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With the coming of AOS I have decided to begin a project I have long wanted to achieve. Creating my own personalised chaos warband. I have always liked cavalry models but for some reason never collected a cavalry based army. Therefore the entire warband will be mounted. The aim of this project is to push my modeling and painting as far as possible. Each model will be converted and painted to the highest standard I can achieve. I have no clear idea of how big this project will get but I am looking forward to getting started.

I will aim to complete a short story introducing each character as they join the warband. I always fine having a clear image in your head of who the characters are is what the hobby is all about. Being able to transfer that character to the individual models will be the challenge.

Below is the story of how the tale begins. I hope you enjoy it.

Ingvar pulled his furs tighter and shielded his eyes against the snow. Lifting logs into the cart all morning had caused sweat to stream down his back. Now he’d stopped work and was beginning the long ride back to the village the sweat was freezing in the frigid air causing him to shiver. The cart wheels dug fresh tracks in the snow as Faust rushed on ahead. A huge dog, bred for hunting mountain lions, Faust was his eyes and ears in the wilderness. He reached back and grabbed his axe. The tension in his shoulders eased as the familiar weight settled across his thighs. It paid to be careful living so close to the white wastes. As the wind picked up and the snowflakes gusted into his eyes, Ingvar whipped the horse forward.

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When the soft glow of the village finally began to shine through the darkness, Ingvar had to prise his fingers apart to release the reins. Faust had already raced ahead and was probably already being fed scraps by Lilly. He led the horse into the communal stable and ensured she was covered before heading over to his cabin. Pulling aside the heavy door he slipped inside quickly. Lilly was bundled in furs lying on the sleeping mat. Even in her relaxed state she was like a stallion born to race, there was an energy within Lilly which was almost primal. It radiated from her and bathed those around her. Ingvar new he was ice and Lilly was fire, it was why he needed her so much. She threw herself into every situation regardless of the consequences; despite her willow thin body, as if daring the world to harm her for the simple fact of being born a girl.

She turned to check what was taking him so long and caught him staring at her. She reached back and threw a cushion at him with a grin. He batted it aside and walked to the rack. Her long black hair brushed the side of his face as he leaned over to kiss her.
“Comfortable?” he asked with a wink as shed his furs.
“I was almost falling asleep.” she said stretching her arms.
He lifted her feet, flicked the furs aside and sat down before placing her feet in his lap. He loved her little feet, perfectly formed and always rubbing together absently when she was distracted.
“Timber is getting further away every winter. It’ll be easier to just move the village at this rate.” He said.
“No way.” She laughed, punching him on the arm.
Ingvar lay down on the furs exhausted. He burrowed his nose into her neck and breathed in her scent as she laid her head on his chest.
‘I dream about her sometimes you know.’ said Lilly.
‘Who?’
‘Our daughter. I dream that we are at the river, she asks me silly questions about the world. She doesn’t smile, she is so serious. She has your unreadable grey eyes, it scares me but at the same time there is a thrill in not knowing exactly what she is thinking. Whenever I’m beginning to struggle to provide the answers you arrive and sweep her into your arms. She laughs then, all questions forgotten.’ he can hear the smile in her voice. ‘I stand and watch you carry her into the river. I hear her shrieks as the cold water washes over her for the first time. You laugh and it’s a true laugh, not something for show or because it’s socially appropriate, a true laugh like a child without a care in the world.
“It’s when you laugh like that the dream peaks. I wake up. I look across at you sleeping and I touch the space in the bed between us, trying to feel her imprint in the furs.
“I don’t see you laugh like that anymore Ingvar, but I know our daughter will help you find it again.” she turns to gently press her forehead against his before kissing him goodnight. She lies on her side. Ingvar feels her press into him and turns to wrap his arms around her. His hands settle protectively over the bulge of her stomach. Her lips press briefly against his fingers. She pushes her hair back expectantly.
“I love you.” he whispers into her ear.

