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The Brotherhood of Necros

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61 Celestant-Prime

About The Brotherhood of Necros

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    Judicator
  • Birthday 01/08/1989

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  1. What a great message to wake up to, cheers @Kronos. For what it's worth, I'm really enjoying this project. Like many, I just wish I could spend longer on it! Thanks for stopping by and commenting.
  2. “Necromancy, a written art, its secrets consecrated in blood, His Word made flesh. For the longest time, that was all I saw; runes and languages that sought to confound me even as I learned them. Never did I stop to study that on which they were written. "Their medium: human skin, gut for binding, and flesh of a different kind, sprouted from the fecund earth, grown into great forests before being hewn and pulped. That flesh is silent now, but in fair Ghyran, it still sings, the very wind whispering with untold secrets, a shiver down my spine. So I walk that land now, and beneath those trees I read again, my fingers teasing stories from the throats of sylphs, my tongue the sorrow that defines their tales. "What more could the undying ask for than that: Nature, a book that never ends! Such a shame that they won’t stop screaming. How is one supposed to read, surrounded by such a racket?” — Abel, Dark Awakenings Related read: Flash Fiction: A Choir of Screams Flash Fiction: One More Step video-ad666f8faec9489095adf7da21d970dc.MP4
  3. Giving me real Eidolon of Mathlann vibes too, which is no bad thing in my book 😍
  4. From the recesses of the laboratory, the scratch of nib-points on dry parchment and a deepening chill, ripe with the scent of freshly turned soil... Here we have this week's #WIPWednesday: Caspar's Coven — and some progress on my two Necrarch-themed Coven Throne vamps.
  5. For this instalment of WIP Wednesday, meet Caspar, often known as Lickspittle, a priest of Necros, most subservient and loyal to The Ancient One. Caspar spends much of his time keeping watch while his father sleeps and waiting on him when he wakes. Of all The Ancient One's get, his obedience is willing. He is particularly jealous of Eli and the good favour the Blissful One receives. He calls The Ancient One ‘Master’. This is his small coven — on the tabletop, counts-as Vargheists. Caspar is based on a classic (2006?) Necrarch sculpt. A Tomb Kings banner top represents his collar/headpiece. His left arm is from the Crypt Ghouls kit, his right the bone-quill from a Nurgle Tallyman. Between these tweaks and the joyous expression you can see across his Abhorrent Ghoul King head, you can hopefully see just how much he is enjoying his work... Instagram: @brotherhoodofnecros More about me: Joining the ranks
  6. Cheers, Fulcanelli! Here's the first vampire 'handmaiden' from my counts-as Coven Throne. If you're interested, you can read a bit more about him and the converted Throne here.
  7. "Tell me a story, Abel." One sandalled foot on the marble steps, my brother stops. "A story, Teacher?" "That is what I said." He tugs at the sleeves of his robes, eyes unblinking, and I almost imagine I can see them playing out behind those glassy orbs: a hundred tales, a thousand sagas retold in the recesses of his mind. They say the dead don’t dream, but I have tasted Abel and know better, know that in the dusty aisles of his compliant head, an imagination like no other gluts itself on a centuries-long banquet of literature and lore. Grimoires. Codices. Maps, books of maths and legislature, litanies and more fill his brain. Another once described his sort as books of blood. If so, I am his sole translator. Dark Awakening, Ch. 2 For month one of Tales of Instahammer, we've been asked to complete a regiment and a character. To kick off my collection, I've chosen to tackle a unit of Fell Bats and my counts-as Coven Throne. It's the latter I'd like to shine the spotlight on today, specifically one of the vampire 'handmaidens' mounted on it. Befitting my Necrarch theme, I've imagined the Coven Throne as a kind of chariot/platform from where Abel and his get recite their litanies. A priest of Necros, Abel the Unwritten spends much of his time in the library. A shadow of their progenitor, his get are similarly obsessed with literature. As a coven, they are never far from one of their books. To represent this on the Throne, this acolyte will be reading studiously from a necromantic tome, muttering the word-perfect incantation that you can see manifesting from his outstretched hand. I'll share another update once I've made more progress. For now, I've a book of my own to finish reading... Related read: Sunday Spotlight: The Acolytes Five Flash Fiction: A Copse of Books
  8. "Her song holds no sway in these old trees. They stir with a different sound. Stop running, child, and you may just hear it: the wind in the boughs, like the billowing of vast wings; its keening shriek, like that of a beast in pain. You may yet hear it, if you just stop running. You may yet sing with them. "Yes, little princeling. Catch your breath and raise your voice and sing with the children of the night, even as they catch you. A choir of screams, in harmony!" Related read: Flash Fiction: One More Step Werble-094F7D401.MP4
  9. A few more tweaks to make but pretty much calling these guys done! My Blood-Fat Bats, hurling themselves on ragged mainsails through amethystine skies.
