Roi's Dwarf Warband

Apologies for my poor, convoluted and self-absorbed story-telling skills in the build up to this, but I quite enjoyed fleshing out my characters as I painted them, and it gave me a bit of much needed motivation to not be distracted by other new and shiny ideas/models. When I physically had the model in my hand, the paintbrush in the other, I started to think about who this lump of lead could become, both in terms of colour choices and character. The decision to paint a beard blonde or ginger was as important as to whether he may be ragged or in uniform. Of course the decisions to paint them in any particular way was reflected in their backstory, or at least I hope that was articulated to a degree.

Well here is the warband off to fight in Mordheim or Frostgrave. A load of painted Citadel lead, with a movement tray (just in case this ever makes that leap from a single unit/warband, to an entire army. I dare say it's happened before...

Part 8. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

Tentatively Roi and his crew approached the wooden door at the far end of the room, sidestepping the corpse of the marsh troll. All seven of his comrades in close proximity.

The room was empty. There was a stone staircase leading up to a hatch in the ceiling where a shallow beam of light danced across the bare wall behind them. With some relief Roi led them up the spiral stairs and raised the hatch.

Outside they found themselves on a wide cobbled street facing a tall, dark and lopsided tower. Multiple small rooms were seemingly tacked on it's side and different stages of upward extensions were visible, giving the tower an almost organic presence. A small entrance stairway was carved into the rock, beside a large carved skull. At the top of this staircase was a small wooden door.

It opened and from within two stout Dwarves in a variety of blue garments descended. One was slightly taller and thick-set and had a dark blue fabric hat on his head. Something green hopped from the brim of his hat into his hand. His companion looked somewhat older. He scratched his shiny bald pate with the end of a large quill.

"Congratulations young man" came the booming voice of the broader dwarf. "You have passed the tests and proven yourself of worth. Let me explain. This here", pointing to his colleague, "is Valmore. He has been watching and assessing you on your travels and has set many tasks to measure your progress, initiative and bravery and with the help of your friends he has been impressed. Every facet of this journey has been recorded by him and it has been my pleasure to read his accounts. In fact it is your ability to be kind, non-judgemental and to make others feel wanted that has set you apart. These challenges should not and need not be faced alone and your comrades have come together and worked admirably. He and I feel you are now truly ready for adventure and will be working for me Thorin the Wise."

You should consider yourself now turning to page 400. And then you will start again, as we, the Wizard's Guild of Oakenshield are sending you and your warband to two cities, one named Mordheim and the other Felstad. There you will have to delve into your resources", pausing and pointing to the other Dwarves, "And learn to live, fight and survive in places of danger. But the wealth you can accumulate is invaluable. Wealth of knowledge of other species and yourself." A pause, a snigger "and of course the other type of wealth." Silence from all. "Is this not what you wanted young man, when you began this journey?" Thorin's voice seemed louder and deeper, slightly hostile.

Roi pulled himself together, gripped his mace and pulled his shoulders back. "Yes. Yes it is. My friends and I would like nothing else." He reflected on this confidence to speak on behalf of others, slightly surprised and ashamed. He hadn't asked them, only assumed. And this bravery, how he had changed. 

Thorin seemed to calm and then addressed the frog that was in his hand in a much softer voice; "Very well then Roi, Valmore will instruct you further on the tasks ahead, but first here's some coin for you to prepare." Out of thin air dropped hundreds of gold coins, surrounding the party with their clattering as they hit the cobbles. "Enjoy" and Thorin and Valmore turned back to the tower and disappeared inside. The Dwarves, bewildered looked at each other in astonishment at all that had just happened.

"Drink?" questioned Roi to his friends. The laughter suggested yes.

Part 7. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

They ventured into the bowels of the cave where it soon became clear that the rock had been carved into, forming more and more elegant corridors. These corridors were also more numerous with frequent junctions and dead ends. Daerren led them to a crossroads and then said; "this is the furthest I've explored, from here on in we go with instinct and try not to get lost, here use these rocks to track our path so as not to go in circles". 

They trudged on, weapons ready, nerves alert, following Daerren's lamplight and trying not to jump when it cast eerie, elongated shadows across the walls. Roi also led at the front, sensing a destiny in this journey and keen to not be left behind. After several twists and turns Rio ordered for the band to halt and put his fingers to his lips, gesturing silence. He had heard a metallic tinkling and scraping, that sounded suspiciouslly like jingling coins, but could also possibly be a ball and chains. Ahead of him was a closed wooden door and he crept up to it on tip-toes, straining his neck forward to try and hear more. It was definitely the sound of fallen coins and a second sound which sounded like a muffled laugh....

Roi chanced it and quietly tried the door's handle, it wasn't locked. He gathered his mace in his hand and quickly threw the door open, ready to charge..... but there was no need, he was greeted to the sight of a tubby dwarf gathering as much loot as he could into his bags. This Dwarf looked up with a smile; "If you want to use your weapon, Tharthran next door could do with some help, I'm busy!" And with that he went back to examining the loot in the chests in front of him, carefully choosing what he thought most valuable and easiest to carry out.

Roi hesitated, unsure what to do. Daerren barged past him, axe raised ready to confront what was in the next room. Roi followed and could sense his comrades right behind him, following suit.

They quickly stopped their charge as a few meters inside the room was a ledge and a seething mass of putrid water, about knee deep. There was also a large, fearsome troll wielding a tree branch slowly walking across the mire away from them. In the moment they had paused a waif like, ginger bearded, Dwarf charged from behind the door across the room from them, axe aloft, yelling as he closed the gap between himself and the troll. Before the troll could react the Dwarf had leapt from his ledge, through the air and embdded his axe in the troll's skull. The troll flailed wildly trying to remove the axe and the dwarf on the other end of it, seemingly not willing to let go just yet. The stalemate was brief as a crossbow bolt whislted from behind Roi's shoulder and smashed into the troll's nose, knocking him down and allowing the frenzied dwarf to finish the job with a few well placed hacks. He turned to the troupe, "Thanks for the help with the crossbow, but I had him. My name's Tharthran and I think you adventurers should see what's through that next room there....

Part 6. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

They soon left the cobbled town behind and ventured to the outskirts where the terrain became barren and dark; twisted trees their growth stunted, heavy grey rocks casting shadows all around them. Sue Boyle did not say much but tracked at a good pace, Roi and his followers striving to keep up over the rubble strewn ground. They were eventually escorted to the entrance of a recessed cave, a faint glow from inside illuminating the skulls on spikes that marked the cave's entrance. "Lamb Stew" whispered the female dwarf into the darkness. "Ale" replied a deep voice from within. Slowly a Dwarf emerged from the dark, lantern in hand, surveying the group of adventurers and addressing his friend. "I've stayed on guard here as you said, they're still in there somewhere, but evil abounds, i can sense it." 

Sue introduced Daerren to the group and explained how they had been scouting out this location for a few weeks, watching a stream of ne'er-do-wells going in and out. "This seems like the perfect opportunity to find out more about them", shouted Kharmur, "prepare your weapons" echoed Roi.

Part 5. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

They all ran for the exit of the Spotted Dog looking for their fleeing adversaries, but they didn't have the legs to catch them. They were greeted by a local nightwarden, a fellow Dwarf by the name of Sue Boyle. "Looking for a Chef and a Cultist by any chance?", her tone was friendly and amused. "Holden here my trusted hound will follow their trail, lets go." The girl had a talent for being straight to the point.

This figure is of course the one given to attendees at the recent BOYL meet at the Foundry in Newark. A weekend of old school games and gamers. I could only attend on the Saturday and watched a whole load of different games being played, in an amazing spirit. And some incredible models and scenery on display too. I got to play the Terror of the Lichemeister scenario and thoroughly enjoyed my day. The miniature was sculpted by Jon Pickford and seems to fit in quite well with my current project:

Part 4. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

Kharmur walked away slowly, deciding to head to the Spotted Dog Inn for a drink and hopefully some information on Roi's whereabouts. He'd only walked a few paces when he heard the patter of footsteps and panting of breath behind him; Kharmur instinctively knew that this was Barri, the would be thief. He was right. "Oi, I need a drink too, heading for the Inn?" came the gruff voice of Barri. Kharmur, turned slowly and replied with a a nod and an "Aye". "I could do with some company and some help if truth be told". They walked together towards the Inn, Kharmur explaining the kidnapping of Roi to Barri with the occasional interjection, question and exclamation. Barri was in, he wanted some Adventure. Kharmur inwardly sighed, adventure at their age, look where it has got Roi.