His eyes snapped open. Something had awoken him. Ingvar strained to hear past the howling wind. His hand instinctively went to touch Lilly and a wave of relief swept through him as he found her warm leg under the sheet. He waited. Just as he was settling back into the furs he heard it again, a woman’s scream. He gently shook Lilly awake and motioned for her to be quiet. He slipped from the covers and quickly dressed. Moving to the window and he eased the covering to one side. It was impossible to even see the next house through the swirling snow. He grasped his axe and pressed the cold metal against his forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breaths.
“Wait here. I’m going to go and find out what is happening. It may be just an accident.” He said to Lilly.
Her eyes were wide as she watched him move to the door and grasp the handle. With one last look he swung the door open and stepped outside. The cold hit him like a fist. Ingvar gritted his teeth and instinctively ducked his head further into his furs. The darkness was made worse by the snow. He moved cautiously towards the next cabin. As he rounded the corner he saw shapes moving across the square. He couldn’t make out who it was but the lack of a torch made him grip the haft of his axe tighter. He ducked back behind the cabin and began to jog as quietly as possible around the intervening cabins. As he neared the place where he had seen the figures he slowed. Glancing round the corner he saw the door of Alof’s cabin wide open. A bloodied hand lay half exposed on the threshold. Ingvar struggled to keep his breathing even as his heart beat rapidly. He crept up to the window and looked inside. Two figures were bent over trying to light a fire. In the flashes between flint strikes he saw horrifying glimpses of detail. They each bore ritual facial scars across their cheeks giving them demonic visages in the harsh light. Severed head adorned their belts. Alof’s purple tongue was protruded obscenely from his mouth. Their furs appeared to be from some kind of grey wolf and were adorned with bold red paint in diagonal slashes of colour.

In a blaze of light the fire took hold of the straw. The raiders began spreading it around the cabin, igniting anything they could. As Ingvar frantically turned to head back to Lilly he saw a sight which stilled his blood. On the ridgeline of the valley leading to the village torches were appearing in the falling snow. Mounted warriors were pouring towards the village screaming viscous battle cries. A moan escaped him as he sprinted back towards his cabin. His feet repeatedly slipped from under him as he battled through the snow drifts behind the cabins. He could hear screams as doors began to be smashed from their hinges.

As he neared his cabin it was suddenly lit from within. They were inside! His steps slowed. He could see at least five raiders crowding the front porch of his cabin. They were huge fur lined shapes, steaming silhouettes in the torch light. His breath was coming out in ragged gasps as he desperately considered his options. As he waited, immobile in the snow the covering was snatched from the window facing him. Lilly’s face appeared there, frantically pressing against the glass. Her hands banged against the pane but it refused to break. As her gaze searched the treeline for help their eyes locked.
He saw her desperately scream “Help me!” but all sound was drowned out by the wind.
As he took a step forward hands grabbed her from behind. She fought back but it was no use. Ingvar’s steps slowed. His legs refused to move. Shakes were robbing his limbs of all strength. He found he could barely hold his axe steady. He was going to die. The image of Alof’s severed head flashed in his mind. He found himself turning around. Seemingly of their own violation his legs were carrying towards the dark treeline. As he glanced back over his shoulder he saw Lilly being dragged through the cabin. Once more their eyes locked. Slowly he shook his head. “I’m sorry.” Ingvar whispered. Then he turned away and ran into the woods.

An arrow took him in the lower back. Another hit him in the shoulder. A sob escaped him as he staggered on into the trees. He heard a savage growl from behind him as Faust launched himself at the archer. Blinking freezing tears from his eyes Ingvar ran on. How long he ran for Ingvar didn’t know. He ran until his legs couldn’t carry him anymore. He sank down into the snow. Pulling his damp furs tight around him, he lay on his side to avoid snagging the arrows jutting from his back. Gradually his breathing settled down to a steady pant as a single word repeated over and over from his lips.
“****. ****. ****. ****”
He was still mumbling it as he slipped into oblivion.
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The wet tongue rasped once more over his cheek. Ingvar blinked in the morning sun. His whole body felt numb. It was an effort to even raise his arm to clear away the snow that had partially covered his face. Faust span in an excited circle then resumed licking his face. He could see blood covering the dogs fur in patches but couldn’t tell who it belonged too. He tried to roll over but came up short with a gasp as the arrows in his back were pushed further into his flesh. Gathering his strength it took all of his will to force his legs under him and stand. Snow cascaded to the ground as he grasped a nearby tree for balance. He bent over and retched but there was nothing to expel. He looked down and saw an alarming spread of blood covered the snow where he had been lying. It was then that Ingvar realised he was dying.
“Lead me back Faust” he commanded. At least he could lie next to Lilly one last time.

