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  1. Hanskrampf

    Allegiance Cards: Dispossessed

    Version 4.00.00

    96 downloads

    Age of Sigmar started out simple enough. But the first General's Handbook changed a lot of things. Suddenly you could personalise a few things for your army with command traits for your general and artefacts for your heroes. Then dropped the first battletomes which included allegiance abilities. And the amount grew rapidly. Because I don't like flipping back and forth in my books for every other ability, I created some cards to help keep the important rules right at the table, beside your models. All cards are available as print files with 3mm bleed and cutting marks, as a 'web' version (for viewing on smartphones/tablets), US letter and DIN A4 printing sheet. each set contains: cover / card backside, Battle Traits, Command Traits, Artefacts, cards for spell lores and faction specific skills card size is 63 x 88 mm (same as Pokemon, Magic, 40k Datacards, etc.) language: English I tried to keep the original wording, but sometimes I had to abbreviate it to fit on the card without scaling down the font size. The rule intentions should still be clear. 'Dice' was continuously replaced with D3 or D6, 'wound roll' with 'To-Wound roll' (same for hit), 'Mortal Wounds' sometimes with 'MW' each set can be stored in a faction specific card box, with contents listed on the back (instructions) If you find any errors or have suggestions, please let me know. I had fun creating these cards and hope people will find them useful and have fun using them in their games. All rules, artwork and the Age of Sigmar logo © Games Workshop PLC These cards are for personal use only and you should always keep your General's Handbook and/or Battletome nearby to solve any conflicts from bad wording on the cards. These cards are only a playing aid and never could nor should replace an official publication. Please let me know if I have used anything you would like to be removed. Overview and changes
  2. makeshifts

    IMG_E5242

  3. Hi guys, Thought I'd make a little painting blog about a Hinterlands Skirmish warband I'm putting together. The story behind this little warband, is at one point I was going to do an Ogor force for Age of Sigmar. I bought a bunch of second hand models, and was set to go. But I backed out on it, I'm already collecting Slaves to Darkness and Free Peoples. I decided I didn't need a third army that probably wasn't going to get any model or army book support in the future. However, from the ashes rises the Searing Maw seekers. I did paint up a test model for my army which I was pretty happy with. And in addition, in the bits I got from the Ogor army, there was a full Rhinox in there! Imagine that, a complete Rhinox. Quite odd since both the Ironblasters had complete Rhinoxes with them... But from the left over bits and a few Ogor bodies, I'm going to make this warband come together! So without further adieu, I present the Band of the Searing Maw. First up, we have Vroknor Scorchseeker on his rhinox Grunter. This is the guy that's the inspiration for the warband I guess. He's not quite done. I need to figure out what I want to do with the left side, since it's a bit empty at the moment (The right side has his Crossbow and an armour plate). Still, he's definitely come together in the last few days. Next up, is Xarg Brightblade This guy was the practice model for the army, and I'm quite happy with his look in the end. First time using cork on the bases, which turned out alright although I'm a bit worried there's a lot of flat surface without much going on. The original army had the idea that they'd be blessed by fire, and all their weapons would be burning hot. Not sure if I'll transition this to the other Ogors, or just leave it to Brightblade. Ogor clubs I don't think would look quite right like it, so we'll see how we go. Lastly, we've got the Grots. Beater Basher Stabber Luggage I mainly only have access to the Grots you get in the Ogor boxes and the Grots from the Scrap Launcher. So it's a little bit interesting trying to get poses. Basher and Beater are obviously just straight from the regular Ogor boxes, nothing done there. Stabber is a little interesting, he's actually two Grots from the Scrap Launcher chopped up in the middle, with some kind of spear arm (Which strangely had Kislev written on it, not sure what that was about). Lastly we've got Luggage. Poor miserable Luggage. While the original Grot was holding a huge bag of various things, Luggage isn't much better off carrying a large iron bound chest. And with everyone introduced, a shot of the entire warband And there you have it guys. These guys are about ready for basing and paint. Think to get it done best, I'm going to keep them separate and then glue them to their bases after both are painted.
  4. makeshifts

    IMG_5161.JPG

  5. AIdenNicol444

    Allegiance: Firestorm

    Opening up this blog of unconventional picks and tactics, we're going to talk about the allegiance abilities released with the Firestorm Campaign. There's something for each of the Grand Alliances, though the vast majority of them are centred on the ORDER alliance (it was an expansion based on the new free cities, so that's just a given). What are the requirements? For a start, the Firestorm Allegiances recieved an errata where you can only take them as a supplement to being Grand Alliance allegiance. This was changed to prevent armies like Stormcast Eternals abusing the Anvilgard rules and armies like Sylvaneth abusing the Living City rules. As the Firestorm allegiance abilities don't replace your existing ones, and instead add on to them, this was a necessary change to prevent giving existing allegiances a considerable leg-up. Secondly, each allegiance has a list of factions it can include, it doesn't have to include all of them but it can only include choices from these factions. As an example, we'll take the Tempest's Eye free city. So to start, it's important to remember that if for example the army is a Swifthawk Agent's army and you'd like to take the Tempest's Eye allegiance to give yourself a bit of an edge, you still get to use your Shadow Warriors and Spireguard as battleline, because your army is still built entirely of units with the SWIFTHAWK AGENTS keyword. The tricky part is if you want to ally units. You may still ally in as usual, however you can only use the ally choices that are also in the Tempest's Eye requirements (in this case, only the Stormcast Eternals and Eldritch Council). This limits you somewhat, but both contribute well to what a Swifthawk army lacks anyway so it works out relatively well. Allegiance: Order (Tempest's Eye) Mortal Realm: Hysh Leaders High Warden (220) - General - Trait: Inspiring - Artefact: Lens of Refraction Skywarden (160) - Zephyr Trident Skywarden (160) - Zephyr Trident Loremaster (140) - Allies Knight-Azyros (100) - Allies Battleline 5 x Reavers (140) 5 x Reavers (140) 5 x Reavers (140) 5 x Reavers (140) Units 30 x Spireguard (300) 10 x Shadow Warriors (180) 10 x Shadow Warriors (180) Total: 2000 / 2000 Extra Command Points: 0 Allies: 240 / 400 Wounds: 126 So here's a list I've bashed up that I would enjoy playing with the Tempest's Eye allegiance. Straight away we can see it's an extremely mobile army. The army's deadly shooting is accentuated by the allied Knight-Azyros swooping down and providing rerolls, and the Loremaster is pretty much good in any army because he can turn any hero into a godly beatstick with the rerolls he hands out. The army utilizes it's extreme mobility to compete against armies it ordinarily wouldn't be able to deal with, using the small speedbost from Tempest's Eye to reach key positions before the enemy does, and gets the enemy into it's shooting range a turn ahead of when it normally would. When should I take Firestorm Allegiances? It almost feels like these armies were designed to give the old Fantasy Battle line that hasn't recieved a battletome a bit of a boost. For example, you'd be a fool to take this over the allegiance abilities provided by being Stormcast or Kharadron Overlords allegiant, but if you have a Dispossessed army and aren't a fan of the Grudge system they were given, or feel like starting a Swifthawk Agents army after going halves with a friend on the Spire of Dawn / Island of Blood kit, these are the rules for you. Comment your thoughts below guys, and if there's anything specific you want me to cover be it a Firestorm Allegiance or anything else, let me know.
  6. Hi Everyone, In an attempt to keep up a solid pace with my painting, I've started a blog. Please take a look. The Barazi-Wyr In it you'll find tales of my duardin as they seek to fulfil the "Barazi-Wyr" or Ice's Promise, along with photos as new characters and units are introduced to the storyline. I'm only minimally a gamer and much more of a hobbyist, so please excuse my drifting from the conventions of AOS as I find the right stylistic and thematic fits for my army. I will say that the wide-open possibilities of the mortal realms is what drew me back in after nearly 20 years away. Hope you like what you see! Feedback always welcome. A few of a few of the dwarves who have already made an appearance... King Rungi Roreksson, Revenger of the Karkigrom Darbli Doorcarver, bodyguard and childhood friend of King Rungi Lord Norgrim Proudsong, champion of the Chosen of Karakigrom Again, much more to come as the fluff comes together and I get more a painting done. Take a look and let me know what you think! The Barazi-Wyr
  7. Rungi

