As the strange, masked figure approached camp,  Shak'nar knew his growing fame was spreading far across the chaos wastes. The Gods had told him that more followers would be flocking to his command and here was the proof of their generosity. Shak'nar returned the focus of this thoughts back to the warrior approaching. His helmet sported an impressive horse hair crest, indicating he must possess some skill, that crest would attract too much attention to survive in the chaos wastes without some skill. He was mostly armored, but his exposed arms were a swarthy color Shak'nar did not recognize...clearly the stranger had wandered a long distance to arrive at this place. Shak'nar also admired the leering demon face on his shield. Shak'nar smiled beneath his helm in triumph. "Soon..." he though, "Soon, I shall topple the world."

"Not all who worship the plague god gain the mutations of the truly devout. That is not to say that they are no less fervent in their devotion, but they lack the strength of will to attract the attention of their dark patron. But these cultists are the most worrisome, for they can blend in with the imperial masses to plot and scheme."

"And when the Plague God show favors upon those humans that flock to his cults, he sometimes bestows upon them mutations to make the cultists resemble the Plague Marines who's aid they pray for. Even though they look like the dreaded heretic Astartes, they are not. But they do posses greater strength and resilience then regular humans."

A VERY large cultist heavy weapon trooper

"Another performance finished," thought Saul, wearily. He's been living the life of a travelling performer since he ran away from home all those years ago. He spent the evening performing, then spent most of the night cleaning up after the performance; only to rise early to pack up and move on to the next town. It was a hard life. But it kept him busy--it helped him not to think about those...urges. The ones that pops used to beat him for. "I hope that sonovabitch died painfully," he brooded. 

Snapping back to reality, Saul got back to scrubbing the grease paint off. The ugly light bulb overhead hurt his eyes as it reflected off of the paint. After all these years, that shit had started to stain his skin. "Can't be good for me," he mused as he glared at the red reflection of his cheeks in the mirror. "One of these days, I'm going to finally give this traveling up..."

And let the heriots be as it is fitting to the degree. An eorl's such as thereto belongs, that is, eight horses, four saddled and four unsaddled, and four helmets and four coats of mail, and eight spears and as many shields, and four swords and 200 mancuses of gold. And after that, a king's thegn's, of those who are nearest to him; four horses, two saddled and two undo saddled, and two swords and four spears and as many shields, and a helmet and a coat of mail and fifty mancuses of gold. And of the medial thegns, a horse and his trappings and his arms; or his healsfang in Wessex; and in Mercia two pounds, and in East Anglia two pounds. And the heriot of a king's thegn among the Danes, who has his soken, four pounds. And if he have further relation to the king, two horses, one saddled and the other unsaddled, and one sword and two spears and two shields and fifty mancuses of gold; and he who is of less means, two pounds.

Titans on the hunt

Not much of an update today as I've got a cold. Grrr. Finished some woods for Epic and other small scale battles. They're just small trees from Noch on hardboard and some static grass.

A platoon of Imperial Guard begin exiting their Chimeras to array for battle

Jimmy was the bosun and powder master on the Woebegone, a massive three-masted pirate ship that plied its bloody trade on the Pearl Sea between the empire and its far eastern tributaries

If you are in the Decimus system, you do not go to the planet Septimus unless you are desperate. If you must go to Septimus, avoid the hive of Septimus Prime. But if you do find yourself in that hive, whatever you do, stay away from the red-light district of that Emperor-forsaken cesspit. Should you end up in the red-light district, under no circumstances should you enter one of the many "gentleman's" clubs. And should the circumstances arrive that you find yourself in such a club, do not, under any circumstances, touch the performers for the Ogryn Bouncers are renowned through the system for their ferocity.

The vikings had burned his village and carted off most of his people to be taken to the slave markets in Dublin. But he and his hunting party had been out when the village was attacked and Anfeald vowed he would get his revenge. When he realized that there were still a few stragglers from the viking war band still loitering around, Anfeald hatched a plan. He would lie in weight in the burned out ruins of his farmstead until one of them came close...then the northman would find Saxon steel buried in the back of his head. 

Anfeald defends the ruins of his farmstead from Hrolf and Snorre

Apprenticeship in the Imperial Advertisers Guild started younger than most. Turned over to the guild's guardianship as early as four years old, most guild children were deployed for the betterment of imperial advertising as sign boys. Specially trained to carry heavy wooden placards to the front and back suspended by ropes over their shoulders, sign boys were contracted out to local businesses, government offices, and anyone else who felt the need to announce something, like an impending wedding, a birth, or the end of the world. Of all the sign boys in the guild's Karr-Keel branch, Little Dyer was the best. Through the oppressive heat of the summer, the driving rains of fall, the ice and snow of winter, and the general muckiness of spring, he could be depended upon to stand in place or walk a beat with his signs proudly displayed upon his chest and back. The guild expected great things of Little Dyer, and, when he grew beyond his role, there was no doubt that he would become a journeyman advertiser. Of course, the Necroburgher's curse ended all of that, and Little Dyer now wanders the crumbling remains of Karr-Keel, still bearing the burden of the last sign he ever carried. Who would have thought that an advertisement for The End Tavern stating "The End is Nigh" with an arrow pointing down the street would be so prophetic...