As he neared the village his steps once more slowed of their own accord. His cowardice had been eating him the whole agonising walk back. He had staggered and collapsed a few times but each time Faust had dragged him back to his feet. He felt incredibly thirsty which he knew was a bad sign. He could see that only the original cabin had been burnt. The rest had been ransacked. Belongings carefully accumulated over a life time had been carelessly strewn across the ground. He began to weep as he approached the door to his cabin. He considered not looking but he owed her this much at least. He hadn’t possessed the courage to die at her side but at least he could witness. As he pushed the door aside his gaze fell upon Lilly and what had been done to her. It turned out his stomach did have something to expel after all.

Ingvars world collapsed in that instant. He curled into a ball on the threshold of their home and wept. Sounds escaped him that he didn’t know he was capable of making. Once more he lost track of time as wept as only a craven soul can weep when it has failed its loved ones at their most vulnerable hour. Once more it was Faust who roused him. As he stared numbly at the dog a new feeling rose inside him, an unquenchable desire for vengeance. He balled snow into his fists and squeezed until spittle flew from his mouth. An anguished shout burst from him as he realised such thoughts were futile.

His gaze fell upon the town church. The oak doors hung shattered and blowing in the wind. Ingvar lay in the snow watching them waiting to die, until slowly an idea formed. It was a story passed down through the generations. A story of how the church contained a vial of blood said to belong to a great warrior who had founded the village. A warrior so renowned he drew the attention of a god. Ingvar had always treated the story as a myth. The blood was undoubtedly rams blood, refilled each year by the acolytes. But what if there was a truth to the myths. He began dragging himself through the snow. By the time he reached the church doors he had left a blood soaked path churned across the square.
As he dragged himself between the pews down the central isle he could see that the church hadn’t been spared. The assorted spiritual items gathered over generations had been looted. He pulled himself up with a wince to look into the repository for the vial. His heart sank. It wasn’t there. As he slumped to the ground defeated he saw it. Discarded in the corner it had been dismissed as worthless. The vial was made of simple copper and stung his hands after being exposed to the elements all night. He softly worked the stopper loose from the top. Licking his lips he looked across to Faust who was whimpering nervously.

“It’s ok boy.” he reassured him. “For Lilly.” Ingvar intoned, as he tipped the vial back and drank the entire contents.
Whatever he expected he didn’t expect it to be so instantaneous. His body was wracked with convulsions. His teeth clenched so tight he felt a tooth at the back shatter under the pressure. He writhed on the cold stone tiles. All thoughts of vengeance lost as the blood raced through his body like wild fire. Visions of slaughter exploded into his mind. He gripped his head with both hands as he rose to his knees. Faust set to barking and circling frantically as Ingvar once more lost consciousness.
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When he woke Ingvar could taste blood in his mouth from where he had bitten his tongue. He pushed himself to his feet. Faust was covering a few yards away. Ingvar held out his blood encrusted hand. Slowly Faust approached until he was within touching distance. Finally with a timid lick he brushed against Ingvar’s hand before darting from the church. Ingvar reached back and yanked the arrow heads from his shoulder and back. The pain which should have driven him to his knees barely registered. With steady purposeful steps he strode from the church and crossed the square over to his cart. The horses had been stolen in the raid so he set about transferring the logs to his cabin. He was able to carry twice the load he had managed the previous day. Once he had finished he took out a flint and a bundle of hay and began preparing a fire.
Preparations completed, Ingvar walked over to look down on Lilly as she lay on the bed. He smoothed her hair and gently closed her eyes. As he stared at her face her pain ravaged features began to blur.