  10. “Akhmen-hotep, Beloved of the Gods, Priest King of Ka-Sabar and Lord of the Brittle Peaks, woke among his concubines in the hours before dawn and listened to the faint sounds of the great army that surrounded him.” For this week's Am Reading, we take a look at the Warhammer Chronicles trilogy The Rise of Nagash, by Mike Lee. I picked up this collection last year as preparatory reading for my new death-themed army. The background and lore is a huge part of the hobby for me — so much so that I often write entire novels to bring my collections to life — and a series digging into the Great Necromancer and the history of necromancy itself was a no-brainer. It should be said that I also have a long-lived interest in ancient Egypt and the Old World's geographic equivalent, Nehekhara, so the series had a lot going for it before I'd even turned the first page. What did I think? As deep dives into ancient Nehekharan culture, warfare, and religion go, the three novels in this series smash it. From the first few pages, I found myself drawn in by the setting and the details that bring it to life. The Nehekharans genuinely belief their gods fight with them on the battlefield, if only they uphold their covenant and make the ritual sacrifices necessary to invoke them: "Akhmen-hotep and the nobles of the great army gathered by the waters of the oasis, glittering in their martial finery, and offered up sacrifices to the gods. Rare incense was burned to win the favour of Phakth, the god of the sky and bringer of swift justice. Nobles cut their arms and bled upon the sands to placate great Khsar, god of the desert, and beg him to scourge the army of Khemri with his merciless touch. Young bullocks were brought stumbling up to Geheb's stone altar, and their lifeblood was poured out into shining bronze bowls that were then passed among the assembled lords. The nobles drank deep, beseeching the god to lend them his strength." And to all intents and purposes, their gods do fight with them, blessing the many priest kinds and cohorts of Ushabti bodyguard throughout the books with divine gifts befitting each god's realm of power. Having only known ushabti as animated temple constructs built by the Nehekharan's necrotects, it's fascinating (and quite inspiring) to read about the regiments of god-heroes who went on to inspire the creation of those statuary. It's small yet creative liberties like this that really bring the Nehekharan's living culture to life for me, across the first book in particular. Explored across two timelines in the books, Nagash's quest for dominance over all Nehekhara and the priest-kings' campaign against him form the driving force of the story, and I would've loved to read more about the characters we meet over the course of the series, perhaps at expense of some of the battle scenes, of which there are many. As well as the more character-driven parts of the story, I particularly enjoyed the way Lee explores the Nehekharan response to the undead, which is all the more horrifying for their beliefs in the sanctity of death and the afterlife. As a reader, I'm quite familiar with the concept of the undead as a Warhammer army and fantasy trope, but Nagash the Sorcerer offers us a glimpse of a people coming into contact with it for the very first time: "Something heavy crashed against the side of the chariot to the priest king's right [...] A terrible stink emanated from the attacker, and Akhmen-hotep smelled bitter blood and freshly ruptured bowels [...] It was one of the Usurper's tormented soldiers, clad only in a ragged, blood-stained kilt. Its chest was misshapen, having been crushed by the bronze-shod wheel of a chariot, and a spear point had torn open the warrior's cheek [...] Akhmen-hotep choked back a cry of horror. Nagash's unholy powers were far greater than he imagined. The dead rose from the bloodied earth to do his foul bidding!" My favourite thing about the book(s)?The epic trilogy offers a fascinating look at Nagash’s origins and the influences that shaped his rise to power, as well as his relationship with the vampires and all things undead. This is something that Games Workshop really seems to have run with in the Age of Sigmar setting ("All are one with the Great Necromancer") so I found it really interesting to see this theme play out here, so early into Nagash's story. The relationship between my vampire protagonist and his get, and in turn Nagash and my vampire protagonist, is central to the novel I'm currently drafting, and I gobbled up any and all inspiration I found across this series in relation to Nagash's control over the vampires and those touched by necromancy: W'soran made his way towards the king's dais. Hunched, growling figures paced him from the shadows along either side of the hall [...] Of course they served the Undying King [...] Every creature within sight of the great mountain, living or dead, likely bent its knee before Nagash's might. W'soran did so as well, falling onto his knees before the dais. Of course, my favourite character is W’soran. From the moment I learned that he featured as a PoV character in the series, I had ordered the omnibus. Lee does a wonderful job of capturing his character. As you might expect from the progenitor of a bloodline that goes on to become as reviled as the Necrarchs, some of the most affecting descriptions come not from W'soran but those of other characters observing him. (I'd love to share these here but I wouldn't want to spoil anything for you. Let's just say that long before W'soran's physical form one day degenerates into something you might recognise more immediately as a Necrarch now, there are aspects of his characterisation that inspire horror and awe even amongst his vampire lord equals.) If you have any questions about the book or you want to compare good ol' fashioned notes, drop me a message! Haven't read it yet? Order a copy, turn down the lights, and dive in...
  11. Calling it a night now — it's my first full week back at work tomorrow after the Christmas hols (booo) — but I wanted to leave you with a first look at my Necrarch-themed Blood Knights:
  12. "With a gesture, my wailing attendants dissipate, revealing a slew of previously unheard sounds: the scrape of leather on stone, the flutter of robes caught in the wind and a quiet scratching, which could as readily belong to claws scrabbling at rock or the dutiful drag of nibs across parchment. Their aroma betrays them; turning from the bruised skyline, I watch while the brotherhood assembles around me, crawling like the great bats of the Blood Wastes into the tower’s belfry..." Dark Awakening, Ch. 1 Blood Knights don’t immediately marry with the Necrarch theme but they’re a mainstay Soulblight unit, so a little conversion work was in order to breathe (un)life into these classic Vampire Counts (and a stray Tomb Kings) sculpts. For my first Sunday Spotlight, here’s a group shot of the Acolytes Five. Gifted the Soulblight Curse by a son of the Ancient One, even these lowly get are but extensions of his implacable will. Be it battle, reconnaissance, sermon or ritual, they enact his commandments unfailingly, for he is all things to them: Master, Teacher, High Priest, Father, and who are they to disappoint him, after all he has done for them, after all he promises to do? Keep your eyes peeled (!) for individual spotlights over the coming weeks.
  13. To paraphrase the Count himself, "Welcome to my thread. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring!" (I'd make a 'Nosferatu' quip but Orlok's not too big on dialogue...) As a new year breaks over Shyish, the Ancient One stirs in his tomb. For decades, his spirit has walked the Realm of Death's many underworlds, his physical remains sustained by a diet of dark magic. Unfettered from his cadaver, he has travelled far in his hunger for knowledge and secrets. Most souls are all too eager to share their stories. Others are doomed to repeat their final moments or strongest memories; the Ancient One need only watch. Even the dead want to be heard. Now his tower stirs again. Fell bats flock to the upmost turrets, crawling like lizards to rest in the rafters. Those humans and the other base creatures held in the laboratories huddle deeper in the shadows. Deep beneath even the duardins' old tunnels, rows of iron maidens rattle once more with madness and the crunch of mandibles. Acolytes long sequestered in their private quarters feel the Winds shift and look up with red eyes and trembling hands, helpless against their Master's will. While his carcass has withered in its casket, that will has grown fat on the words of the dead. Eyes glittering with the patience of one who cannot die, he has walked from the trackless forests of Necros to the howling deserts of Nulahmia seeking answers and learned much about the Mortal Realms in the process. Back in possession of his remains, he pushes aside the lid of his sarcophagus and emerges to record that knowledge, the secrets of the dead captured in crimson that he might reread them, refer back to them, draw pleasure from them all over again in his quest to understand them. For only in understanding them does he make them his own. And they will be his. The Ancient One is still waking, but as he does so, I'll share pictures of (and stories about) the finished things that crawl through the tower and make those tunnels their home. If you're interested in WIP stuff, you can find that in the Laboratory, in the Painting and Modelling forum. For things like inspiration and book reviews, I've also started a blog. Finally, if you're into Instagram, you can follow me at @brotherhoodofnecros. I hope this has captured your interest — I can't get enough of this crazy community. Thanks for following!
  14. Made a little progress on the second bat's wings this evening. It also inspired me to write up a quick story, 'One More Step'.
  15. You hear it then: a tapping, the patter of fleshless fingertips between the stalactites. Overhead, blackness, impenetrable except for that sound and something else, almost inaudible, a keening pitch. Scree scatters before your boots, the darkness a precipice over which you dangle, every step your last. One more. Up ahead, a glimmer of light. One more. The entrance is in sight. One more. They are waiting for you, outside, unpacking the camp by torchlight and the glare of the Silver Moons. One more —Wait. Silence descends over you like a fresh darkness. What of the tapping? Nothing, just that whine, needling into your ears, growing higher, cutting sharper. The dead wolf’s bite didn’t wound so deep. Your bark echoes around you. The blackness swallows it utterly, then spits it back in a scrabble of scratches and the flutter of wing beats. I imagine a mainsail filling over and over with competing winds, impossibly vast in the shadows. Run run run —My every footfall kicks pebbles and stones, glottal pops marking my flight. One more step. A smell washes over me, a rotting tide. One more step. The entrance looms before me, my exit now, and I make out the silhouettes of my comrades, moving about camp. Is that their laughter I hear, or have I gone mad? One more step —
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