    Burden Long-Borne

    A Burden Long-Borne Haggrax ached from the joints of his toes to the bond between his skull and neck. His precious burden had cooled his shoulders when he first hoisted the boulder across his leathered back, but lately it had become… a challenge. The elder rememberer of the Undissons had traversed alpine trails across Skaddi’s own range for well over four centuries and had padded his way from the tree-kin nurseries that grew mighty Sylvaneth guardians to the towering Ironwood kingdoms to the South. Images flickered alongside reality in his rummy eyes. Ethereal duardin shields repelled a torrent of misty bile launched from a tentacled demon itself being unmade by the sun beams penetrating the pine canopy. In other places, heroes forgotten to time nodded a greeting from where their fogged forms had settled on stump and stone. But lately, his visions were brighter. They were loud. At times his sight darkened all around the scene until he wasn't more than a frozen audience as skeletal figures tore unsuspecting duardin from the ancestor halls and into an empty darkness. Meanwhile the kinstone rocked and shook with what could only be described as a fever. Day and night glaucous, ghostly images of battered and beaten duardin overwhelmed his vision and screams clawed at his mind. “They say all livin’ creatures have a place in Allarielle’s gardens. Guess the dawi’s is luggin’ out skree from Skaddi’s tinkerin’ “ grumbled Haggrax aloud. He had lost reverence long ago for the minor-deity who served as neglectful patroness of his clan. Powerful, she might be, but there were many powerful beings in the realms. Whereas the Everqueen grew and trimmed her creations alongside the cycles of Ghyran, Skaddi was always seeking more. It was not enough to bless her worshippers with the senses of wild beasts, she had to visit them in their dreams until they thought themselves oracles. She was not satisfied with a mountain sanctuary, instead tasking the Undissons with turning it to a living temple. At least her greed proved her nature that of a duardin. The crackling energy speared down the back of his neck, through his lung and across his bowels before scattering its shocks across his right thigh. Dropping to one knee, Haggrax almost shrugged the menacing load from his shoulders and allowed it to fall to the ground in a rune-inscribed heap, but he dared not. This stone was nothing short of a messenger to those feasting in the heavenly halls on the unreachable side of the mountain. He had been tasked to bear it passage into a distant land where it would connect a seldom-rumored duardin prophet with his lost kin, and he would not be the rememberer his babes and rin told tales about for shirking his duties. “One foot in front’ah the next, aye ya overgrown pebble? Couple more days ‘til we’re at the gate.” *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** His students were overzealous the lot of them, but they weren’t witless. To see his prized pupil in weather-torn tatters, ranting about the manipulators of fate and Shyshian necromancers reaching out to all the realms, as though he understood the gravity of such things… Even the wise rememberer was left uneasy. Maybe the lad had consumed too much of his homebrew, but Haggrax feared the madness that gripped him had more celestial origins. Wide-set nostrils drew in a gust of unseasonably damp air and rejected it with a snort. Rains tonight, maybe before the sun had crept below the earth even. “Guess we dropped further’an I’d thought,” grumbled the greybeard with a voice rough as a landslide. “Gate oughta be half a day off now, jus’ low enough for the streams t’be babbling free of the cold…” His musings drifted off, unable to focus on anything but his mistrust in Skaddi. Why send him away now, and with an object of such power? Why fill the warrior-priest’s mind with apocalyptic images but not share any such fears with Haggrax? There had been one truth the wild-eyed warrior had stated though - Skaddi was lost. Whatever schemes were afoot in the background, she could not see nor comprehend them. What this meant for her most devout clan, he was not sure. His dreams now reeked of death, and left a sour film on his tongue when he awoke each morning. It was not the stale sort found in old tombs or which clung to the relics he studied as a youth. Rather this was the stench of spoiled meat, where the remnants of corpses cooked in steaming crags and crevices, unfound or unwanted by scavengers. With each bare stomp into the snow, Haggrax the Rememberer relished the freshness of snow between his toes. An age ago he had learned to control his own thoughts as he navigated the spiritual flood that visited him in his travels. But the stone never relented, never ceased. The crackling energies that scrambled across its surface had begun to leave searing marks not only on his skin but across the stone surface itself. Haggrax thought he even had noticed a small crack this morning. Hourly meditations had preserved his sanity thus far, but he was not sure the pain coursing through the kinstone wouldn’t overwhelm him eventually. Summiting the narrow path between the steep ridge sides, Haggrax was suddenly looking down at a barren ravene floor, something akin to a natural mineshaft amongst the mountains, only lit by what little sun reflected down from the snow above. The smell of sulfur was nearly erased by crisp winds fluttering snow through the taller pines of this altitude, but his veteran senses were not tricked. Tomorrow he would carry the stone into the realm of fire, though he couldn’t entirely explain why. The persistent crying out of the kinstone had not ceased, but he had noticed a shift in it’s demands and was attempting to shift his own plans to meet them. Whereas at first he recognized the faces of the Undissons crying out as the were dragged into the darkness, more and more Haggrax had been shown lands he had never visited and duardin he did not know. It was in the oddly familiar eyes of a beaten, naked dwarf curled in what must have been an underground cell that he understood his purpose. As it lost its connection to his clan’s ancestors, the stone had begun searching for others. If his mad student was to be believed, all of the living, wherever they might be, were under assault by the dead and the souls of those passed on were guaranteed no safe rest. The kinstone was showing him brethren separated by ages, possibly when the dark powers had overrun the realms. “An yer sure this is the job, huh? Y’want my old bones to carry you ‘round the realms to find all your friends,” Haggrax chided the vessel. Inside though, he felt a warmth spread from his center. He wouldn’t presume to understand the full purpose of this journey, but the salty mystic was grudgingly honored by the possible scope of this task. Resting the stone alongside a tall trunk, the elder took a deep breath of the cold mountain air. Tomorrow, he would walk into the fires, a land of peril where he hoped to find those the stone yearned for. “Hardly the escape Skaddi had planned,” he chuckled to himself, but she did not have Haggrax’s perspective of the ages after all. With a grunt, he drove his staff into the ground and smirked as vines and creepers erupted and swirled round themselves at his feet. But first he’d get some rest he thought as he nestled himself in to commune with his visions. Haggrax the Rememberer of Clan Undisson
  8. Rungi