“Never again will I pay the price of fear.” vowed Ingvar as he bent to kiss his wife’s brow.
He set the blaze and left the cabin. Sitting in the middle of the square he sat and watched his dreams burn. It was dusk by the time the flames had burnt themselves out and the cabin was nothing but charcoal and ashes. Ingvar hefted his pack and walked over to the steaming ruins. He cut a deep slash into his palm using a hunting knife before collected a handful of ashes. The blood mingled with the ashes forming a paste which he began applying to the upper half of his face. His skin tingled with pain as he rubbed the still hot ashes into his skin.
“I am now without Phobos.” He said to the spirits of his village. Any answer they offered was drowned out by the wind.
A sharp whistle brought Faust trotting to his side. The raiders’ tracks were not difficult to find in the hard packed snow. As the sun finally dipped over the horizon bathing the scene in shades of grey and black; Ingvar set out upon the trail.

Here is the first member of the warband, Jussi (pronounced Yussi). I learnt a lot working on this first model. Mainly horses are hard to paint! Overall I'm very pleased with the model. Having read some excellent Mordenhiem and Inquisimunda blogs online I knew I wanted each model to be an individual and the the force to look uniform but not regimented. The snow was made using the PVA glue, water, baking soda and white paint method. The main parts used were from the Dark Riders kit, kroot accessories and a space wolf head. I would've preferred a younger looking head but it was difficult to find one. Enjoy.







Jussi’s breath was coming in ragged gusts as he slid down the frozen embankment. A hurried glance over his shoulder showed no sign of his pursuers. He cursed himself for leaving his hunting knife embedded in Kregors’s belly, now he was completely unarmed. Jussi had been running throughout the morning since his escape. He knew there were no horses in the encampment so any pursuit would have to be on foot. His mouth went dry at the thought of who they would send; the Gilder brothers, expert trackers known for their malice and twisted perversions.
Jussi had grown up on the borders of the White Waste. His father had been a softly spoken alchemist who had read him tales of Dragons and Elves throughout his youth. The gentle healer hadn’t stood a chance when the Raiders came. Jussi was taken at the age of 11 and had been kept as slave for the past 8 years. He had long since given up on ever escaping. The White Wastes proved their own deterrent to any slave thinking of freedom.

That was, until last night.

Jussi’s legs were beginning to tire. A combination of a poor diet and lack of opportunities to run had left him with little reserves to draw upon. He scanned the barren forest for a suitable hiding place. Biting down on a desperate moan which threatened to escape him, Jussi staggered onwards. He forced himself not to think about the torture which would be inflicted upon him once he was caught. Looking up through the sparse leaf coverage he could see the sun was just about at its peak. If only he could stay ahead until nightfall he might be able to conceal himself.
As the afternoon waned Jussi felt himself weakening further. His staggered run had become a walk with shuffled sprints lasting no more than a few heart beats. His mind travelled back to the previous night. As with most nights in the cold damp stable he had been struggling to sleep. The sound of the chain being removed from the door had sent a spasm of fear rippling through the slaves. Who would be chosen? He had lain there praying it wouldn’t be one of the warriors who preferred boys. A wave of shame burned through him as the sound of Esmi’s squeal from across the stable triggered a wave of relief. As the tension eased from his body a hand suddenly grasped his ankle in an iron grip and dragged him across the hard packed floor. His fingers dragged desperate furrows through the soil but a sharp blow to the ribs left him gasping for breath.
In the diffuse glow of the half-moon he could make out the blunt face of Kregor, teeth gritted with the effort of dragging him across the snow.
As they reached a safe distance from the camp Kregor leaned down to whisper in his ear, ‘I’ve seen you two watching each other. Well now you’re going to watch her real close.’