The Spotted Dog was not as bustling as usual:

Kharmur placed his blunderbuss over his shoulder (it is often deemed quite aggressive to walk in with it shouldered and aimed) and took in the clientele. There seemed to be more bar staff than clients, a couple of Nobles talking loudly and waving their hands around, a mysterious man in blue in the corner and a couple of drunk dwarfs at the bar. Barri was already talking to the one who appreared to be in some sort of military uniform. The other dwarf was leaning on his axe asleep, snoring obviously drunk. Kharmur approached the Dwarfs and Barri introduced him to Lorri and Radi.

Lorri had recently deserted from a neighbouring militia's crossbow unit and had sought sanctuary here with his brother Radi (the sleeping drunken dwarf). Barri retold the tale of Roi's disappearance to the attentive Lorri who stroked his beard intermittently during the monologue. He asked a few questions about Roi's appearance and looked thoughtful. At the end of the tale he said: "Hmm. A fellow by that very description was seem by me earlier today. It looked as if he was being frogmarched in here by some thugs, but when I saw him I couldn't be sure if he was with them or not. I'll ask the bar man."

The barman initially looked non-plussed yet a little unsettled by the questions. He became more and more agitated by the persistence of Lorri's questioning. Eventually he said; "Look, I haven't worked here long and I need this job, but there's been some dodgy activity going on. I think the boss is running some sort of smuggling den, there's a door in the corner there that's always locked and used by a few characters who never drink here. They look shifty. In fact this is the sort of time they can be seen coming and going especially when it's not very busy".

Lorri ordered a round of drinks and they found a table to sit at, trying not to look too hard at the aforementioned door. Radi was propped up on a chair, mumbling in his sleep. They all nursed their beers and shared a few tales of adventuring between them. An hour or so later the mysterious man in the corner made his move towards the door having checked that no-one was watching him. For a split second he fumbled for his key in his pocket and this gave the three dwarfs enough time to make their move. Barri surprisingly was first, followed by Kharmur and Lorri and they pushed aside the man and bundled inside the room. Radi, now awake from his snooze, knocked the man out with one punch to the head and wandered in as they all regained their footing. They were greeted by three men in a small room; a cook, a cultist and a tall robed figure. 

 They all faced each other weighing up their options before "Hello" said Radi who then charged in with his axe aloft. The Cultist squealed, the robed man looked agog and it was only the Cook who looked in any way ready to defend himself. He walked toward the running dwarf with his cleavers shielding his chest. A clash of steel rang around the small room which sparked the others into action. The cultist tried to create as much distance between himself and the dwarfs and as he did so he revealed Roi bound and gagged in the corner. Kharmur ran towards him as a grappling hook and quiver were launched over his shoulder pinning the robed guy to the wall. The duelling pair in the middle of the room danced in a clockwise direction, occasionally striking the other's defence tentatively. But the Cook was looking to escape and had turned his foe around so the he, in his white chefs garb was now closest to the door. He backed through it at the same time as the cultist made a dash for it too. The door was slammed and locked, leaving all the dwarfs with the robed man, who sounded as if he was whimpering. Radi rummaged through some of the chests, filling his pockets with coins. Kharmur untied his bound friend Roi and embraced him. Lorri grabbed the front of the robe of the mumbling man and told him to quit his jibbering. He didn't so Lorri thrust a dagger to the man's neck. "Stop your whining, tell us why you took our brethren and I'll spare your life". The man's whimpering became higher in pitch as the dagger point was pressed firmly closer to his neck. "Tell us now or it's......." And then like that he was gone, just his robe left pinned to the wall by Lorri's quiver (the grappling hook has of course missed by some distance). "Sneaky magic" grumbled Barri.

Part 3. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

Part 3. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

Roi needed a piss. All of the adrenalin in him ebbed away with the steam emanating from the longest piss he had ever taken. At least he hadn't shat himself. It also gave him a moment away from Kharmur, so he could compose himself and gather his thoughts on what had just happened with the Goblin ambush; would he have managed to look after himself and take those greenskins down? Will he now be in Kharmur's debt for effectively being saved? He didn't want to be and didn't think that Kharmur would hold it against him or raise the subject. As these thoughts were drifting across Roi's mind he suddenly felt the strong pressure of a leather glove across his mouth, initially thinking it was his friend telling him to remain quiet but very quickly realising their was an aggression to this hold that would not have been applied by Kharmur, regardless of whatever danger there theoretically may have been. This was hostile.