    Herald of the Blizzard Queen

    Skaddi's Own Haakon hadn't consumed any Blue-shroom Brew since he finished the last keg a week ago. And his newest batch, though potent as he expected it to be, was just beginning to ferment. Haakon grinned as would a child who knew he had gotten away with a particularly risky prank, thinking of his banned homebrew warming him from the inside out. It would be a welcome relief from the icy winds that swirled around him as he drove his sled through the night. His uncle’s jaw was as stone and his chest ever-full, but in his eyes there had been a look few had ever seen in the revered ruler. They were slightly wider than usual, unblinking and fixed directly on the object of their attention as though they could hold it tightly in place. Haakon noticed. “I will not be alone, Uncle. My pledge-kin will join me, and the goddess will watch over us. Haggrax the Rememberer is to come along as well,” he had tried to assure his worried mentor. And so off they had charged towards the Horn of Endruul, Haakon riding ahead of the march so as to hopefully intercede before any desecration. The beastherds should be starving on the Ice’s Teeth by now, but when they set themselves to a purpose, they were far swifter than the dwarves. “They will still be many, and there is no shortage of wild thing for them to enslave in that harsh range. Keep your wits,” the elder had cautioned. Their warrior’s embrace would hopefully not be the last they'd share, but if it was, that was the cost of Haakon’s connection to the goddess. The war dogs strained against their bonds, whining and yipping with excitement; all but the lead pair, his alphas. Closer to domesticated wolves than pets or working stock, these creatures had served the Undissons for generations. But it was Haakon who first taught them to pull a sled. It was Haakon who trained them to respond to his subtle shifts of weight, rather than the harsh command of the whip. Behind him, the smell of the first night’s fire had faded, but Haakon did not notice. All he could hear was the slicing of runner through ice as his sled raced down the trampled track of the herd. By morning, he’d have reached them and could begin choosing targets. The pack alphas, driving the sled of Haakon the Mad His fellow Oathsworn would be on the trail before sun-up. Heavily-muscled and thick of bone, they wouldn’t travel fast, but by evening his campfire would again smell of bloodbrew, weapon-polish and dreamer’s chew. Haakon’s heart pounded in his chest with the excitement of leading his comrades on the hunt. So many sacred lands had been defiled, it was time these grudges were settled and peaks cleansed. Hakkon’s blood surged in an unusually persceptable pulse through his body, his hands tightening on the reigns. He noticed the edges of his vision blurring rapidly and forced his eyes wider. He inhaled the cold mountain air in a sharp pull, flooding his consciousness back into control and using this brief moment of clarity to pull his sled to a rest in a drift not 3 feet off of the trail. As he released the clasps that confined his team, a dark-furred head presumptuously if half-heartedly snapped at his hand, only to be bowled over and pinned by a growling alpha. Remembering the teachings of Master Haggrax, Haakon lowered himself into a deep squat. He sunk from a spring-loaded crouch into relaxing balance. Haakon measured his breathing, finding a steady rhythm that soon faded into the background as his vision took over. Bloody tracks, first scattered but getting more dense until they culminated in steaming puddles of mud and gore… A spear of gleaming blue ice with gruesome offerings heaped at its base or tied round its shining surface… Heavy bodies stomped about on cloven feet, guttural utterings in the place of speech… Closest to the stone were several hooded figures, each taller than a man but not thick like the goat men… There was a melodious nature to their chanting and he could feel himself drawn to it… The enemy were too, as the gors began to walk towards the stone, many shedding their armor as they went. They began to rock forward and back, breathing in the thickening purplish fog that had begun to creep all about them, rising in snaking tendrils from their ankles until it slithered into their nostrils. His vision began to shimmer. He was losing hold. The beasts moaned both in pleasure and pain as armored scales sprouted across their shoulders. Just then, one of the hooded figures turned towards Hakkon and loosed an awful screech from its avian beak. The vision quaked violently before dissolving. … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … The pack strained silently, but maintained their discipline, poised to attack just outside the ring of brush that surrounded the camp. Haakon’s eyes darted from furred hulk to cloven foot to horned mantle until he caught a glimpse of his prey. Unnaturally iridescent feathers, seemingly shifting from the green of the deep jungle to the teal of a glassy sea to a mystical pink, most comparable to the scales of a young summer wyrm, with every step of the cloaked form. The lithe figure was not touched or approached, but every beastman it passed watched it intently. Haakon unstrapped the twin hammers from his back, drew in a deep breath, and let out a high whistle. The pack alphas of Haakon the Mad War cries surrounded the camp as fur-clad duardin emerged from behind boulders and out of dense cover. Weapons were slammed into the earth in a challenge that was soon met by hungry growls and horned charges. With the slavering herd spreading out to meet the directionless attack, Haakon’s pack charged through an opening, lunging for the soft throats of even the newly scale-plated bestigors. All manner of death cry could be heard, but none took root in the mind of Skaddi’s champion. Though his visions were so often embedded within spells of dizziness and crippling pain, Haakon knew the lesser-goddess empowered her chosen alpha. Nothing distracted the predator as he strode through the fracas. The war dogs of Haakon the Mad … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … He wore scant armor and no boots, great plumage and a single high ridge affixed to an otherwise plain iron skullcap. His ruddy pink skin was not aglow with runic tattoo or mystical fire… Could this truly be the challenger who interrupted his transformation ritual? That was clearly a hero. His eyes had glowed with power. A furious heat had radiated from his densely muscled figure. No, this could not be the immortal he had seen. Xcryx’trynct the Temptor threw back the hood from his head and shook out his locks, allowing them to untangle from his crown of curled horns. He let the rest of the shoddy woolen cloak drop from his broad shoulders, admiring his gloriousness as the morning sunlight stabbed through the snow clouds to shine off of his multicolored feathers. The vain shaman hardly noticed his warband being cut down all about, for he was already imagining the taste of this upstart’s blood. Drawing a scimitar in his right hand while leveling his staff with his left, the Temptor gave a clicking chortle, taunting his foe. … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … Haakon had never seen such a beast. Frenzied half-men of all shades adorned with claws, fangs, bony growths or even hooves were the norm. Some, more blessed by the dark powers were more goat or bull than man and had the might to tear through a city guard. The creatures his pack had surprised were even larger and possessed odd scales and bulky growths, mutations that seemed more design than organic… And now this bird-man, glowing with an eery light… But there were many things the champion wished he could unsee in Ghyran since the arrival of the plague bringers. These were just more of the same. As the creature pranced and whirled, it made hissing and clicking sounds that had an oddly self-assured tone. Haakon sank his toes into the trampled snow, making sure each step had full traction and the push could be felt from the extension of his ankle through to his hip. Bounding from side to side with each stride, he noticed the widening of his prey’s eyes. Just outside the range of a staff’s swing, Haakon shortened his step right, hopped, and then gave a full push off. While feeling the air flow from the scimitar stab where the creature expected him to be, the sneering dwarf unloaded a hammer blow that crunched into the underside of the serrated beak. His second hammer strike shattered the staff hand, causing the weapon to fall into the snow and quickly lose its glow. With a roll and wheel, Haakon squared himself to the reeling enemy. A block and counter swing was all it took to drop his foe. Stepping closer to stand over the fallen defiler and examine it one final time before he finished his work, Haakon was annoyed to hear it begin to cackle again. Before he could strike down, it's body burst into a flutter of tiny birds, each scrambling into the sky with their misshapen wings. He tried to kill them, but only was able to fell a few which quickly turned to shapeless pulp. Letting out a roar of frustration, Haakon was answered by cheers. It appeared his comrades had finished their work and were satisfied that there would be no further defiling of this holy ground… ... Haakon suspected this was just the beginning of the atrocities he would see. Haakon the Mad's sled being pulled through mud and snow by his pack of war dogs. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The Trap is Sprung Their whining had stopped and paw-strikes gone silent. The hunting dogs strained into their harnesses, working in tight coordination with their alpha’s example. Soon the pungent musk of the herd was noticeable, it's accompaniment by the stench of decay, a sign that this herd had earned favor of the grotesque one and would likely be more formidable than the last. If they traveled with knights, Haakon feared they might be beyond his prowess. He could feel the beating of his own heart, faster and faster, but he forced it to steady. There was no time for a dream now. Bursting from a brush line and joining a trail, Haakon's team was confronted with gruesome signposts made of dismembered limbs. Hands forced to point in conflicting directions were crudely nailed to stripped thigh bones and topped with decapitated heads, the edges of their mouths sawed into gory smiles. The effigies lined the way in both directions but seemed to extend more densely to the right, so instinctively he prompted the team to turn in that direction, only to come face to face with the stuff of nightmares. He pulled in the reigns hard, tipping the sled and rolling out from under it as it tumbled to a halt and the team attempted to keep free of the weight. Blocking the path were the bodies of his fellow hunters. Their limbs, where still attached, were broken into sharp angles. Cracked ribs protruded from their sides and guts were slashed open to reveal torn entrails. The bodies hung limply by nooses braided from the hair of their shorn beards. Haakon roared in fury. When it's echoes faded, he heard the cackling. The Oathsworn lashed out with his twin warhammers, striking out in wide circles to the left and then right, but the enemy could not be seen. Sinking to his knees, the warrior-priest’s growls gave way to sobs. How could he not have seen the perils facing his brothers earlier? The defilers and their bestial followers had spoiled yet another prestige wilderness, this time fouling it with an offense made from his own brethren. Haakon preparing to strike with his twin hammers. Gathering himself, Haakon