Jussi flinched back at the rancid smell of Kregor’s breath. He could see Esmi across the clearing. Even from a distance the whites of her eyes were clear as her breath bloomed in ragged gasps. Such was Kregor’s confidence; he didn’t even bother restraining Jussi.
He blinked tears away as they began to freeze his eye lids shut. He felt ready to void his bowels and his legs had drained of energy. He stared at Kregor’s wide back as it advanced upon the tiny cowering form of Esmi. As Kregor bent down to grasp her hair there was a flash of moonlight on a blade. Kregor staggered backwards clutching his throat. Blood began to pour through his clenched fingers, the crimson stain spreading fast. Esmi had pushed herself to her feet and was advancing on Kregor when he turned and back handed her across the face sending her sprawling into a snow drift. Spitting his rage he drew his long knife.

Jussi surged to his feet and leapt onto Kregor’s back. The huge man began shaking his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge Jussi but he clung on desperately. As Kregor removed his hand to try to grab Jussi blood spurted out forcing him to return his hand to his throat. Slowly the efforts slowed and Kregor slumped to his knees. Jussi prised the long knife from his hands and stared down at Kregor’s dark pig like eyes which stared up at him. Blood bubbled from his lips as he tried to curse them. Jussi slammed the knife down through the leather jerkin and into Kregor’s belly before wrenching it across in a disembowelling cut. Kregor convulsed in the snow attempting to wrap his body around the wound. The snow turned into a crimson slush behind him as Jussi approached Esmi.
‘We have to flee.’ He gasped. ‘He will be missed by morning.’
‘I can’t, my sister is here. I will never leave her.’ She stated resolutely. She was already walking back towards the stable. He realised she didn’t have a drop of blood on her. Looking down he saw that his entire tunic was sprayed with blood.
She turned back to see him stood there silhouetted in the moonlight.
‘I understand.’ She said meeting his eyes, ‘Just come back for me.’ With that she slipped through the doors.
Jussi nodded silently before drawing in a shuddering breath. The realisation of what had happened was finally registering. His hands shook as he attempted to unclasp Kregor’s cloak, he rolled the already stiffening body over, pulled the jade cloak over his shoulders and headed off into the gusting snow.
_____________________________________________________

Ingvar had been trekking through the forest for nearly a week and his supplies were starting to dwindle. Before long he would need to head into a town. He trudged on, forcing his mind to the matter of survival rather than dwelling on thoughts of his wife, although of late his thoughts turned more and more to fantasies of vengeance. The wind was forcing him to keep his head down and obscuring any game tracks he might find. He was just beginning to look for a likely place to make a camp for the night when he saw the youth staggering through the snow in the distance. Realising the youths path would pass close to his current position Ingvar pressed himself behind a tree.

As the first fur covered boot came into view Ingvar stepped out into his path. The youth’s momentum took him into Phobos’ chest. the impact sent him tumbling back into the snow. The boy looked up with tear filled eyes. Seeing Ingvar towering above him the youth sagged deeper into the snow. Ingvar watched as his head sank down and his blond hair fell to obscure his face. Just as Ingvar was about to speak, a shout snatched his gaze up to the trail. Two men were approaching. Instantly Ingvar could feel his body tense at the sight of their casual walk and feral grins. Both were clearly warriors and held well-worn weapons loosely in their scarred hands.

‘It seems you have found something that belongs to us.’ Spoke the warrior on the left reaching up to wipe his hooked nose. His face bore twin scratch marks across the cheek and his eyes held to Jussi despite the fact his statement was aimed at Ingvar. Jussi cringed in the snow at Ingvar’s feet. A soft moan escaped him at a wink from the second warrior who had taken out a knife and was examining the blade theatrically.
‘Kregor was related to Choss. He can’t wait to express his … grief.’ Said hook nose as Choss barred his teeth revealing blackened teeth.
‘Just move aside. This has nothing to do with you stranger.’ warned Choss.
The silence stretched. The only sound was the wind gusting through the trees.
‘Maybe he’s simple?’ asked Choss. ‘Let’s just take the boy and go Robar.’
But Robar was hesitant. Ingvar hadn’t even altered his position since their arrival.