The close, warm breath on his cheek whispered that he'd better not fucking move, or else the knife which he felt against his other cheek, pricking his skin, would be pushed harder. With his back to his assailants, weapon leaning against a tree and now his hands tied behind his back there was no chance for a struggle. Now Roi wished that his friend really could rescue him from this mess; a second ambush in less than 10minutes, what the fuck? A gag was quickly put over his mouth and Roi wanted to vomit.

A coarse linen hood was put over his head and he was marched away through the grassy landscape, blind. Roi vaguely wondered where his buddy was and why he had even been taken prisoner. Then the fear kicked in and his legs went wobbly and down he went in a heap. A half-hearted kick to the rib cage made him roll into a ball and then he was pulled up, heavy-handed onto his feet and marched off again along rolling country paths. Stumble, stumble, trip.

--------------------------------------

Kharmur wondered if he had been a bit too eager to shoot at those Goblins, perhaps he should have given Roi a chance to fight, but he hadn't fancied his friends chances, not because the Goblins were capable but more because he thought that Roi had frozen and given the initiative to his assailants. He wasn't sure though. Kharmur used to trust his instincts and never self-doubt or over analyse but perhaps these were two more traits to add to the changes of age. Or perhaps he just had too much time on his hands now, unlike when a youth when he just acted impulsively and never really thought too much beyond what he was doing later, who with and where. Battle had been instinctive though back in those days and the attack on the Goblins just then had taken him back to those heady days. He smiled to himself; they were more than decent shots with his blunderbuss; he still had it. 

As he reminisced he cleaned his weapon. He hadn't even noticed his reloading of the weapon or his cleaning of the barrel, so vivid was his nostalgia. So it was only a mild curiosity when he couldn't see Roi initially. But his mace was up against that tree over yonder... He got up, collected his belongings and waddled over, something was wrong. The waddle quickened. A series of footsteps had crushed the grass around the tree and instantly Kharmur's heckles were up. He grabbed his friends mace, took a deep breath (quickly exhaling when the smell of Roi's piss went up his nostrils) and then tracked the footprints through the long grass.

Kharmur arrived at the town of Felsburg about an hour later, confident in his tracking ability, but at the cobbled road the trail stopped. He wondered into the town, senses sharp, looking for any clue to guide him further. But after another hour he wavered in his approach and stopped and collected his thoughts. What did he know of Felsburg? There was a barracks, a tavern (the Spotted Dog?) and some rich merchants houses that he could explore. It was getting dark and he was thirsty, so the tavern seemed like a good bet, even though it was on the far side of the town, so off he set.

Walking through the merchants quarters, he heard a soft metallic clang coming from behind a couple of large buildings. Silently edging around the corner he could see a Dwarf with collecting a grappling hook from the floor, obviously having missed his target the first time. Kharmur watched as a second attempt was made at aiming for the obvious target of a sturdy wooden eave and again was missed, this time by some distance. Clatter. Kharmur laughed and the Dwarf turned towards him, angry. And obviously a bit annoyed. "What you sniggering at?" he was asked. Kharmur retorted "A very shit thief, by the look of things, I'm amazed you haven't been caught yet!" "That's because I've never done this before, you dick, and I'm learning my trade". Kharmur bit "A little late for you to start a new trade old man, I would have thought, but fair play. Want some help?" Kharmur ventured. "Yes please, I'm good with an axe, but this dexterity thing ain't for me. Besides, I'm getting assessed on this by the Thieves Guild, so they can let me in. Not going so well at the moment..." Kharmur chortled, he liked this guy' "Here pass it here, I'll get it up there for you, but that's it, you're on your own after that" and with his first attempt he latched the hook straight onto the beam. "Good luck. Names Kharmur". "Cheers", replied the thief to be, "Barri".

And then arrow shots were fired at them, Kharmur shouldered his blunderbuss and scarpered towards some barrels for cover. "Oi, fuck off interfering with his assessment", came a hidden voice, "do one, or the next one hits you in the gut". Kharmur slowly walked away.