bowed his head in prayer to Skaddi. He asked forgiveness for allowing such an insult to her kin. He vowed to settle this grudge or be destroyed in the attempt. But most of all, Haakon pleaded with Skaddi that she might accept these Oathsworn into the ranks of her mountains’ protectors. He begged her to see the purity of their hearts and to bestow upon them the honor of pledging their souls to her spirit-guard. Silence. Haakon sat in the complete silence only a practiced devotee could manage, waiting for a gust of icy wind to dry his tears, the howl of a wolf to guide his hunt… Any sign the goddess might send him. But for an agonizingly long time, there was nothing. And so he sat. Haakon would not entertain the thought that they could have been abandoned; not by Skaddi. When Grungni had pointed his children to refuge in the thunder-king’s heavens it was Skaddi who had denounced his cowardice. It was Skaddi who had sent the storms and the beasts to aide the Undissons in defense of their homes. And most recently, it was Skaddi who had sent her blessed out to secure the sacred sites within these ranges. She would never turn her back on her little brothers and sisters. Just then, an unseasonably warm rain began to fall. Though the air felt still, thunderheads moved overhead with force, blocking out the light save for their own electric flashes. Haakon felt no dizziness or dream-state coming, rather his benefactor simply appeared to him from within the storm as though she had walked out from the brush in plain day. Pale of skin and emanating a blue glow as she was in constant communion with the spirits who lived alongside the duardin of these icy mountains, Skaddi looked down upon her tiny warrior-priest as rivulets of pain flowed from eyes as pure as fresh snow-cover. “I was deceived little brother, and now I have lead you astray. A trickster sent forth by the dark gods drew my attention towards the Horn of Endruul and the kinstone sheltered within. Your wise teacher Haggrax the Rememberer has removed the stone from it's icy armor and carries it from the reaches of the defilers.” “But goddess, surely the stone will be safer in hiding with Haggrax than undefended as the bringers of sickness continue to befoul the mountains?” “That would be true little brother, but several of the players have only recently shown themselves. In the shadows they have managed to gain advantage that I fear we cannot recover from.” Haakon was stunned. His clan had worshipped Skaddi since the Age of Myth when she alone spoke to the connection between the mountains and the spirits of their ancestors. It was Skaddi who had helped them to settle the icy heights of Ghyran all those centuries ago, and who had taught them to use the natural energies coursing through ice and stone to commune with their predecessors. To this day, Skaddi spoke loudest to the Undissons, more clearly than to any other clan in Realm of Life. She had resolutely called Haakon and his brother Oathsworn to arms just the other night, sending them forth to preserve these sacred lands. He simply could not fathom the demi-goddess of mountain blizzards leading them astray. “In my suffering at all our losses, I was too hasty to try and prevent further corruption. The Mountainsson Grove ceased it's song. When I saw the twisted husks of the young tree-kin, I thought they had died of disease, but now I know they were bathed in warpfire…” “Warpfire?” Repeated Haakon in confusion. “That does not sound like the work of the plague-carriers or the beast herds.” “No, in fact it was not. It was simply a ploy to disarm the holy mountains, for the mature war groves are entangled in battle, and the few children of the wood that managed to survive have had to be ushered into hiding, or risk the extinction of their line.” Skaddi paused, gathering herself under the weight of her shame. “So too was there a ploy to spur Haggrax’s removal of the kinstone inside Endruul’s horn, thus dampening the communication between devoted and ancestor. The purple lightning that shattered the prayer-ledge of little brother Draketongue was not of Sigmar nor my creation. Dorbus the Shepherd even went about burying his totems for fear of what they could be used for if desecrated. Alas young priest, all these attempts have done is tear apart the webs of power that course through my once majestic ranges…” Haakon was beginning to understand, and the truth was far more grim than he had imagined. “You have not spoken of befoulment…” “For this was not the plague demon’s doing,” replied the glowing goddess sadly. “Then who?” Wondered Haakon aloud. “The god of lies and deceit has played his first hand. The trickster has manipulated me into severing the ties in our network of power. This has left my devoted, such as your clan’s Oathsworn, isolated and vulnerable. The secret-trader could prey on any of you he chooses now, and I would hardly see it at its peak, let alone in time to intervene.” “We did not pledge ourselves blindly great sister,” Haakon insisted. “If we fall, you will reshape us into blessed beasts to continue fighting alongside our brothers, in the service of our mountain temples.” “I wish it was still so…” Skaddi’s voice trailed off. After a pause, she gathered pulled her mind back from whatever was haunting her thoughts. “Another threat has been growing, and it's vile mechanations have begun to take hold. Nagash, ruler of the dead, has called to claim the souls of the fallen and his power has swelled as the tides of war have swept in. Though the ancestors are firmly rooted in stone still, your newly fallen brothers are beyond my reach.” Haakon of clan Undisson, driven mad in his hunt for the souls of kin “But you taught that sacrifice for the clan would bring the reward of ascension to the mountain’s pantheon of defenders. The other teachers and myself, our own teachers… We have preached this to those we trained since they were babes…” “It appears the treacherous one knew of Nagash’s growing reach and sought to take advantage. We thought we only fought against one evil, but cultists and bird-faced abominations have harried our flanks and forced us to stretch beyond our limits.” Blood filled his muscular frame as Haakon’s entire body tensed. The blizzard queen saw the fury in the warrior-priest’s eyes, the white of the storm flashing in her own as a warning to him. But he was no longer concerned with the demigoddess’ powers. She who had once taught them how to navigate to safety seemed to have lead them to their doom. The plague god’s minions corrupted once pristine wilds. The god of deception was slowly undermining their defenses, with what foul purpose he did not want to imagine. And now the god of the dead sought to enslave his clan for his own devices. There was only one question left to ask. “And who will protect our clan while I hunt the great necromancer?” “You know that answer already.” “She’s not ready, especially as fever overruns the range.” “And that is why the princess is leaving, your whole clan in fact,” replied Skaddi in a measured way, as though gauging the warrior priest’s reaction to each word as she spoke it. “Your uncle will of course remain king, but he has spent his strength protecting these lands. His daughter, however, has a yet unrevealed strength about her. She will join with a renegade king from Azyr and establish a new home range, one where the ancestors can once again find peace under the mountains.” “And I am to trust this upstart from another realm?” “No sweet brother, you are not. You have a different purpose…” Haakon the Mad of Clan Undisson, crackling with ancestral fury _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Riding into Darkness: Tattered leather coverings flapped furiously as the opac wind raced alongside them. Haakon ranted and muttered to himself but could not collect his thoughts. It had been a week since the he entered the shadowlands, the longest he had gone without communing with Skaddi since she had first reached out to him as a beardling. He was delirious, haunted by grinning skulls in his dreams and taunted by the echoes of cackling birds when awake. She had entrusted Haakon with the greatest of missions, so grand in scope that Haakon assumed he would meet his doom in the attempt. First he had caught up with Haggrax, tracking him by the feigntest of scent trails. The ruffian had ceased his cursing when Haakon’s panicked words registered. Equally disturbed by the demi-goddess having been lead astray and his greatest pupil’s sputtering tale of massacre and conspiracy, the old master had reached out a gnarled hand and placed it on his pupil’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. The Rememberer then revealed a plan to reunite long lost brothers under common banners. If he survived, Haggrax said with a wild-eyed grin, he'd meet Haakon in the clan’s new halls. Next he sought out Brother Draketongue. The feral duardin had sacrificed any semblance of a normal or traditional life long ago, even by Undisson standards. But it was a price he'd happily pay again for the ability to commune so fluently with generations of long-dead ancestors. They gave him the strength to accomplish feats that had made him famous from mountain temple to Ironwood keep. But even as he nodded in agreement with Haakon’s strategy to send the hermit into Shysh first to chart a path and set a rallying point for their forces while Haakon rode into Uglu to bring the clan’s most potent weapon into their plans, Draketongue knew they likely all would fall under the shambling hordes long before they could assemble for the battle they sought. Afterwards, Haakon had hunted down Eliriya Tree-sister and Dorbus the Shepherd. The mystics each had taken note of the way his eyes flashed with lightning and he voice seemed to roar as thunder. He might have only recently reached teaching-status in the priesthood, but this Haakon was quite obviously the instrument of Skaddi herself. And he was now emerging as the herald of great things to come, despite rumors that a madness had taken hold of him. Finally, he had traversed peak to valley, gathering the scattered questing knights of the Undissons. Rebellious and determined the lot, they had eventually agreed to his demand that they ride into Shysh when they heard that Elendor the Scarred would be meeting them at the portal. The legendary warrior-priestess had honored the gods time and again with her heroic deeds, and these babes were filled with pride at being invited to fight alongside her, no matter how grave the odds. Following a woodland trail through a darkness that no starlight nor fog-covered sun could penetrate, Haakon had completely lost his sense of time, but he was still acutely aware that something watched he and his team. What, or who, he could not tell. But Haakon the Mad knew one other thing with equal certainty - Even if Draketongue was able to assemble their band of heroes tomorrow night under the lone ironwood standing in the Garden of the Fallen, they would likely fall as the last of the Undisson mountain guardians to have defended Ghyran, if not simply the end of their clan’s line entirely. And so Haakon the Mad plunged deeper into the bewitching fog, following the invisible trail of spirit-power. His dogs’ surging legs never tired, for they had been hardened to the mountain’s strength. His blazing purple eye noticed what could not be seen because they had been blessed with the blizzard’s sharpness. With these gifts he had a chance to find the mother of bears and her duardin companion. ...But the real question was how to prevent the creature from tearing him apart on sight.
  9. xking