Finally with a snarl of frustration Choss lurched forward to grab Jussi. The blow that shattered through Choss’ helmet landed with such force that it slit his helmet in two and punched half way through his skull. Blood sprayed across Jussi’s face and the surrounding snow. As Ingvar attempted to pull the axe from Choss’ head, Robar attacked with an overhand cut but an arm snapped out and stopped the blow dead. Letting go of the axe and allowing Choss’ body to topple over Ingvar grasped Robar by the jerkin and lifted him bodily into the air before slamming him onto the trail. The sword bounced from Robar’s grip as Ingvar straddled him and began pounding his face. Jussi watched on in horror as Ingvar reduced the warrior’s skull to ruins. Long after Robar stopped resisting the blows continued to rain down.

Finally the blows stopped. Ingvar’s breathing was ragged. Blood drenched spittle hung from his lips. Jussi tried to move further away but the noise of the snow brought Ingvar’s attention. The head snapped up. His eyes blazed like a rabid dog, with teeth clenched in a rictus of rage he surged to his feet and advanced upon Jussi. Just as Jussi was about to squeeze eyes shut from out of the swirling snow bounded a huge hunting dog. It placed itself in Ingvar’s path and began barking furiously. Ingvar hesitated. The dog began darting forward to pull at Ingvar’s arms. Slowly Ingvar’s head dropped. After a few minutes had passed, the fists slowly unclenched.

Jussi watched as Ingvar leveraged the axe from Choss’ head and wiped it clean on the body. Without a word he set off into the snow storm. Jussi lay in the snow watching the man walk away, by the slump of his shoulders it was impossible to imagine the violence he had just unleashed. With a ragged sigh Jussi stood and collected Choss’ fallen axe. He then set off to follow the stranger into the snow.

Here is the second member of the party, Korban Wolfsbane. A hunter who likes to bring down his prey using thrown javelins. I'm having a difficult time tracking down good paint brushes in Vietnam so this model took longer than expected. I tried a grey horse this time and grey is another pain in the ass colour to work with! I green stuffed his cloak to look like a huge wolk skin cloak and I'm fairly happy with the results.

On to the pictures.









And his fluff:

Korban Wolfsbane stared into his tankard of ale and considered his options. The greasy film that was beginning to congeal on the surface wasn’t very appealing but then neither was spending a night sober in this flea ridden town. Uttering a prayer to Sigmar, he raised the tankard to his lips. Looking around the main room of the Drunken Skink he could see that the clientele had mostly reached the same conclusion.

Not for the first time he cursed Felix for suggesting he head to the village of Thorp. Despite the fact that he had managed to acquire the contract to hunt the pack of wolves that had been terrorising the area, a sudden snow storm was preventing him from even beginning to track the pack down. Adjusting his bear skin cloak, he wondered if there was anything to the rumours that a shadowy figure had been seen leading the pack on occasion. Probably just back water superstition. In all his years hunting he’d never heard of a pack of wolves being subjugated by anyone other than Orcs.

The sound of the wind gusting through the open door brought Korban’s attention to the entrance. Two figures pushed their way inside. Furs shed snow onto the straw covered floor as they scanned the room. Korban groaned inwardly as he realised his table was the only one with a vacant. The older newcomer reached the same conclusion and began pushing his way through the crowd. Korban noticed the man’s knuckles were severely bruised as he gauged their approach under the cover of another swig of his ale.