Part 2. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

Part 2. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

Having almost turned back, his sudden fearlessness evaporating as he crossed the town's edge bridge, Roi steeled himself once more to go out and adventure. He thought of the death of his family and those faceless green beasts that had murdered them in their sleep. Again, it wasn't a hatred towards them, more of a mild curiosity. Could they be reasoned with? What were their motives? Having thought about the retaliatory raids conducted by the Town Guard, Roi wondered whether there really was much of a difference between his ilk and theirs anyway. It was with these thoughts, absorbing Roi's attentions as he walked past the stone bridge and into the darkening valley, that he was suddenly aware of a high-pitched chittering noise.

At first he dismissed it as some wild animal snuffling around in the bushes, but soon the same sound was in stereo. He paused and felt the weight of his mace in his right hand and brought his shield to bear forward in his left. The chittering escalated to a kind of squealing, not a frightening noise in itself but more so when replicated. It felt like the creatures making the noise were almost building themselves into a frenzy, trying to reach a crescendo. All of a sudden the noise stopped. The silence oppressive. Roi was motionless. Then from amongst the gorse Roi spotted the glinting red eyes, pointy ears of a little greenskinned creature. It emerged, tentatively, with a rusty spear lowered in his direction and started to make some guttural noises interspersed with a weak, hacking cough. Roi turned fractionally towards it and both stood facing each other, now in silence. From his left side he heard twigs cracking and out emerged another one of these goblins, a rusted club held in two hands. Again the pause from the creature, it didn't want to come too close. Roi felt slightly emboldened, not brave, his knees were shaking and he was tempted to start to walk backwards towards the safety of the other side of the bridge. But he was rooted to the spot. Perhaps this was mistaken for steadfast bravery by the little green, pointy eared creatures. Just as Roi was starting to think about approaching the goblin with the club (he was slightly nearer and seemed more timid) the whistling sound of an arrow flew behind him, not particularly close. Keeping an eye on the two goblins already in front of him, Roi slowly turned his head to his right to see another scrawny goblin fiddling with his short bow, reloading again but making a hash of it, all fingers and thumbs. Roi felt a complete abstraction of the scene and was amazed the he had not run, screamed or pissed himself. Yet. The goblin with the spear took two steps towards Roi, who lowered his weapon, as if to invite him on further. He could hear the deep, jagged breaths of the goblin and the slimy mucus travelling up between it's throat and mouth. He was desperate for the goblin to spit it out. His senses seemed alive, he felt alert and for the first time, perhaps ever, Roi smiled a smile that emanated from deep inside his being.

At that very moment, the loudest "bang" Roi had ever heard, broke the tableau and shattered his moment of clarity. A smouldering mess remained from where the spear armed goblin had once stood and Roi was quick to notice that scuttering feet and wailing screams broke from where the two other greenskins had once stood. A familiar, affable chortle sounded from behind him and Roi needed not to turn to face the laugh, knowing full well that his friend Kharmur was there, blunderbuss in his hands. When Roi did turn he watched Kharmur's smile dissipate. Perhaps his friend was expecting a warmer welcome from Roi, or perhaps Kharmur noticed a slight change in Roi's demeanour; he was after all slightly upset that the moment had been taken from him. Roi quickly gathered himself and approached his old friend with an embrace and a thanks, but that moment between them had been real and would not be discussed. They spoke now as normally as they could, Roi thanking his friend and Kharmur murmuring there being no need.

It was again unspoken that Roi now had a companion; he knew that no matter what he said, Kharmur was here for the journey.

Part 1. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

Part 1. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

As his world crumbled around him, Roi experienced familiar emotions that previously he had only a suppressed acquaintance with; fear, loneliness and impotence.

His family murdered in their sleep by a raiding party of Orcs, Roi survived only because he had been at his local tavern, the Stumbling Inn, having his usual one tankard of ale whilst dinner was being prepared. Sitting there nursing his drink, he had been one of the last to respond to the growing commotion outside, relishing his ale after a familiarly easy day in the gem store he worked at. He became intrigued and looked outside and witnessed an unfamiliar energy and noise outside; from the shouting of multiple voices he could pick out the different tones denoting panic and or indicating orders being given. Amongst this the quick shuffle of feet as the local town guard sauntered down the alley, southbound towards his plot of land. He was torn between finishing the last quarter of his ale in the deserted tavern, or go and investigate. He was normally neither curious or inquisitive, those traits only caused trouble and he would usually let others deal with problems. But the crowd were moving away, southbound and that was where he lived.