    Let's Chat Dispossessed

    I thought there should be a thread for the Dispossessed. So I made one.
  10. makeshifts

    First-10-4

  11. makeshifts

    First-10-3

  12. makeshifts

    First-10-2

  13. makeshifts

    First-10-1

  14. AthlorianStoners

    Faction advice

    I’m finishing up a project now and always like to plan ahead, so the anticipation for my next project builds. With that in mind I’m looking to start a new army based on one of the following: -Nighthaunt -Disposessed -Moonclan -Clan Skryre My current armies are FEC, BCR and Freeguild, so something a little different to them would be cool. Customisation and conversion are also a big deal to me. If anyone has advice or suggestions I’d love to hear from you
  15. Molochmaschine

    Sunk Cost Fallacy

    I bought a Fyreslayers SC box with the intention of making them my main army (sold everything else. Currently army-less). The more I read about them though, the more it seems like they just can’t perform at the 1000pt level, where we almost exclusively play at my local shop. They’re also overwhelmingly expensive (at least for me right now) to build up to the 2000pt level. Especially when there are so many easy and relatively inexpensive options out there, like the Stormcast Vanguard 1k-Army-in-a-box for $200. Do I stay the course and keep shelling out a fortune for an army I can barely play? Is there hope for fyreslayers in small games? I’ve already spent the money for the box and the book, now I’m stuck. I guess I’m just curious as to what the rest of the world would do. I have a tendency to obsess about these things until it drives me insane, so any advice is much appreciated.
  16. Rungi