The planet of Rynn's World lies on the edge of human space, within easy striking range of countless Ork Warlords that rule the neighboring systems. Orks are loathsome and disorganized aliens, creatures with little intelligence and no sense of pity. Until now, Rynn's World has been left in peace. The main reason for this is almost certainly that it is home fo the Crimson Fists Chapter of Space marines - who's fortress/monastery has stood on the rocky soil of Rynn's World for over a thousand years. However, last week the planet was invaded by a force from the Ork Empire of Charadon. The insane Ork Warlord, one Snagrod the Arch-arsonist, has already conquered the human world of Badlanding, not to mention several minor Ork Empires. Rynn's World is only sparsely populated, but (prior to the invasion) had a complete and effective missile-defense system designed to deter would be invaders. Confident in the power of their defenses (and forgetting the irrational behavior of Orks) no-one anticipated the invasion. Even so, all would have been well were it not for the freak accident that caused a defense missile to glance off-course and plunge down right on top of the Space Marine Arsenal. The Marine base and its complement of fighting men and machines was completely destroyed. The only survivors were the Chapter leader Commander Pedro Cantor and fifteen Marines. Without the Marines the human settlers were quickly slain and their townships overrun. Now only the Planet's capital, New Rynn City, remains in human hands. 

The Crimson Fists (painted by Bulldog Lopez) man the ruins of an old farmstead and await the Orks...

A.D. 1016. King Edmund had ere this gone out, and invaded the West-Saxons, who all submitted to him; and soon afterward he fought with the enemy at Pen near Gillingham. A second battle he fought, after midsummer, at Sherston; where much slaughter was made on either side, and the leaders themselves came together in the fight.[] 

And behold, for I have come unto thee from distant shores, guided by the Gods supplicate at your feet. Although I have cloven the kings of Ind in twain, the gods have directed me to follow thine righteous path. For alone, I have driven the people of the East to pay tribute in the very gold used to forge mine armor and more. But the Gods have foretold that in your service, the whole world shall tremble for our might!

Grunhelda Boogenhagen was a broom dealer on the west end of Market Street. New, used, and factory refurbished, Grunhelda sold all makes and models of brooms from her well-tended stall, and offered to those that could afford it her coveted bespoke broom-making and repair services. Neither rich nor powerful, she was closing up her stall to go and watch the Mayor's fireworks display when the Necroburgher's curse struck. Now a shambling corpse, Grunhelda wanders Karr-Keel collecting any brooms she happens upon as the town falls into ruin around her.

But Bohemund, powerful in battle, who was engaged in the siege of Amalfi on the sea of Salerno, heard that a countless host of Christians from among the Franks had come to go to the Sepulcher of the Lord, and that they were prepared for battle against the pagan horde. He then began to inquire closely what fighting arms these people bore, and what sign of Christ they carried on the way, or what battle-cry they shouted. The following replies were made to him in order: "They bear arms suitable for battle; on the right shoulder, or between both shoulders, they wear the cross of Christ; the cry, 'God wills it! God wills it ! God wills it !' they shout in truth with one voice." Moved straightway by the Holy Spirit, he ordered the most precious cloak which he had with him cut to pieces, and straightway he had the whole of it made into crosses. Thereupon, most of the knights engaged in that siege rushed eagerly to him, so that Count Roger remained almost alone.

Returning again to his own land, Lord Bohemund diligently prepared himself to undertake in true earnest the journey to the Holy Sepulcher. At length, he crossed the sea with his army. With him were Tancred, son of Marchisus, Richard of Principati, and Rainulf, his brother, Robert of Anse, Herman of Cannae, Robert of Surda Valley, Robert, son of Tostanus, Hunfred, son of Raoul, Richard, son of Count Rainulf, the Count of Roscignoio, with his brothers, Boellus of Chartres, Albered of Cagnano, and Hunfred of Mt. Scaglioso. All of these crossed the sea to do service for Bohemund and landed in the region of Bulgaria, where they found a very great abundance of grain, wine, and bodily nourishment. Thence descending into the valley of Andronopoli, they waited for his forces, until all had likewise crossed the sea. Then the wise Bohemund ordered a council with his people, comforting and admonishing all (with these words): "Seignors, take heed all of you, for we are pilgrims of God. We ought, therefore, to be better and more humble than before. Do not plunder this land, since it belongs to Christians, and let no one, at the cost of blessing, take more than he needs to eat."

Håkon is guarded by a crazed berserker who is fiercely loyal to him. No one knows what has earned such strong loyalty. But he never leaves Håkon's side except to slay those who get too close. 

Welcome to the 21st century, right? I finally signed up for instagram: AcceptableRadiation.

And regarding the lack of updates, I had taken a slew of photos but they all turned out terrible. I was going to retake them right away, but then I ordered some new lighting equipment so I decided to wait 😅

Anyway, the equipment has been received and used and photos have been taken so normal service shall be resumed shortly!

The huscarls, an Anglo-Saxon lord's best men. These were professional soldiers, but they also performed other roles for their lord as well. These are more Footsore Miniatures from the Late Saxon army I picked up at the NOVA open. These were painted much the same way as the fyrd, except with more armor. I also made sure to add decorations to their clothing to represent their increased status and, therefore, increased wealth. My freehand isn't great so this decoration is mainly in the form of embroidery lines around the cuffs and the shirt bottoms. I also used some of the more intricate shields designs from the Little Big Men Studios range for the same reasons. And, unlike their fyrd counterparts, the huscarls take proper care of their equipment, so their shields do not have the same weathering as the fyrd. Although if anyone has any tips for the transfers, I'm all ears as I can't quite match the colors or mask the edges as well as I would like!

Ah, 'tis the season of year-end review blog posts! Much like last year, I am going to continue to focus on what I did not finish, versus what I did finish. After all, if you want to see what I painted, it's all (mostly) up on the blog.

First things, first, I did finish a few of the projects from last years list: the Lord of Worms, the dark future car, and the Magewraith Throne.

Unfortunately, there are still a few projects that I didn't touch during the entire year! You may recognize these two as being in exactly the same state as last year: