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  1. "Witness now Sigmar's Power and reflect on your deeds". It was what he told the survivors and the foes, the rescued and the persecutors, all the same. It was what had been said to him at his forging and he dwelt uneasily on the words now, centuries later. What had been his deeds, and were they worthy, he couldn't remember or reconcile all of them, and it was getting worse. He meditated on the tattoo on his face, that the tribe he had once drawn together had inked permanently onto to his features to symbolise the stubborn resistance fighters against the Blue Devils called Tzaangor that terrorized their brutally short lives. He knew they meant a resiliance, a brotherhood of fighters, a defiance, a purpose, but they did not represent victory. He could feel the guilt and disenfranchisement the tattoo seemed to represent too now. He kept struggling to fix what his purpose was again? He had witnessed the power of Sigmar but had not witnessed the end of the battle and now he was the power in a new war. A long war he couldn't quite remember all the pieces of. Hios deeds in this war, what were they? His great power what was its purpose? A tug on his robes broke him from his trance, a tribesman of sort, in bright colours with sleeves that ballooned ridiculously was desperately trying to impart something. "Incursion! They are amongst us! Deamons! Deamons! From their mouths! They ate her, we only asked for food" The human cried in alarm "Thank you good citizen! Which way?" The stormcast replied, eyes tightening in determination. A spray of colour and limbs smashed through a wooden window shutter and onto the street, it corrected its form into a squat , toothy, mass of tendrils and immediately got split in two by a great cleaving blow from the Stormcast. "Sentinels! On Me!" the Stormcast roared as he set about his violence with practiced precision. I have decided on a background and name for my Stormcast Eternals army. The Thunderhead Sentinels. Sentinel is the local news paper and i like the implied violent anticipation of a Thunderhead. I envisage them as a tribe in the first founding of the Realms that carved out an existance in a land dominated by Chaos and in particular the worshippers of Tzeentch. In will-power and resiliance of this tribe to bloody mindedly make a life in this hell drew the attention of Sigmar who over a thousand years of generations of this tribe would pluck the great warriors from it to ascend to Azyr. The tribe is long lost. Maybe it was wiped out, maybe it fell to chaos worship and dissolved, maybe it evolved into civilization and new prospects. It is no more however. The tattoo's serve to help with the flaw in Re-casting after each death as it gives an anchor to their soul and their personality but to a deep past and not the present events. This gives a reason for more faces on my models, they retain a bit of humanity but they fear becoming the faceless mask and are trapped with a sense of failure of a former life.
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