    Grundal-Thrynaz

    The Glittering Host: There was a smell… A smell beyond sweetness - more ripe - that would’ve turned the stomach of a less seasoned soldier. As Dhurgan Dorginson marched his ranks of hammerers out to the ridge where the patches of sword-grass gave way to rocky slopes, he noticed slight vents of the pugnant steam rising from beyond the line of battle. Growing quiet he plodded on grimly, aware that this mission would likely require more than routine hammer-work. Others noticed their captains change in mood and tightened their grips on their double-handed warhammers. What they saw as they advanced over the edge made hair on their necks bristle. Frenzied grots were scrambling forward in waves, as many slashing with claws as wielding any sort of actual weapon. They screeched at an unnatural pitch and snapped needle-lined jaws at duardin and eachother alike. More alarming still was the strangely-colored steam that burst from the ground every few feet. Some insidious brand of sorcery was at work here. To his right Dhurgan heard a usually steady warrior stifling his gags and the captain didn't have to guess why. They had all been raised on tales of warpfire burning their kin alive. The silence of the dwarves as they set to their task spoke volumes as to their fears. … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …. ... … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …. ... … … … … … … … … … … … … … … As the enemy closed, it mattered not that the champion could not make out the details of their faces at the speed they were scrambling. The gnashing teeth and disheveled scraps of leather were a blur that only became harder to distinguish as it got closer. The way his clansmen had planted their feet, suddenly in a more perfect shield wall, white knuckles wrapped around axe handles… They were ready. Thane Brom Firebrow was sure his grandfather could see his excitement and pride in his charges, even at a distance and at his advanced age. With massive shoulders, a barrel chest and the legs of an ox, Brom was made to cut down the clan’s enemies. Brom took a deep breath, attempting to slow his pulse. Today he would display the leadership he had lacked thus far and which had stalled his invitation to join The Chosen.… Thane Brom Firebrow of the Karakigrom, Champion amongst clansmen … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …. ... … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …. ... … … … … … … … … … … … … … … Norgrim Proudsong looked about at the glittering host as they went about clearing a path through the greenskins. The golden embellishments suggested a decorative or ceremonial purpose to the armor which belied its power to protect the King’s chosen right arm. The deep blue cracks would be considered flaws in ordinary craftsmanship, but in this case were revered as a sign of the materials origin, from the heart of the mountains of this world. The sun gleaming off of their polished white helmets and shoulder guards stood in sharp contrast to the disfigured wretches with their blotchy pale skins and scabbed, metallic growths. This was truly a case of the noble cleansing a blight from the world. Lord Proudsong glanced behind him. Holding the line was a massive shieldwall. In some places clan heraldry was illuminated by the glowing runes that framed it. In others they glittered with ornate phoenixes wrought in mithril and gold. In most places though, copper effigies of the ancestors adorned a blue-painted field. In the heart of the line stood a wild, red-bearded warrior hacking in broad arcs through every grey-skinned foe that came near. Where most made amateur attempts at the defensive maneuvers they’d been taught, this dawi still wore his shield on his back and maintained the offensive in bold defiance of the enemy. The fool was a force to be reckoned with, no doubt, and probably envisioned himself as some type of inspiration. He also might be the downfall of the clan against a stronger opponent. Norgrim’s heavy white whiskers lifted in a small smirk as he turned away, amused at what his son must be thinking as he evaluated the next generation’s performance. Honor in Waiting: Norbrum Proudsong held one of the greatest honors a duardin could be afforded. As captain of the Peak Guard he fought at the king’s right hand and was responsible for selecting and training the king’s new personal bodyguard. His excellence with either warhammer or short sword and shield were well known throughout the clan. Norbrum had successfully commanded units of reclaimed in legendary encounters: holding realmgates alongside the thunder god’s stormcast, cutting through herds of beastmen to deliver the Azyr’s words of hope, and most recently, standing guard at his king’s side as the slave hordes pressed close at the command of a beaked shaman and his cultists. “The hammer and shield” they were admiringly called - father and son leading the greatest the Vengeful Throng had to offer. His father trained every hammerer to pass through The Chosen, including the revered who raised the king’s banners, carried his grudges, and had whispered him advice since childhood. Norbrum’s climb was swift, rising to captain the Chosen, then into the guard, and finally refining his maneuvering and tactics enough to be trusted with calling the orders alongside the king himself. He was his father’s finest weapon, forged in fires of battle as red as his wild beard. If only he was as skilled as a teacher... The king would be addressing the survivors tomorrow morning as soon as the sun crested the ring of mountains around their valley sanctuary. That meant the Thane would be having a quick bite of stonebread and nap by the fire for his late dinner and full armor and sharp wits for his breakfast. Too many nights like this and even this disciplined soldier might find himself astride a wooden bench, arm-wrestling for the next round as beardlings and rin looked on and fueled his ego… “I’ll leave that to you now son.” Norbrum said aloud, chuckling as he settled by the fire. Shifting his weight back and forth until he was comfortable, Norbrum’s senses heightened, as they were wont to do when he was anxious. Brom had saved lives. Brom had out-dueled several scores of desperate grots. And tonight there would not be a shortage of tales told about the carnage Brom brought. But come the morning, Brom would stand with his warriors while his father and grandfather stood with the hammerers. For all his accomplishments, Brom had not been able to outgrow his youthful impulsiveness and prove himself worthy of a place among the elites. For his part, Norbrum had tried to council the fool, and his son had played his part, nodding agreement as the shame burned in his flushed face. Why did he lack so much discipline? Why did he feel the need to always play the lone hero? Could he not see the honor of the shieldwall? The way it honored not just the warriors beside him, but his ancestors? **CRASH** The glass tankard shattered as it fell from his hand and collided with the stones he sat on, snapping the thane to his senses. He would speak to his son again when time allowed, but tomorrow the lad would be lucky to catch his steely blue gaze as it scanned the ridgeline for threats. His mouth was sticky at the edges, dry from his clenched grimace. Theirs was the warrior arm of the family; captains of broad-shouldered heroes and smiters of hell’s creations. Rungi had called on the honor of great duardin clans in order to bring to life the stuff of their childhood games, the Barazi-Wyr. His family would uphold their oaths, and the bull-tempered son would learn from the father’s deafening silence. Thane Norbrum Proudsong, Captain of the Grundal-Thrynaz A Great Honor Bestowed: Norbrum could recall the day the king bestowed onto him the gifts of the Grundal-Thrynaz, the first honor guard of emergent king. Now they added new hammerers to their ranks and grew to a full force under his command. It would be a somber ceremony; a moment of honor earned on a painful day so many had not survived. The broadbacked Darbli Doorcarver had lined wooden chests in a row before those to be recognized, each decorated with ornate carvings. The carvings depicted the great deeds of the clan since their emergence into Chamon. As Norbrum addressed each warrior, the clan’s grudge-caller opened the chest and laid out the contents one by one on the ground before him. Each item was a symbolic gift. Gleaming blue breastplate, gromril helm, runic warhammer; all inlaid with purple jewels of the kingsguard. Thick black leather gloves that could withstand the hottest forges. Talismans holding ancient powers. Brass tankards from the clan’s brewmasters, always to be kept full for as long as the honored could sit upright on a bench. Babes in the front row of the attending crowd could barely contain their excitement as each gift was bestowed. This was a day that would change the path of the dawi’s family for generations. Darbli Doorcarver, trusted advisor and childhood friend of the king Grudge-Caller of the Karakigrom Norbrum turned and faced a hammerer who had stripped to his underclothes. As he handed the great warrior each item, the dawi was transformed before their eyes. He was no longer an individual within the clan. He was the clan, the finest of themselves they had to offer. There were dark days ahead of them, but so long as these dawi could hold a warhammer the sun would rise again and chase away the night. This was why the ever-stoic Norbrum served. This was why he held this position sacred. He believed Rungi was the sun that would drive the darkness from the duardin holds, and he, Norbrum Proudsong, would make sure this prophecy was fulfilled. Grundal-Thrynaz, personal guard of King Rungi
  17. Molochmaschine

    Finishing a Painting Goal (Fyreslayers)

    Hey, all! Bought myself a Start Collecting! Fyreslayers box on a whim, and now I’m very near finished painting it. That means I either need to flesh it out and make it my army, OR switch gears to something more viable. My time and resource restrictions keep me hovering around the 1000pt mark, so I’ve whipped up a couple of lists (with no real insight) to see if either will fly. If they don’t, I’ll jump ship and start something fresh. Here they are! Runefather on Magmadroth (General) Runesmiter on foot Battlesmith 1x30 Vulkite Berzerkers 1x10 Hearthguard Berzerkers -OR- Runefather on Magmadroth Runesmiter on foot Battlesmith 1x30 Vulkite Berzerkers 1x20 Vulkite Berzerkers. Are either of these worth investing my next ~$200 in, or shouldn’t I bother? any advice would be doing me a MASSIVE favor. Thanks, guys!
  18. Rungi

    Fire and Feathers

    Greeting Fate with a Smiling Eye The two runelords sat an uncomfortable distance apart, their common clan the only thing keeping them side-by-side. Lunn was beside Smakki, with Norgrim, Alaric, and Rungi almost completing the circle save for one space. The night before a Boartemper scout had delivered tales of unnatural creatures and mutated, mindless beasts. Tonight Svala was finishing a tale of an oddly armored squig and proudly brandishing the tusk she had kept as a trophy from her kill. And then Norgrim rose. He described an encounter with cultists lead by a foul shaman. The creature was said to be over seven feet tall with a bent beak poking out from beneath a shabby cowl. As the cultists were battered away into nothingness, the coward escaped on a flying chariot pulled by glimmering sky fish. Norgrim spat with disgust into the flame, the alcohol in his spittle causing The fire to crackle loudly before complaining that had the men not attempted to rise and lash out futilely on maimed limbs, they would have captured the leader. Rungi was troubled by this. These devout fanatics were being uncovered in larger and larger groups and the crude bird shrines had often now given way to statues of polished stone with trinkets hung from its neck and hands. His concentration was broken when Grimwold brought up the realmstone veins. Alaric excitedly interjected that these could be harnessed to fuel great machinations, but his suggestion to call in miner teams was cut short. Norgrim insisted that the bird-shaman was a pressing threat. Rungi’s quiet nods decided the matter. Speaking with the authority of an endorsed advisor, Norgrim restated the need for the miners to continue building a stable roadway so that the hammerers could advance and the ironbreakers could guard in lines instead of being thinned out and trapped by the seemingly endless swarms of grots. “Brother Lunn,” called Rungi over the muttering commentary, “ you asked to speak with us tonight?” “Yes my king. I've noticed rubble pilings and sloppy burial of places where the reamstone would seek to protrude from the earth. They’re frantically covered, as if greenskins are scared of them. The Rowsers, as they call themselves, have reported some indicators of crude removal. I’ve never studied the material myself, but if the designs from the Ironweld engineers are to be trusted, enough of it could be formed into a nearly impenetrable barrier. “Sounds blasphemous,” Smakki mused. “Realmstone is not merely neutral stone, nor is it sentient being,” Lunn explained. “Supposedly it can be activated by channeling energy through it. What that actually means though, I’m simply not sure.” “And we’re supposed to trust ‘not sure.’ With respect brother bookkeeper, but runelore unlocks powers far beyond the energy generated by water wheel or oxen-crank.” Grimwold argued, “There would be a real threat of combustion from overloading without a mechanism for maintaining control over the whole production.” “You seem quite amused Lord Smakki,” pointed out Rungi in reference to the chuckling elder of the group. “You don’t believe it can be done?” “Young Lunn is not completely dreaming,” explained the ancient runelord. “Supposedly during the Age of Myth, Gods used runes to call the world into desired form. Some believe that the remnants of their construction is this ‘realmstone.’ “ Smakki took a deep breath and stared deep into the fire. “The Skaudaziwyr’ve successfully channeled ancestor spirits an’mountain powers before, but never on this scale and never to any degree of mastery. I must agree with my clan-brother. I’ve simply no way ah knowing how the dormant powers within realmstone might react t’the introduction of the energies channeled by a rune.” “Actually my lords,” interjected Lunn, “I might. Have you heard of the Master Rune of Krol Kraggson? Legend states that he reshaped whole mountain ranges by carving his namesake into the foundation and...” “It was called Age of Myth for a reason ye blubbering babe!” growled Smakki. “Noone has ever successfully recreated the rune. We don’t even have a record of it.” Lunn looked to Rungi. “Friends, you know that long before the throng was assembled, some benefactors re-established the Librarian guild. Those benefactors were in fact me, at the suggestion of Lords Proudsong and Boldmane. The Boldmanes understood the changing landscape of the realms at war, and no general is more respected than uncle Norgrim, but we knew that a quest of this scale would require the accumulated experience of the ages to guide us. Loremaster Lunn has distinguished himself amongst a hall of impressive scholars,” asserted the meticulous ruler. Turning and nodding, Rungi continued, “He may have something of interest to you.” The fire danced in the eyes of the lorekeeper as he unrolled a deeply yellowed scroll... Loremaster Lunn Librarian Guild of the Karakigrom One Defining Moment: Wave after wave of the sickly grey grots broke against the shield walls of stout Duardin clansmen. Teams of hammerers emerged from openings in the lines while rangers and quarrelers thinned the charges with volley after volley. There didn’t seem to be any end to the creatures though; always another tunnel, cave, or shanty-hall for them to scramble out from. In the distance, Rungi could see their master. His frenzied orruk slaves pulled at the chains that restrained them, hungry to join the fray. His eyes played tricks though, as one moment he saw a single figure, and the next the image would twitch into a ring of the things. Stromni’s lads were smashing their way from beast to beast, pulverizing troggoth and squig-beast alike. They should reach the cultists soon. That’s when the real chaos would start, as there was no telling what these tortured greenskins would do without the cultists lashes to drive them forward. Then there were the ironbreaker teams. While the miners shored up their roads between these islands amongst the gorges and tunnels, the ironbreakers were pushing hard to clear space for the Skaudaziwyr to etch their runes of power into the exposed realmstone veins and uncut bluestone deposits. Runes of stability, runes of power, runes of protection… While so many in Azyr had lost faith, Rungi was staking his people’s survival on the notion that the ancient artisan-priests wielded a power greater than the magics that proliferated this realm. “How much longer wise lord?” the king called to his elder. “Depends on the Stonespeaker. You near completion lad?” Smakki impatiently shouted to his fellow runelord. “Nearly brother. I’ve no idea how long I’ll have control of the stones though. This rune has never been carved into a substance so volatile as realmstone.” “You focus on waking ‘em up. I’ll control’m.” The last double-hornblast cut through the noise and reached Rungi’s ears, a welcome reprieve from the bickering of the rival elders. Before he could turn to signal the next phase though, the earth’s rumbling reached a deafening volume. Though conscious, it was as if his surrounding has been slowed to a crawl and he could no longer hear his own thoughts, or the voices and clashing of the combatants all around. A bluish light radiated from countless points in the ground and cliffs. The only sounds discernible in the madness that had crept into his mind was a screeching chant. As quickly as it they had been torn away, his senses began to return. This was no relief to the king though, as he heard the rumbling of the ground splitting and saw islands of stone raising, shifting, and popping upward when in other places the ground fell away to rivers of unnatural warpfire, burning away grot and dwarf alike. “It’s now or never my lords!” cried Rungi. Grimwold looked to Smakki, the usually-steady veteran needing his elder more than ever. The nod returned to him was sufficient. With a final strike, Grimwold Stonespeaker hammered the final strike of Kraggson’s rune into a flat plate of realmstone. Nearly instantaneously fingers of power reached out in all direction, lending a glow to stones or adding similar animation if it touched other substances of power. Boulders sprung to life and the very ground rushed to reshape into beings. Exhausted by the outpouring of energy, Grimwold leaned on his dear friend Lunn as the later hurriedly jotted down everything he could see happening. On the shoulders and fists of these manifestations of the mountains fury, the entire range climbed skyward while further boulders forged themselves into a single road into the peaks. Where these stones had been the earth fell away into the warpfire and madness the sorcerer was fueling, leaving only literal islands of nature amongst the hell-scape around it. Some floated in the air, others perched impossibly on fragile points. All around, those duardin who had survived the initial blasts of warpfire had hunkered down behind their shields, their faith in the ancient runes that adorned these heirlooms being tested as never before. Though the road to their future had finally appeared, it was just out of grasp. Moving from behind the shieldwall meant death, for though the greenskins were but burnt-out husks, the cultists were calling out incantations, stoking the color-changing flames and encouraging their assault on the Karakigrom. And then suddenly… silence. Like before, the silence was deafening. Although this time, rather than signal the coming of powerful magic, it signaled its death. Brothers in Arms “Gather round lads, for as bad as you all smell from the march, you'll soon be missing eachother’s stench when th’sour of tortured and corrupt’d greenskins fills your nostrils. These aren't the squabbling raiders and their waves of skinny slave grots we hunted in Azyr, men. The Rangers tell of rock hard growths and metallic claws grown on sickly grey bodies by fell magics.” Heavy-bearded warriors exchanged sideways glances. One uttered grim curses while his neighbor spit a thick wad into the dust, each hoping the other wouldn't notice the chill raising the hair on his neck. “An who has the pleasure of smashing through this toxic tide?” Stromni railed on. “The same brutes they always call for when they know the work will get messy. This ain't gonna be no neat rows’a Sigmar’s shiny tin men marching over some nekid cannibals or bustin’ back up a bunch of bones. The hooded bird man on that there hill is twisting and mixing up any poor wretch he can grab the soul of to enslave for his scheme. An’ that scheme will see all’a our people burn, same as they tried t’do ages ago! They called us to break through an’ send ‘im back where he come from. “Now me boys, you might be thinkin I don't see the twitch in your leg or the white knuckle grip your flexin, that I don't know yer scared. You'd be a fool not to be! Those claws are sharp, their hides hard to pierce, an those fires will burn the beard right off ya mug! But you ain't some soft lordlings. No ones polishing yer pauldrins or hangin’ jewels in your beards. The only one paying for your treasures is you, and you done that with the blood money from grim work. The lucky of you lot’r ******, the less lucky: rejects.” Stromni paused before he continued, allowing the growls and grinding of teeth to fill the void left by his thunderous voice. He could feel the heat from their anger. “Today you carve out yer space in this new world. Today you earn your place in the clan. Today, yer deeds lay the foundation for a great new hold where your grandchildren will lay their heads and dream of fighting alongside the heroic grandpappies they keep hearing tale of.” They were ready. Stromni’s voice roared, “Today, brothers, is your day!” Stromni Stormbeard, Champion of the Brotherhood of the Red Bull, Thane of the Karakigrom ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Norgrim walked slowly up the right flank of the dense block of hammerers. The morning sun gleamed off of polished heart-stone armor. Light as metal, cool to the touch; the material was priceless and had not been seen since the fall of the Gharaz-Wyr. To see 48 Chosen champions of the clan wearing their ancestral mantles in resolute commitment to the king’s orders brought a slow smile to his face. As he turned to face the ranks, the rune priest Cranneg placed a meaty dwarven hand on his shoulder. Norgrim returned his embrace and locked eyes with the devoted warrior. “They've said their prayers to their forefathers, offered their pledges and received any blessings that are coming brother. No dawi souls will be stolen today,” asserted Cranneg. “Thank you Cranneg.” Replied Norgrim. “Should any of these great warriors die today, I'm sure they will be lead by Ghazul to feasts and ale in Grungni’s halls. We thank you for watching over us through this trial, brother.” The great white-bearded lord strode to the center of the line and unslung his glittering warhammer. He methodically shifted the haft from hand to hand, squeezing the purple-dyed leather and testing its balance. The smile turned to a chuckle before fading under long whiskers. The great lord stared directly into the eyes of his Chosen. With an earth-shaking boom he planted the hammer-butt into the rocky dirt before lifting it in salute. “Thrynaz!” Roared the response of 48 Chosen in unison. Norgrim pivoted into place amongst his clans prized warriors. As one they marched through the battle-line and set to their task. Norgrim Proudsong, Lord & Captain of the Chosen of the Karakigrom ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Broken grey bodies littered the ravine as new ones hurtled forward only to be battered away by the massive steel warhammers of the Brotherhood. Ribs cracked, skulls were pulverized, and blood splattered with every duardin swing, and yet more of the unfortunate things scrabbled forth from every crack in the wall or ramshackle hut they passed. Still, onward drove Stomni’s force. Gore made the ground slick in their wake. Frenzied clawing and hacking rebounded off of the blood-tempered steel across their front. Progress was arduous at best and more than once doubt poked through the great thane’s resolve. A foul odor scraped at the inside of his nose and dried the roof of his mouth. Seemingly as soon as he noticed it, the oddly mutated greenskins redoubled their onslaught as though they too sensed the presence of a greater threat than combat. Stromni had never encountered warpfire, but he new this was how it started. “Push dawi! PUSH!” He bellowed. “The creature on that hilltop is calling to the flames that burnt yer kin alive. You planning on cooking today?” “Not today!” “Nay!” “Won’ be this dwarf!” shouted the duardin between grunts of exertion. The hammerers flattened wave after wave of enslaved grot and plodded through the grisly remains. As they neared the foot of the slope’s face, Stromni called out orders. Half of the unit fanned out as a rearguard while the others thrust forward in clusters of frenzied warriors. The Stormbeard lead the center spear, swinging his weapon in massive arcs that ruined anything in his path. The ferocious duardin grew more desperate with every indecipherable utterance that reached their ears over the din of battle. They would either fulfil the king’s orders or be engulfed in the flames of defeat, nothing left of them to be buried in shame afterwards. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Coordinated maneuvers and precise strikes easily bested the unsophisticated attacks of the grot horde. Norgrim’s Chosen pressed deep into the pathways carved into the earth between the islands of safety. He had never seen such a maze of mayhem look so natural. It was if the land had been made to shelter these scum and as though they had always lived in these shallow ravines amongst the patches of woodland. The rangers said the maze crisscrossed the entire width of the foothills, creating a virtual moat in both directions around the cluster of mountains, and by their estimate housed no less than ten separate tribes of grot. Norgrim struggled to call them such, as these hardly resembled the greenskins he had hunted in his youth or used as training fodder in Azyr. There was no infighting or snickering at eachother's misfortunes. These beasts were barely clothed instead of painted in bright heraldic splatters of color, and where crude markings were seen, they were faded beyond recognition. Most odd of all though was their resilient hides and piercing claws. The lord was most thankful for his heavy plate as bladed fingers slashed wildly about him. No, these tortured creatures were mere shells of the devilish raiders he was familiar with, twisted nearly beyond recognition and put to foul purpose by the bird-witch on the hill across from the clan. How the young king was so certain that the mountains ahead were destined to be their new home, he was not sure. But it was clear the shaman did not want them to reach it. Norgrim wondered how much of this treacherous landscape had been by its design. Had the trickster architected some puzzle where these mindless savages were trapped as unwitting guard dogs of the tall, icy peaks the Karakigrom desired? Or were the mountains simply bait to draw homesick duardin into battle with his experiments? In truth, Norgrim hardly cared about his foes. He felt exhilarated by a fight with purpose. His pride swelled as the troops split off. Mundri planted his banner and held the center while the lord and his captain, Kemril, each drove in diagonal paths, clearing wide swaths through the enemy. Behind their line, teams of ironbreakers protected Skaudaziwyr runecrafters as they hammered their inscriptions into hunks of precious bluestone and coursing veins of realmstone that protruded from the side of the ravines. The youthful exuberance of the dawi that battled all around him breathed life into his old lungs. Norgrim did not know how many years he had left, but he was glad to spend them in this king’s service. He had given life to the Proudsong dreams of a life full of honor and old traditions. Rungi had shown him a vision to chase. ...Norgrim had waited his entire life for this quest. These adversaries’ deaths were the cheap cost of the clan’s destiny. The Chosen of the Karakigrom earned their title as they carried out the ice’s vengeful promise on the fools in their way. The Chosen of Karakigrom ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Pillars of rainbow colored light erupted from the earth, searing everything they touched in grotesquely beautiful flames. The explosions of unnatural color and overwhelming heat were as unpredictable as they were horrific. Lunn ducked low at the first one, less so at the second, until he simply swung his head in awe at each new terror the caster called forth with its beaked maw. His plan had been working. The rare materials that were oddly common in these foothills had proven easy enough to inscribe, but they had run out of time. And then suddenly his entire world seemed to explode with blue light. The loremaster tensed his still-muscled body with a force he had not put forth in centuries, expecting to be burnt alive by warpfire. Instead, he was surrounded by compete silence and seemed to be watching an unbelievable scene unfold in slowed time as the very landscape came to life. Entire islands became airborne, somehow released from earthly shackles. Giant fists of stone punched upward alongside massive beings of living boulder, lifting the landmasses the Karakigrom traveled on higher while the floors of the ravines fell away to reveal flickers of the mutating fire. As quickly as it began, the burgeoning cataclysm ceased. Lunn had just managed to pull his head from the runelords pulsing with unnamed powers to look across the battle towards their feathered enemy. His eyes focused in time to see a rush of midnight-colored beard followed by the swirl of a red cloak, the arc illustrating the force the dwarf surged forward with despite the magic restraining every attempted movement around him. The glint of his hammer disappeared in a burst of blue-grey smoke and ash, as though it's strike had crushed stone to dust instead of sorcerer to corpse. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Stromni lifted his hammer from the dent it had beat in ground, shaking the dust off of it with a frustrated muttering of vulgarities. He studied the ground to the left and right but saw no gore or splatter. At his feet was the battered remains of the bird-caster, though it was shriveled and dried as though he had struck pottery instead of a living thing. He did see, however, fire-kissed duardin survivors standing over the burnt bodies of friend and foe alike.There were few who remained more than husks after contact with the warpfire, and those not of their throng were dispatched swiftly. ...they had won. The triumphant thane let out a roar of exuberance and pride, the defeat of this enemy the greatest victory of his life. Stromni quickly regained his dwarven composure as he felt the eyes if the throng on him. Cheers and battle cries answered him as the survivors began to grasp the miracle they had experienced. Stromni knew he was but a small part of an unfathomable feat, but that did nothing to diminish the swelling of his chest or euphoria coursing through him. For the first time the warrior had been tested not by arena challenger or swindling band of thieves, but by a true force of the dark powers. And he and his charges had emerged victorious. The Stormbeard’s eyes found Lord Proudsong’s, an acknowledgement of relief briefly shared between them before his mentor furrowed his brow forcefully and scowled something about haughtiness. Stromni hardly saw Norgrim about-face and march his hammerers back to the body of the throng though, as his gaze had traveled upwards towards the ravine-edge. Rungi the Revenger raised his axe into the air in a salute which Stromni returned. The Brotherhood of the Red Bull had won the day with their dismantling of the enemy command, and Stromni Stormbeard had written his legend. Brotherhood of the Red Bull, Outcast - Warrior Cult of the Karakigrom
  19. Rungi

