The Brotherhood of Necros
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Posts posted by The Brotherhood of Necros
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On 1/26/2020 at 2:25 AM, Kronos said:
What a creepy contraption, cool conversion and gritty palette to match. If anyone where to have an infernal mobile laboratory it would have to be the Necrarchs.
On 1/26/2020 at 9:32 AM, Ferrus65 said:The cover throne is beautiful, there is genious in this work!
Thank you both, I'm thrilled you like it!
Here are a few more pics of it 'in the field', so to speak. Abel and his acolyte tread the fecund glades of Ghyran in search of a hidden knowledge said to be concealed there...
You can read some fiction I've written to accompany it here.
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It took me most of the day but I'm finally calling this finished.
Neferata's handmaidens aren't the only coven to take to battle atop their thrones. Abel the Unwritten and his acolyte march forth, forbidden lore in hand, dragged by the bound spirits of those who once carved a home beneath Shyish’s brittle peaks.
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I really love the KO sculpts — so much character! Great to see them all assembled and painted. I'm looking forward to the Longbeards and seeing how they tie in with these guys!
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“Awake, O dead! Crawl from your mountain tombs. Once more, the dispossessed have cause to march upon the forests of the aelves: my cause! No root nor branch nor witch-forged blade will spill their blood this time...”
Abel and his acolyte take to the field. You can read more about who Abel is and how he came to cross paths with The Ancient One here.
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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.
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Giving me real Eidolon of Mathlann vibes too, which is no bad thing in my book 😍
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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.
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4 hours ago, Fulcanelli said:
Like the poses and the wings, nice job!
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.
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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.
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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:
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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!
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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'.
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Hey James, welcome to the forum. I'm also new but it seems great here so far, much busier than some of the other forums I've joined.
Have fun!
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19 hours ago, TMS said:
Looking forward to following this, your necrarch vampire is perfectly gnarly!
Soulblight was my first (and only) finished army and if I could do it, so can you! 👍
Cheers, TMS! Gnarly is just the vibe I was going for!
Thanks for the encouragement. I'm looking forward to sharing more of my collection with the community here, as I get around to painting it.
Aiming to work more on the remaining two bats this weekend... 🦇
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This sounds awesome! I've just discovered it but I'd love to get involved.
For January, I pledge to paint up two more Fell Bats (bringing the swarm to three) and... a converted Coven Throne. (Both for my Necrarch-themed Soulblight.)
Where's the contract, and how much blood do you need? I sign in blood, right?
Here's the first of the bats...
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What a fantastic project. I love the thought that has clearly gone into it and the story behind it. I really relate to what you're saying about finding a theme that goes deeper than 'Ghur Sylvaneth' to defiance, independence, and primal hungry forests. Anyone who's wandered an old wood can relate to some feeling of that!
Your conversion really evokes that — I can't wait to see more.
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Hey!
This will be a Soulblight army themed around my favourite bloodline from the-world-that-was, reimagined for Age of Sigmar — the Necrarchs. I'm obsessed with this bloodline — I think they're so characterful, I love that they wear their heart on their sleeve (often literally...) in terms of actually looking like the undead monsters they are, and I can really relate to the desire to squirrel themselves away in tall towers away from civilisation and read/study/sleep!(If you're interested, you can read some of the fiction and lore I'm writing about them over on my blog.)
I'm aiming for a 2,500 point collection, to begin with. The cornerstone of the army will be the vampires themselves, represented by a Vampire Lord on Zombie Dragon, a couple of Coven Thrones and a Vampire Lord (Winged Horror). Supporting them will be their retinues, whether those are the risen dead, their many experiments or their own dark acolytes.
This is a brand new project for #newyearnewarmy and I can't wait to get stuck in!
My focus for 2020 is on:- Completing the army! I'm trying to set a monthly target to keep the pace going. (The 'Tales of Instahammer' group on Instagram will hopefully keep me on the straight and narrow!)
- Painting to a better quality. I was into this amazing hobby for much of my childhood/adolescence but have only recently come back to it in the past year or so and want to 'brush up' on my painting skills (groan...)
- Posting more WIPs as well as finished models. One noticeable difference from the hobby now compared to back then is the incredible online community that's sprung up around it! I'm really looking forward to sharing my progress on here, as well as over at Instagram.
I haven’t painted anything yet (save one Fell Bat) but here is my WIP general – the Ancient One – and the first Blood-Fat Bat:
Will try and get a few more pics up over the weekend!
T
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Hey there!
My name's Tom and I'm a long-time lurker finally joining the ranks. I thought it would be nice to introduce myself and hopefully say hi to a few of you on here! (I'm based in Oxfordshire, in the UK, if anyone knows the area.)
My dad was the reason I first got into Warhammer. I couldn’t have been much older than five or six when I painted my first figures with him and the habit’s stuck.
One of the things I’ve always loved most about the game is its rich lore. I started writing my own stories to bring my characters to life and put into words the games I used to play against my dad. I remember the first piece I wrote — a short story inspired by a game between my Vampire Counts and his Dark Elves. (It still lives in a shoebox under my bed, where it will never see the light of day again...)
Anyway, it's a new year and I've decided to revisit one of my first Warhammer loves — the Necrarchs, reimagined for Age of Sigmar (Soulblight). If you're interested, please check out my first test mini in the Gallery.
Thanks for reading!
T-
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The Brotherhood of Necros [Soulblight painting, lore + fiction]
in Death
Posted · Edited by The Brotherhood of Necros
'The Withering'
They are watching us. From the moment we crossed over into this fecund place in search of it, I knew eyes on me, felt its attention shift, infinitesimal speck by speck, a vast consciousness like the hive mind of a colony of wardroth grubs turning its antlered head our way. Even now, it tracks us through the tumbling vales, and what it sees, it wishes to destroy. It dreams of ending us, of trampling us, of impaling us on those magnificent horns, of returning us to the soil and the wind. The mortal coil!
Is this what it feels like, to be studied, to be read? Is this what my subjects experience, when I look for the secrets in their skin? We came for a book, but already I have gained something far greater: wisdom with which to fill a tome of my own! Of course, such a text will warrant the finest materials. A bolt of buckskin shall do nicely. Or, failing that, a ream of aelfhide. I shall weave a placeholder from their hair!
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!
"Awake, O dead! Crawl from your mountain tombs. Once more, the dispossessed have cause to march upon the forests of the aelves: my cause! No root nor branch nor witch-forged blade will spill your blood this time..."
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I 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 my boots, the darkness a precipice over which I dangle, every step my last. One more.
Up ahead, a glimmer of light. One more.
The entrance is in sight. One more.
They are waiting for me, outside, unpacking the camp by torchlight and the glare of the zephyr spites. One more —
Wait.
Silence has descended over me like a fresh darkness. What of the tapping? Nothing, just that whine, needling into my ears, growing higher, cutting sharper. The dead wolf’s bite didn’t wound so deep. My groan echoes around me. 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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See how quickly they die, how easily they rise again? 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 sodden 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, and beneath those trees I read again, my fingers teasing stories from the throats of sylphs and the aelves that dance with them, 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?