This is my first ever finished warband. I painted it years back but haven't got around to post them before now. Its a witch hunter warband and even though its doubtful that ill be playing them in the upcoming campaign (at least not as my first choice) I like their story and theme.
Ill post the story once its written.
Right. I've always bought my minis from either local shops or from the manufactures own web-stores.
Tonight however, I learned that not only can we get wares from many different brands, but we also get them at a seriously reduced price!
Totem inhaled the fresh morning air, the
taste was fresh and salty. The drizzling rain and the grey autumn sky
made the world beautiful to his eyes. They were near the great ocean
now, and the sounds it made mixed with the sounds of the rain and the
life in the woods around them.
This was how the world was supposed to be. No man had tried to civilize this place. Not yet.
was the only one of his kind, who had been deemed ready for the rite.
The minutaurs were not as plentiful in numbers as the gor, and other
then Totem, there where only two braves in the tribe. For him it was a
great honour to be chosen for the rite of passage. Unlike the gors who
where sent out when they reached their tenth winter, or the ungor who
where unworthy of rites in general, the minutaurs had to wait for the
Doombulls decision to send them.
He looked around at the smaller
beings who squatted around him. Stargazer, the young bray sat next to
him. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be taking in the beauty of
the morning just as Totem did. Talespinner had placed himself a few
meters away from the others. His grim expression told of his impatience.
Both he, and Pathfinder who were scouting ahead at the moment, had been
very zealous from the very start of their journey. They badly wanted to
prove themselves in combat and had little interest in the more
spiritual parts of the rite. Totem respected their ability as warriors,
but disliked their lack of interest in anything else. With Little Hoof
it was different. The way the minutaur saw it, the young leader combined
the best qualities from the rest of the group. He was brave, strong and
skilled in combat, but he also respected the ancestors and the
traditions of the tribe in the same way as Stargazer did.
The rest of
the gor failed to stand out in his observation. They were even smaller
creatures and all looked the same to him. He did however prefer them to
the pestering ungors. Totem was glad the tiny beastmen weren't allowed
to take part in the rite. It was bad enough that he had to injure the
company of the centigor. Newmoon had been getting on his nerves from day
one. Drinking the humans nasty liquids whenever the opportunity arose
and behaving like a crazed hobgoblin for hours afterwords.
The return of Pathfinder put an end to Totems pondering.
The bestigor emerged from the forest without a sound and moved over to Little Hoof. “A boat.” he growled in a low rough voice, “a boat full of manlings.”
The leader snorted a short responds and turned to the others. “We strike at once!” he snarled, “we take them by surprise, we take their skulls for the blood god!”
Without waiting for a reaction Little Hoof got up and sprinted through the terrain, towards the beach.
waited a bit. Not because he didn't want to join in the slaughter, but
the element of surprise would be ruined if he tried to approach along
with the others.
He cleared his mind, breathed out and stood
completely still for a few moments. Then he heard Little Hoof's warcry
and started forward with a trampling force. Surprisingly enough, he
didn't hear the usual screams of fear and panic that would follow the
warcry under normal circumstances.
Instead the air filled with
commands, yelled in a weird human language and soon after followed the
sound of steel weapons and armour.
Totem stormed forward even faster
as it became clear that, whatever was on that beach, they where giving
the raiding party a real fight.
He cleared the last few meters with a vast jump and landed on the sandy shore.
first he thought their enemy where another group of beastmen, for men
he saw were almost as big as the gors fighting them, and some of them
wore enormous horns on their helmets. They where covered in fur and huge
suits of plate mail and carried gigantic axes and maces. Totem scanned
the beach, trying to figure out how he could best help the others.
of the gors, including Stargazer were fighting one on one with sailors,
evenly spread out across the area. Pathfinder were enclosed in a
desperate melee with a group of the less armoured humans and Talespinner
have had his wooden club shattered by one of the axeweilders weapons
and now attempted to fend for himself with claws and horns. He couldn't
see Newmoon anywhere. The stupid creature properly charged in the wrong
direction and were now lost in the woods.
Little Hoof had left a
trail of dead men in the sand and had now charged, what appeared to be
the chief of the sailors. The man was a mountain, red plate armour
covered him from head to toe and he was wielding a weapon even larger
and more brutal looking then the rest.
The battle was clearly not
going well. Several of the gors were already wounded and their wooden
clubs and bone daggers did little to harm their opponents.
noticed movement by the longboat, lying a few meters out in the still
dark water. It was the centigor. The crazy beastman seemed to be
attempting to tip the vessel. The minutaur gave a snorting laughter.
isanity is our weapon” he growled and leapt over the beach, crushing
one of the armored men with ease, and contenuing out into the water.
With a joined efford the two large beings managed to turn the ship over,
and for good order Totem began to punch holde in the hull. The wood was
hard and strong, but so was he, and soon after it gave in.
centigor had joined the battle as soon as the ship fell and now Totem
too turned and ran towards the combatants. Just as he reached land one
of the smaller gors bleated a death rattle and dropped to the sand with a
greatsword burried in his stomach. Totem grabbed the responsible human,
lifted him from the ground and bit his head off. He tossed the corpse
aside and looked around for more enemies. The taste of blood were
shutting out all other impressions and a layer of red covered his eyes.
Soon all thoughts were lost to the bloodgreed.