    The Huntress and Her Hounds:

    The Huntress and Her Hounds: She always had an oddness to her, or at least that’s what the old maids said. Svala “Haresbreath” Snorrisdottir couldn't care less. Small in girth for a warrior-rin, the battle-axe and stiff plate of her father’s charges never felt natural. But Snorri Saggasson was not the type to have an untrained daughter. Instead, he taught her to hunt with a crossbow, hatchet, and other woodland tools. What she lacked in heft, Svala made up for in fluid precision and calculating accuracy. The daughter of Snorri, granddaughter of Saggaas might never join her father’s famed shieldwall, but she did her clan proud nonetheless, besting countless would-be challengers in the sparring ring. Even old grim face, Norgrim Proudsong, had rested his hand on her shoulder once while praising her father for his prodigious talents as a trainer of Karakigrom warriors. Svala "Haresbreath" Snorrisdottir, Veteran Ranger and Champion of the Karakigrom ...Not that any of that mattered much to the Haresbreath. In the tradition of her clan, Svala had taken to ranging and exploring the wilds of Azyr. Her successes in tracking beasts and capturing them alive for sale in the markets lead Svala to be entrusted with the young king’s own missions. She scouted mountain passes, deep canyon trails, and even underground roads that few knew existed. Whereas most rangers lived on the fringe of society, the young rin was granted her own patrol of quarrelers just in time to join the vanguard on Rungi’s march from the Celestial Realms. Two-weeks ago today King Rungi had entrusted her yet again, his orders simple and to the point - “Clear the path, young sister,” directed the king. “Find a route into the mountains, leave markers for the throng to follow, and if you can do so safely, establish a valley camp from which we can evaluate the surrounding peaks.” Sounded so simple. How wrong she was. Wolf howls had been heard, and the potential for a greenskin raiding party to be nearby was very real, though if they were they’d remained out of sight since their first attempt at the gate. Disciplined as they were, her rangers could not survive long if a greenskin force of any real size found them. But tonight, with the sun setting on the 14th day of marching and now solidly in the upper foothills, only a lone, aged wolf had been found. About to roll over and catch some rare sleep by the fire before her watch began, a glint from the sun’s last rays rebounding off a sharp metal edge caught her eye. It was a fleeting image, but one she had trained herself to recognize. Half of the troop fanned out and settled into paired teams, back-to-back to prevent an ambush. The Haresbreath was bracketed by her remaining team as she stood still as stone, ears searching for signs of movement. A twig snapped. Further ahead, a misstep followed by the whooshing of a sinking leg through snow. Whoever had been watching was now fleeing. With a raised point they were aimed. A brisk chop of her hand signaled to the first wave of bolts into the brush. Red feathered bolts sped between trees at knee level. The howl of pain told Svala that at least one had reached their target. As they closed on the location of the noise, the rangers were disappointed to see that in place of a body was a trail of footprints and blood. More shocking still was the bolt. It's tip, though expectedly bloody from having punctured it's target, was bent and missing a sizable chip as though it had struck armor rather than flesh. Odd for a scout. They followed the trail, always in formation as Svala insisted. Whereas other ranger patrols operated as loose collections of hunters, or even independent warbands alongside the force, Svala had trained those in her charge to operate in tight formations. This concentrated their shots and made them harder to isolate and pick off. The Haresbreath’s “Hounds,” as they’d become known, were the king’s favored unit to hunt down key targets within a threatening force. And hunt they did in the first days since emerging into Chamon. This evening’s prey was becoming even more curious… The Hounds found that they’d reached the edge of the treeline, and though the brittle pines with their sharp, greyish needles only provided mediocre cover, it was much appreciated as they trail-blazed through this unknown land. The veteran ranger looked out at patchy grass and rocky outcroppings that gave way sharply to narrow ravines. These channels expanded outwards like a maze between the foothills, and from what she could see, they extended right up to the now clearly visible base of the mountain range she had been searching for. The whole scene reeked of grot ambushes and trickery. Living up to her title, the Haresbreath alone crept down the rocky face into the ravine, silent and virtually undetectable. Following the bloody drippings, she noticed signs that the rock faces had been disturbed. Though there were no open passages or tunnels, she suspected that this network of outcroppings and gulleys was quite intentional. Sure enough, the bloody trail ended suddenly with a right turn seemingly into the hillside. Running her hands over several of the great boulders she settled on a crack. Ever so gently Svala rolled the cover-stone from in front of the humid burrow. Svala crept slowly into the crack in the mountain. Every so often she would halt, slide forward, and slit the throat or snap the neck of a snotling lookout. After killing 5 of the wretches, the passage had widened. There were steps leading more sharply downward than before and an orange glow faintly rising up from the depths. The ranger continued on, the sound of ritualistic drumming growing, until the drums were drowned out by a snarling, snapping, gnashing frenzy. Svala knew this was as far as she could descend and still hope to see the sun’s rays again. The smell of blood was insulting their nostrils and she had begun to sweat from the oppressive, stagnant air in the tunnel. “Something was building, probably alerted by the scout they had failed to capture,” thought the ranger. She only had a limited force, and based on the ruckus below they were greatly outnumbered... Perhaps she could capitalize on the overzealous nature of greenskins and their reckless love of the chase. Chuckling at the blasphemy of her own plan, Svala poured her personal tankard of especially potent ale all over the cave walls as she backed out of passageway. This was not the sort of ale swigged at by freeguild knights, corsair sailors, or other of the softer folk who might develop a taste for dwarfish refreshment, but instead a homebrew used by generations of her ranging kin to burn away the freeze of particularly harsh mountain storms. Svala hacked free brush from outside the entrance and toss it on top off the piled snotling bodies for kindling, using a small tinder and flint to spark a fire on some strips of bark. Finally she wrapped the burning material around a specially prepared bolt. Svala noticed that the drumming had stopped. She lowered into a squat facing back into the deep, rotated and aimed down towards the rising glow. She had been raised on stories of Saggaas and his older brother Norgrim facing down beasts of myth. Snorri had taught her to slow her heartbeat, center her weight, and think about her form as she squeezed the trigger by tightening her grip rather than clumsily pulling on it. Just as the first grot paused on the stairs, pointed, and turned backwards to scream in excitement, the bolt hit him center chest, bottle of musky oil shattering from the impact and rags lighting the entire creature in flames. Svala could hear his death screams but did not see them as she had already begun resealing entrance and hastily bracing it shut. From the pounding and screaming echoing behind her as she scampered back up to the stone ledge where her rangers awaited, she knew her trap had held. The greenskins were roasting in their den, their panic thwarting eachothers’ attempts to escape the fire. The Hounds aimed downward at the door as smoke poured from otherwise invisible seams. Eventually the screams were less man and more beast, but even these died down. Replacing them was a deep, rumbling growl so powerful it could be heard over the crackling flames. An enormous thud sharpened the senses of the rangers. A second thud was paired with a roar and the sound of splintering. Instead of a third thud there was an explosion of embers and burning wreckage as the giant cave squig burst from the tunnel, charred skin having scraped off over much of its body. Bolts sunk into the raw, exposed flesh. But Svala also noted how these same thick bolts clanged off the shining protrusions scattered over the beast’s back. This unnatural armor wouldn’t be enough to save it though. Her Hounds were taking their toll. The squig closed on their cliffside rampart but fell just at it managed to scrabble up the side and over the edge. The young veteran gave the creature a shove with her boot, crossbow aimed in case the monster rose again, but it did not. She had heard rumors of squigs growing to this size but had never seen one herself. It was a fascinating, if unsettling prey. The skin around these scales, if that was what they were, was freshly grown and in some places had yet to heal from where the metalic growths had pushed up through it’s back. The Haresbreath cut a large tusk from the lower jaw of the great squig and tore loose one of the large scales. As she secured them in her pack as evidence of their findings, she noted a ring of crooked moons carved into it but said nothing. She rarely did after all. The huntress silently took to the trail again, and her Hounds followed, this time covering their tracks as they retreated back into the tree-cover. The Huntress' Hounds, Ranger Unit of the Karakigrom
  20. Kaleun

    Let`s chat: Anvilguard

    Hi Folks, the new campaign system Firestorm for AoS is in the way and with it new allegiance abilities. The Anvilguard's Implacable March is the one I found most interesting. Anvilgard armies are made up of some of the hardier, more ruthless armies of Order, drawing from the Stormcast Eternals, Free Peoples, Devoted of Sigmar, Dispossessed, Darkling Covens, Scourge Privateers and Order Serpentis. Very exciting is the Battalion of the Scourge Privateers the "Realm Reavers". Here is a example army list: Allegiance: Anvilguard Leaders Black Ark Fleetmaster (40) Battleline 20 x Black Ark Corsairs (160) - Vicious Blades & Wicked Cutlasses - Scourge Privateers Battleline 20 x Black Ark Corsairs (160) - Vicious Blades & Repeater Handbows - Scourge Privateers Battleline 2 x Scourgerunner Chariots (200) - Scourge Privateers Battleline 10 x Drakespawn Knights (320) - Order Serpentis Battleline Behemoths Kharibdyss (180) Battalions Realm Reavers (180) Total: 1240/2000 Sadly we cant fit the Realm Reavers in a Allied Detachement, but some fast Drakespawn Knights made it in. The battalion rule says: A Black Ark Fleetmaster, 2 Black Ark Corsairs units, an unit of Scourgerunner Chariots and a Kharibdiss. Feared Taskmaster: In your hero phase a battalion unit within 8" of the Fleetmaster can do one of the following; move as if it were the movement phase (not run), shoot as if it were the shooting phase, charge as if it were the charge phase, or if there are any enemy units within 3" pile in and attack as if were the combat phase. Capture That Beast!: Re-roll wound rolls of 1 against Monsters. ...During our hero phase the enemy is forced to move 6" away from us (on a roll of 5+ that means 1/3 of the enemy units engaged are affected), but at the same time the Feared Taskmaster lets the Realm Reavers charge after the enemy. We cant do that immediately after the 6" move, but it can be used to encircle the enemy. Things get interesting with flying Units like dragons though, which can encricle the enemy easier. Whats your thoughts and armylists with the Anvilguard allegiance? Kaleun -> some teleporting Stormcast might be brutal in a Anvilguard armylist
  21. Mordeus

    Mordeus's Workshop

    Time to start a thread of all my AOS efforts. I have been focusing mostly on Dwarves, Greenskins and Ogors, with random others mixed in for style. I'll try and add little excerpts from the games i play as well as some WIP of my new projects. Now most of my stuff is most of time at about 85% of being fully done. I always forget little details and notice them later on. My Kharadron army is the closest I've ever been in so many years of hobby of having a finished coherent army. Which is quite a good feeling i must say. The rest isn't as unified. Still a lot of stuff to show, my inspiration was military looks from the early 20th century. Do tell me if the photos of the units are too small, I'll upload larger ones. Comments appreciated!
  22. I am looking for my next project for AOS! I loved the feel of the old fantasy dwarves - heavy army, grudges, grumbling and stubbornness. I have also really come round to the overlords, having originally hated them. I am looking to build an initial 1000pt force that is not total rubbish, and shouldnt cost too much money to build up over 3/4 months. I am not expecting a super competitive force but thats ok. I am looking for advice from you more experienced folks. what units/purchases would you guys recommend? I was thinking the overlords battleforce is a sensible place to start? And after the first 1000pts where would you go? Something like for the 1st 1000pts: Arkanaut Frigate (280pts) Arkanaut Company x10 (120pts) Skywardens (100pts) Arkanaut Admiral (140pts) Longbeards x20 (240pts) Warden King (120pts) Total: 1000pts
  23. julian

    dispossessed army 2000 points

    Enanos 2000puntos.pdf any opinions about this list please . can be competitive?
  24. Arkanaut Admiral

    Kitbashing Dispossessed?

    I hope this is the right place to post this. This is a potential project I’m thinking about doing because I would like to collect all three types of Duardin. The ‘regular’ Dispossessed minis don’t really do it for me anymore. I find them too small and harmless looking these days, especially when compared to the more modern Age Of Sigmar minis. However, the longbeard/hammerer kit and the iron breaker kit? That’s much more like it! Bigger, chunkier, more armoured and more intimidating. Worthy to stand beside the Fyreslayers! Also, the Viking style pointy helmets are a little bit played out too imo. I want to do something different. Luckily, the kit comes with just that, with the more interesting looking bucket helmets of the hammerers and irondrakes. So I’m up for some kitbashing! Here are my questions; If I was to take the hammerer/longbeard kit, and assemble them thus; hammerer/longbeard body, hammerer head, longbeard weapon and shield arms and iron breaker shields, would you guys accept them as regular duardin warriors? Are the iron breaker shields compatible with the longbeard arms? Second, are the hammerer arms and ironbreaker/irondrake bodies compatible? See if I was making beefed up duardin warriors I’d need even beefier looking hammerers. Hammerers wearing plate mail with fully enclosed helmets. Basically, how compatible are the longbeard and ironbreaker kits is what I’m asking.
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