His house was aflame and initially he thought that Thelma had had an accident whilst cooking and was wondering whether he should berate her about this, or whether she would need comforting. Confrontation was not a strength of his, so he decided to approach his house, through the crowds and find and comfort his wife and two children, Thogran and Thalgrim, who would undoubtedly be inconsolable and in tears. Emotions he didn't want to deal with. But as he approached and the crowds saw him he was stopped by their faces. Anger and pity were etched in their expressions, why did he suddenly feel guilty? He adjusted his hearing as brethren were addressing him; "I'm so sorry". "Fucking cowardly, shitty greenskins". Alternating tones between pity and anger and it then hit him smack in the stomach; his family were no more, the fire was the remains of his life, taken in his absence.

After weeks of moping (Roi figured he was allowed to be self-indulgent over this) his friends visited him less and less and he was left alone with his thoughts. They were divided between memories of the past and concerns for the future but neither were particularly practical. Apparently the Guard had smashed a few greenskin settlements in the nearby mountains in retaliation and as a warning to not approach again, but there was little else anyone could do for Roi now. He was living in the annex to his burnt out home and some local craftsman had begun making some repairs, initially with enthusiasm and vigour but now with a more detached air and and less dedicated commitment. Time passed slowly. Roi understood why. He felt like he should have some sort of grudge to bear to his family's murderers, but they were just faceless, angry and vicious monsters to him. Certainly that's how he pictured them in his terrifying dreams.

The fear, loneliness and impotence which had always been there in his life, just stifled, were now oppressive, overwhelming feelings; baggage that burdened him with every thought and movement, every plan or desire. He was sitting in a donated chair (how he missed his old one), famished but with no motivation to feed himself from anything in his larder. How did all that food get there? When was the last time he gathered his own food? When did he last show any kind of initiative or intent? Why was he festering here, the town-folk completely accepting of his detachment and malaise? Was this it for him now?

He shot up, put on his leather boots, rummaged for his old leather satchel and filled it with provisions from his larder. He went out to the old barn where an old wooden shield hung on the outside doors and snuck around to Kharmur's neighbouring house. Kharmur was asleep snoring in his rocking chair on the porch, so Roi tiptoed past and into his house. There above his fireplace was the shiny mace that was his pride and joy, from when Kharmur had been captain of the Guard. A brief moment of indecision from Roi, after all it was stealing, but somehow he thought that Kharmur would understand. He lifted the mace off it's fixings and marvelled at it's weight, lighter than expected but satisfyingly heavy. And off Roi walked, past Kharmur, whose eyes were now slightly open and whose mouth was slightly wider with a grin and towards the bridge that marked the edge of the town.

Roi, setting off on his adventure.

Roi, having second thoughts...

After a little chat with himself, he sets off once again, determined to be intrepid.

And some closer-up photos showing Roi posing in the photography studio:

Layers of character

When I'm sitting at my allocated hobby space, about to start painting an individual character miniature (as opposed to batch painting) I realise that in my head, as I look at the piece of sculpted lead, I contemplate bringing it to life with some sort of colour scheme. I'm sure I'm not alone in having this internal monologue about how I am going to make this mass consumed model, unique and interesting to paint; in other words flesh him or her out by creating a backstory and therefore an individual character. This all happens before and sometimes whilst painting. One of the joys of older Citadel miniatures from the 80s is that they are so very characterful and individual and when I look at the details or the expressions, or clothing or weapons I can easily imagine a backstory to the character and I like to think the original sculptor would have done the same as he was mixing the green-stuff. The dwarf adventurer range is a prime example. These aren't well equipped, beefy mono-pose  soldiers but rather that wonderful pathetic aesthetic from this era; the flawed, ill-equipped, even scared or wary looking models from a bygone era. I challenge you to not find these quirky, bearded stunties interesting and characterful!