In Krugenheim Matthew took Thomas to the fletcher's for supplies. Looking very much like a monk returning to the Great Cathedral of Sigmar after a pilgrimage, the eyes of the hunting master filled with tears of joy. He treated every piece of craftmanship as either a rare relic or an old friend.
- You knew I needed one more war, Thomas said, slowly caressing a hunting arrow.
- And the blacksmith. What did you give him?
The seneschal looked somewhat affronted.
- Don't give me that look, old friend. I know you too well. You're still doing their dirty work, and you'd never offer anyone gold.
- Very few people really want gold, Matthew said in a soft voice.
Thomas looked amused and Matthew sighed.
- Purpose. I gave him a purpose.
- That easy, huh? Thomas chuckled, but halted seeing Matthew's dejected looks.
- They need someone to follow, Thomas, the seneschal said.
- And so they follow you, old friend. Even I, even though I know your trade. I followed you when you were the Mouth of the his father, I follow you now. I've always wondered how you got out, though. But a man who can talk people into war, can probably talk himself out of one.
- I struck a deal with the Lord. And it took his son to dishonour it.
They both laughed. Thomas shook his head.
- Trust the beggar, you said. Trust the beggar, never the Noble. That was the first lesson you taught me.
- And I was right, wasn't I? The beggar, the whore, the thief on the scaffold. They may not speak the truth, but their lies hurt no man.
- Matthew the Mouth, Thomas muttered.
- Thomas the Falconeer, Matthew replied.
I have decided to write up a background
story for my beastmen to go along with the assembling, modding and
modelling. The story takes off on the evening of their first day out
on the Rite of Passage and should, if everything goes as planned,
take them all the way to the city of Mordheim.
Little Hoof looked around at the
others. Pathfinder and Talespinner where tending their weapons as
usual, while the younger Gors where fighting over the leftovers from
the meal. The women had been alone in the woods, silly humans.
He turned his attention to Totem, the
minotaur had barely moved since they lit the camp fire. He just sad
there and stared into the flames. Little Hoof often wondered about
what was going on in the gigantic horned head.
A sudden sound caught his attention. It
was Newmoon, the centigor. The clumsy monster had found a little
bottle on their victim and had spend most of the evening trying to
open the thing. The sound that had disturbed the young leader of the
raiding party where a growl of victory as the top of the metal bottle
gave in and some ill smelling wine poured out over Newmoon's face.
The centigor consumed the liquor in an instant and barfed loudly.
Little Hoof shook his head and got up.
He walked from the fire and allowed his eyes to get used to the dark.
A soft sound of hoofs followed him, he did not turn, didn't need to.
“What do you make of all this
Stargazer” He snarled. The shaman moved to his side and stared into
the thick forest.
“The Blood God will show us a battle,
and we will decorate the ground with skulls and blood in his honour”
This was the first day away from the
tribe. This was their rite of passage, their chance to prove
themselves or die in dishonour. Little Hoof looked at the beastman
beside him. Stargazer where a little older then he, but not as big.
“There will be blood” he said, “and
I will gain a name worthy of my power.”
John looked as crestfallen as ever.
- You are not alone, Matthew said.
They had just crossed the River Kolpin and the lights of Welleborn served as their benchmark. The blacksmith gazed at him and snorted.
- No? Right you are, old man. There is Robin the Lean, Crazed Sir Nicholas, Old Grump Thomas - and we are all following the same path to the Netherworld. Not alone. You've been watching me for days and that's what you came up with?
- I know what you left behind, he added. He wanted the boy to talk - wanted him to spill his rage.
- You do, do you? So you know of my father. You know we've received word of his death. Not an honourable death, no no. He died trying to stop a fight among his own.
- I know of your father, yes. He was an honourable man, and the honourable men are always the first to go. There is no honour in war. A good Captain is a man who can make decisions worthy of villains and still have the heart of his men. He can command you to commit an atrocity and you will do it - for brotherhood, for your country, for the loved ones you left behind. Doing wrong in the name of something doesn't make it right, son.
John laughed and looked almost as mad as their Captain.
- So a good man is a dead man?
- No, Matthew replied thoughtfully. - A dead man is a dead man. And the deaths of good men are the casualties of war.
- You are wrong, old man. The casualties of war are the loved ones, you speak of. The wives and children unable to support themselves, when men are forced to fight the wars of others. My father could be spared. His son had learned the trade and could have supported her. If it wasn't for you, that is!
- Your mother will eat with the womenfolk at the castle. I saw to that before our departure.
John opened and closed his mouth several times and looked very much like a fish.
- I didn't know, he finally said. - Thank you.
Matthew patted him on the back.
- It's my trade, son. I'm payed to be one step ahead. I know what... Crazed Sir Nicholas wants, before he does. Tell me - what does that make me?
They both laughed.
- But that was not what I meant. Robin, Thomas and I - we all served Sir Nicholas. But take a look at the henchmen. They are like you. Common men forced to leave their trade and families. They were chosen because they participated in a shooting contest on the grounds this Spring. They know how to handle a longbow, but they are farmers, nothing more. And they were deemed too old to fight in the war. Thomas and I are veterans, but it's been ages since I last killed a man. Robin has never laid hand on a weapon. And Sir Nicholas - he's the greatest shot around, but you'll never know what he will shoot at. You are neither unfamiliar with weapons not too old to use one. You are our ticket home, son. You will save us.
He watched John look at the henchmen. The features of the young boy softened, and Matthew knew his words had hit their target. Words had always served him better than steel. Commands, he thought to himself, commands too are made up of words.