Knowing, and the form and the feathers too. And a single wing, so that he would ever have the Knowing, but never the life of the birds. ~

Hey folks, hope you're all dandy. Proper update to come, but a few replies first. @Ove - I have to admit, I have no idea what "Sundsvall brann ner" means (a swift Google says it means 'Sundsvall burned down'?), but thank you @Arnied3 - All good things come to an end at some point mate. And I'd rather go out at a good high rather than carry on reusing ideas and units, if that makes sense. There's still a good couple of fun things to come before the end though. @Rungi - Ah thanks very much man, that's really kind of you to say. It's great to hear that you've gotten a load of inspiration, that's the best thing to hear as a hobbyist. In regards to creating your own narrative, all I can say is go for it, and don't be afraid to kill your darlings. @TheR00zle - Cheers buddy, much appreciated. And great to hear you're working on something new - any questions or advice you're after in terms of conversion stuff, feel free to give me a shout. Proper update to come in a short while, one of the last few characters for the Court.

Hello everyone, and apologies from myself for the lack of updates and replies over the last few weeks - it's been a busy old couple of weeks and with the Court nearing completion, some smaller tests for potential new projects have taken up some time. @Captain James Hook - ha, I'm glad I changed the head too, even if snipping off the fully painted and varnished original was nerve-wracking. And thank you man, I'm ridiculously happy with him too. @kenshin620 - Thank you man @BangDoll - Cheers dude. I can see where you get that Del Toro feel - a lot of the inspiration for the Court came from Mignola's near-perfect Hellboy comics, which Del Toro of course did a couple of films with. It's all linked. @elfhead - Ha, I never even thought about that until you mentioned it - it's been so long since I saw those episodes. You're right though, there's a definite vibe, must have been in the back of my head all the time. And thanks for the kind words - I'm so happy with how he turned out, and he's up there with the Man-Stag and Mother Aldwynter in terms of being my favourites and hitting exactly what I wanted this project to be about. In terms of updates then, there's not a huge amount to show - with the King-In-Horns done, there's only two more units left to complete to get the Court to the 3k target. I will be grabbing the Nightvault warband when its finally released, but that'll be more of a narrative addition rather than a gaming addition. Those last two units then, are a final Branchwych, and a counts-as Spirit Of Durthu. Of course, not being one to keep things simple, I'm not just going to be using the standard models. Oh no sir. So, here's the start of the final Branchwych; possibly the Knight of Feathers, possibly Brother-to-Ravens, possibly something else entirely... It's something I've wanted to do for a while and by the time he's finished will add a nice extra Blanchitsu touch to the Court, while still fitting the overall Grimdark Fairy-tale vibe of the project. I have a head in mind already, and then its just a case of adding some more details and some cracking to his ancient and battered armour and sword. And in regards to the Spirit Of Durthu, we have this: Yes, it's a big wolf. Yes, it's a big wolf based on the easy-to-build Dracoline. Yes, I did have a certain Dark Souls boss in mind and yes I did scale down from my original plan to base the conversion on a Terrorgheist, because I'm not entirely crazy and I know my limits. The stage shown above is after the initial removal of all the saddle and tack, and the majority of the Dracoline features, with the missing bulk and musculature added back in with greenstuff. I have made a start on sculpting the fur back on, with the one side completed so far looking like this: Really happy with the progress so far - I still need to do the fur on the other side of the model, and then go back and carve in a lot of wounds once it's all cured. I know gaming-wise it wont be the same size as an actual Durthu, but hey ho - I'm unlikely to be playing anyone who actually has a problem with that. That's all for now, but I will try and update more frequently over the next few weeks as things come to a close. And of course, I'll be kicking off a couple of smaller AoS and 40k projects soon, with Stormcast and Primaris in mind (I know, super original, right?). And if you fancy seeing more random pics and some shots of a game I had recently against a Daughters of Khaine army, please come find me on Instagram: Knave_Of_Scribes. Cheers again folks, Knave

“A lord becomes a beggar. A god becomes a fairytale. A name once whispered in awe now lies forgotten by all. Tell me, o King, what is left for you?” Mother Aldwynter ~ ~ The King sits upon his shattered throne and broods, and curses, and weeps. By turn’s melancholic, choleric, febrile, and caustic in his bitterness, he has not known peace for longer than he remembers. Indeed, memory itself is a fickle ally for this King. He remembers little of what came before, and what he does remember is fragmented and contradictory. It is this more than anything that pains him. Were he to forget everything, to know only his current station, would his madness pass? Would he be one again with the Eversong, instead of a dissonant and faint note? Would his rage still burn cold and fierce? But in knowing these fragments, in knowing that some are true, that some are false and that none can be trusted – it is this uncertainty that fuels his bitterness and rage and misery. It is one thing to remember glories past, and mourn their passing. It is quite another to not even know if the glories that you remember are even yours, or if they are simply things that you have stolen to give yourself some borrowed shine. If you cannot tell whether you are a great man fallen low, or a thief clutching at stolen treasures and living a lie, how then can you know peace? The King remembers a spear, and horns, and a great forest that outlived the world entire. He bears horns still, in spirit and in heavy obsidian that bursts from his aging bark. The spear has become a scythe, the eternal forest a cold and barren prison at the edges of dreams. Was he ever truly a King? Was his Queen ever so wrathful and beautiful and real? Or is he simply a broken and shattered thing, cast aside and forgotten, clutching to echoes of past glory that are not even his? Uncertainty. Rage. Malice. Madness. Misery. A crown that he may have stolen, or may have saved. A throne he may not have earned or that may be the only thing keeping his grove alive. A life that he at once abhors and hates, but clings to with such ferocity and pride. He will never set down his crown, but will rail and spit against it for all his life. Like the Darkwood itself, the King-In-Horns endures. ~ “A broken throne for a broken King.” “Regal and ragged both, dying and blossoming at once.” “Dreaded and lauded, forgotten and exiled to the cold ends of the worlds.” “Our King. Our curse. Our hope.” ~