So once I've chosen which of these models to buy (I now only buy models that have character and that I want to paint, otherwise it has to be converted) I start the painting process and it hit home as I was about to paint this dwarf adventurer, that I was having an unusually long internal chat with myself (perhaps even with the model) to find out who he is and how that will determine my painting approach. Here he is with some base coats on, the decisions behind each is outlined below:

Now this fella is to be the hero of my tale as I narrate and build a dwarf warband around him. I needed to make decisions about how to paint him and this depended on such questions as to whether, for example, he is  young or old, wealthy or poor. In more depth, his age determines the colour of his beard, his wealth determines the condition of his weapons, armour and attire, his wealth is determined by his success as an adventurer etc, etc.

So I decided he was to be old, poor and not very well equipped (more on the backstory when he's finished). I then gathered a few images to help me paint in these realistically and tried to colour match them with the paints I would use to recreate them:

 Balor brown and Dawnstone

Mournfang brown and baneblade brown (lighter areas with Balor brown or dry pigment)

Doombull brown and black. Scratches with Balor brown.

Baneblade Brown and Dawnstone 

So with the model now nearly finished, the decisions I made in my colour palette and the choices I made in his appearance have helped me make my own unique miniature, especially when I write about his backstory in my next post. I see these two elements of the hobby as intrinsically linked and (in my book) there should be no random approach to painting or collecting miniatures! Choose a characterful model (or convert one) and create your own character out of that characterful model!

The Bestiary of the Exalted and the Unfortunate

Quite a while ago, over at the Oldhammer Forum, I signed up for a community project to create a conversion for each of the entries from the list of random Champions found in the Lost and the Damned book - a serious undertaking! There are already a host of excellent and imaginative conversions and paint jobs on that thread, so the standard is set pretty high.

I chose this particular entry with a host on interesting attributes to create, for my first go:


160 --- Dwarf --- Horrible stench, all arms tentacles, multiple heads (3), bestial face on 2 heads (goat) and featureless head on 3rd

I had an unwanted Marauder Dwarf troll-slayer lying around ready to be mutilated! Only recently I was reminded of my participation and so therefore bought my conversion out of the depths of my "to paint" tray and, well painted him:

I went for a realistic skin tone and alternative blonde/ginger hair for the beards and hairstyles so as to not make the model too busy with lots of bold and vibrant colours. The cool blue of the trousers were deliberately chosen to counter the other warm colours used.

The conversion was pretty simple really; some careful snipping off of his arms, some delicate gouging of his eyes and nose followed by some wire pinned into position for where the tentacles would go. The two beastmen heads were glued in place and some greenstuff used to sculpt the tentacles around the wire armature. The weapons were finally added and then all the gaps were filled and some additional hair sculpted to hide some of the unsightly gaps between the multiple heads.

His backstory?:

From a young age Bromni eschewed all contact with his kin; their mundane conversations, lowly ambitions and monotony of routine angered him. As soon as was possible he up and left, leaving his family without even a goodbye. He had decided to go on grand adventures, explore the world and live life to the full. It was of course destiny that he should eventually join up with a cult of dwarfs known as Trollslayers; those destructive warriors that look to defeat their enemies or face certain death. Working alone with just their axe as company. This was perfect for Bromni.

And he was good at it. Trolls were slain and his reputation as a fierceome slayer grew. He hated the adulation that he started to receive - other adventurers seeking him out, wealthy Dwarves looking to offer him money to fight their enemies, so it was unsurprising that Bromni withdrew further from civilisation and wandered further north into the chaos wastes looking for a true fight. 

Everything changed for him one fateful day. He had tracked down a group of trolls to a marsh somewhere in the realm of chaos. But, unbeknownst to Bromni these trolls were led by a powerful sorcerer. Bromni slayed the seven trolls after a fierce fight and was cleaning his axe when the sorcerer returned from an errand. He feigned ignorance of the trolls and instead showed Bromni exaggerated respect and offered the young dwarf an ale. Over the ale the sorcerer skillfully asked questions of Bromni and discovered his desire to fight bigger foes and his disdain for company. The sorcerer saw his opportunity to punish the Dwarf, casting a multiple head spell, where the heads of the next two enemies slain by the dwarf would begin to grow next to his own head. It was not long after this chance meeting that Bromni slayed a warband of beastmen and of course the heads of two of these beasts began to appear from his shoulder. The horror of this situation broke the young dwarf and he wandered for days with the constant chatter and braying of the beastmen always accompanying his every waking moment. It was of course no surprise when the sorcerer re-appeared and offered Bromni salvation as a follower of his chaos god. The path to damnation was set....