They sat down opposite Korban, the bruised hands settled on the table whilst the youth tried to arrange his cloak over the bench. Korban looked up to meet the stranger’s eyes and inwardly recoiled as the intense grey eyes met his own. They exchanged a nod of mutual understanding before the stranger called for the bar tender. The youth was staring at Korban’s kit which was propped on the bench beside him.
‘These are my sewing needles.’ said Korban, picking up one of his javelins from the set and running his hand over smooth wood. ‘I can bring down a bear from 20 yards with one of these.’ He said with a wink and a grin.
‘Really?’ asked the youth eying the steel blade, ‘Some of the black bears around Gunnerstrom took as many as ten men just to drive them from the village.’
‘It’s all about timing and precision. Most men have one or the other. I have both. I can throw three of these faster than most men can draw their sword.’ stated Korban as he took another drink and winced at the taste.
‘I’d imagine one of those would feel like a flea bite on a Stonetusk to a charging bear.’ Said the man as he rubbed his hands together, attempting to bring life back to his fingers. I’ll pray I’m not there the day you miss.’
‘The day I miss, the second javelin will be aimed at you to provide the bear something to eat whilst I run for the hills!’ said Korban with a barked laugh. ‘The name’s Korban Wolfsbane. What brings you to the sunny hills of Thorp?’ he asked wiping ale from his thick beard.
‘Ingvar.’ replied the man with a reluctant smile ‘And Jussi’ he said indicating the blond youth. Aye thought Korban, this one’s smiles are likely always fleeting. ‘We are here to buy supplies and if possible acquire a pair of horses.’
Korban sucked his breath between his teeth, ‘The horses will cost you, even for the bags of bones being traded here. I hope you have enough coin.’ The two exchanged glances. ‘Seems you might be walking or working is my inkling.’ Korban settled back attempting to allow the pair to enjoy their meal in peace but Jussi began asking questions about the beasts he had huntered and places he had been. Realising he could use the distraction Korban launched into his best stories.

As Korban was reaching the conclusion of the tale of how the cougar of Redwood, the inn door burst open. A sea of heads to swept round as a sudden frosty gale that gusted into the room. A ragged looking villager stood in the doorway, his eyes were wide as he attempted to regain his breath. ‘Orcs. They are attacking the village!’
A murmur of disbelief echoed around the room. Korban noticed Ingvar unsling his axe. A few patrons were openly calling the villager a fool. One burly farmer had stood up and was offering the villager a tankard of ale ‘Shut the *********** door. Orcs never cross the Razor Mountains. Everyone knows that.’ said the famer. Just as the famer reached him two black fletched arrows erupted from the villager’s chest punching clean through his body spraying the farmer in blood. The tap room erupted in activity.

Gripping his gear in one hand Korban pushed past panicked patrons and headed for the rear entrance. He shrugged on his bear skin cloak and halted with his ear pressed to the thick oak door. Nothing. Muttering a curse to send Felix to Nagash’s outhouse, he kicked the door open and headed out into the night. Shielding his eyes from the torches he hunched behind the stable wall and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He could hear screams in the distance down by the bridge.

Turning he could see the dark tree line of the forest. He briefly considered heading out into the forest and moving on, but the thought of leaving left a taste as sour as the ale. He hefted his two favourite javelins in his left hand, slung his boar spear across his back and headed towards the centre of the village.
_____________________________________

Ingvar yanked Jussi by the collar into doorway as the pair of orcs lumbered into the ally. He could see their yellow eyes hooded by their massive overhanging brows scanning the alley and belatedly wondered if orcs had good night vision. The stink emanating from their furs brought Ingvar’s cloak tighter to his face. He could feel his muscles vibrating with the need for violence. It was taking all his willpower not to launch himself at the greenskins. Their tusks showed through above their jaw line as they both turned at the sound of a horse screaming past the mouth of the alley way, its mane on fire as it charged past.

The distraction was all he needed. Releasing himself to the battle lust he covered the distance between him and the first orc in seconds. Its small pig like eyes widened as the axe head shattered through its check bone and continued on into its brain in a spray of green blood. Bellowing a challenge the second orc reacted quickly and attempted to use its bulk to force Ingvar back. Rather than retreat as the orc expected he launched a blistering assault. Pieces of shield shattered away under successive blows as the orc attempted to hunker down and survive. All pretence of attack now vanished as it attempted to withdraw but Ingvar pressed his advantaged. The next time the arm was raised to block he severed the arm at the elbow. Ingvar moved in to finish the orc in a flurry of blows which nearly severed its thick neck. Stepping over the body as it collapsed he loosed a blood curdling shout and charged into the night.

Jussi checked the leather binding on his axe for the final time then headed to the mouth of the alley. He had waited anxiously for any sign of Ingvar coming back but after a couple of minutes passed he figured it was safe. Looking up the street he saw the horse. It had somehow managed to douse the flames in its mane and was pacing nervously. Jogging up he held out his hand and murmured soothingly. The horse seeking any guiding hand in the chaos allowed him to take its reins. Jussi quickly pulled himself into the saddle and rode towards the sounds of battle.

Cantering across the square he had made it half way across the snow covered flags when a snarl from his right brought his attention. He looked round just in time to see an armour covered mass of muscle charging towards him. Realising it meant to tackle him and the horse, Jussi barely had time to lift his axe before it smashed into them. The impact jarred the axe from his hand. A hoof collided with his ribs as the horse frantically kicked itself to its feet and bounded away. He looked up to see the orc standing above him, the moonlight glinted as the blade began its decent.

The javelins flew so fast they appeared to strike the orcs chest simultaneously. A bemused look crossed its scarred features. Slowly its knees gave way and it tumbled backwards into the snow. Korban barely broke stride as he ran past and snatched the javelins from the corpse, ‘Smaller than a bear.’ he shouted as he continued across the square. Jussi lay back in the snow and shook his head.
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By the time Korban reached the bridge the orcs were being pressed back almost to the other side by a solitary warrior who was attacking in a frenzy. The blows from his axe sent limbs and armour flying whenever they struck home and the orcs appeared about to call the retreat. Korban watched as a darkly armoured shape pulled itself up from the river and over the side of the bridge behind the warrior. Cunningly clever these orcs he thought as he attempted to close the distance. Just as it appeared the orc was going to catch the warrior by surprise, a giant fur covered shape burst from the night and intercepted the orc with a snarling leap. Both crashed to the ground. Green hands clasped fur but the huge dog had a death grip on the orcs throat and slowly the thrashing legs ceased kicking. As the beast approached the back of the warrior Korban raised his spear only to be halted by a shout from Jussi. He turned to see the youth give a swift shake of his head.
Turning back to the fight he saw the war party was in full retreat. They struggled up the slope and disappeared into the forest leaving a blood soaked trail. Bellowing his fury the warrior pursued them. Hacking into exposed backs and hamstringing those he overtook.
‘By Sigmar’s hairy balls, he can fight.’ said Korban tucking his javelins back into their sheath, ‘Follow me I have a horse back at the inn.’

By the time they reined in next to Ingvar he was hunched on his knees taking shuddering breaths. His arms hung limp at his sides from exhaustion. He was in a clearing surrounded by the sprawled bodies of the remaining members of the war party who had tried to make a final stand against him. The huge dog was lying in the snow next to him, its blood soaked jaws hung open as it panted.
‘Give him time to recover. Don’t approach him.’ warned Jussi. Korban nodded his understanding before he began searching the corpses. Taking out a knife he severed two fingers from the nearest orc. Seeing Jussi’s questioning look he smiled. ‘The smell deters wolves.’
Minutes passed as Jussi helped Korban search through the bodies for anything useful.
‘Where will you go now?’ asked Jussi.
‘I have a contract to track and kill a pack of wolves that have been terrorising Thorp. Figure the contract is still valid so I’ll set out to search in the morning.’ explained Korban.
Ingvar’s head rose at the answer. ‘We will come with you.’

Wonderful miniatures so far! Can't wait for more. :-)

Sad to see you've gotten no love until Bottle piped up - great minis, watching for more

- Salvage

Cheers Bottle (please tell me you are named after the BoneHunter.

I appreciate it Salvage. These things seem to take time to get going. Plus I know there are a lot of lurkers (I usually am one).

After a productive weekend here is the third member of the party, Jagthund.

He is the keeper of the hounds that accompany the warband. Hence all the meat he his packing (make your own jokes) I bought the wargs and fenrisian wolves to represent a mongrel pack of dogs. The wargs are more of a challenge to paint. I had decided to paint them a mixture of colours from grey to brown but after finishing the first three I'm considering doing them all brown as I'm not too keen on the grey warg. What are your thoughts?

The fluff for Jaghund will follow shortly.

Onto the pictures