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In the dream, there is a forest.
It is a different forest. Older. Calmer. Lines and shapes and stories less convoluted, less broken apart. The forest is greener too. And it bustles with life. Birds flit through the trees, and below there are the grunts of animals shuffling through fallen leaves. The sound is almost unbroken.
Having no control over his body, the creature gets to his feet. The dream forces him to walk, run even, hurtling past tree trunks and vaulting over branches and logs. The dream leads him along the same path as it did the last time, and the time before that, and every time that the creature can remember. He closes his eye. Still he runs on, dodging the obstacles as they come as if he had memorized the route. He has run it thousands of times. And he cannot stop.
The creature’s legs take him to that place once more. The place of silence. As he approaches, the familiar sounds of life fall away. Nothing to hear. And soon the light begins to be consumed as well, the forest floor becoming slowly less and less visible. He knows what is coming. He wills his hand to reach for his whip, but the dream does not allow it. Trapped on his predetermined path, he approaches the monolith. The dream forces him to look.
The colossal stone glares into the creature’s one open eye. A challenge. Then, the sound. An eardrum-bursting screech projected from the monolith, as it begins to glow faintly. Then, the letters. Forming out of the glow, harshly bright characters appear on the surface of the stone. The creature begins to read.
They say –

Khazrak wakes up, opening both of his eyes so violently that blood begins to trickle out of the wound on the right side of his face. His hand shoots to it to stem the bleeding, and he spits curses in the Dark Tongue. The light-eating monolith’s message was still scorched into his retina. And he would find out what it meant.
Getting to his feet, Khazrak steps out from his meagre tent into the new forest, blackened from the latest of the fires, and holding no life whatsoever. He smiles wistfully, not quite knowing why. And then a horn sounds in the distance, piercing through his thoughts. Unlike the monolith, its message is clear. To war.










Hi all! Here is the 'start' of a beastmen army I'm going to be using for Age Of Sigmar. Beastmen were my first army back in the days of Warhammer Fantasy, and I lost interest for a while and started up with 40k. Then I tried to start repainting after catching End Times Fever, but obviously what followed was the enormous revamp for AoS, which, one might say, majorly killed my motivation. But, a few weeks ago, I was having a conversation with a friend of mine who used to play Ogre Kingdoms. One of us joked about starting Age of Sigmar, and here we both are now. So, I'm going to be refurbishing some of my old models, starting with this Bestigor. In the works I have a few more, as well as some ungors and a Khazrak conversion. Thanks for looking!

That first beastman looks amazing! Can't wait to see what the rest of the army will look like

Awesome and brutal stuff, keep it coming!

Thanks guys!

I've painted up another Bestigor and got three more based and ready for paint:







I've also got a Bray-Shaman conversion in the works, but that'll come later. Thanks for looking!

Love me some angry goat people . This is just the ticket to inspire me to paint mine!

Also, not sure if this is actually for the Beastmen, but it looks pretty minotaur-ish to me! (Pic from this weekend's AoS event at GWHQ)

@angelofvengeance Ooh that looks nice - I might have to check him out once he's released.

Ambush. When it comes, it comes quickly. First, only shadows and movement flitting between trees. A few more cautious individuals rise from their slumber to keep watch, but none suspect what was coming. Then, all of a sudden, arrows fly from between branches, cutting down scores of beastmen. The creatures all across the camp rush to arms. Horns sound. It is this that forces Khazrak to action.
Charging from his tent, he races to the centre of the encampment. Brayed cries from the north end indicate that the fighting is heaviest there. Khazrak’s hand reaches for his axe. Quickly he sees the enemy. Aelves of the forest. Glimpses of armoured forms from between bloodied furry bodies.
“Beasts!” Khazrak bellows. The assembled horde turns for a fraction of a second. He catches sight of Vizhrik, the gouge-horn, leading the defenders. “Beasts of Khorne!”
“Khazrak,” the bestigor shouts back, pulling his axe free of an aelf. “We’re surrounded. Can’t even see an aelven leader.”
In three short bounds, Khazrak reaches the frontline. Now he is able to see the enemy in all their might. Ranks upon ranks of glade guard lead the attack, and rangers hide behind cover, launching volley after volley of arrows into the beasts.
“Have the hunting parties returned?” Khazrak asks, uncoiling Scourge and swatting aside a charging aelf with the flat of his axe.
“No,” comes the response. An aelven blade carves through the torso of a young gor to the beastlord’s left. “They can’t break through the aelf lines. We’re completely encircled.”
“Well then,” Khazrak brays, fighting to keep the ire from his voice. “Fight better.”
“How helpful,” Vizhrik sneers, stepping clear of a brave swipe of a sword. “I’d like to see you do better.”
In response, Khazrak brings Scourge down in two vicious arcs on the aelf who swung for Vizhrik. The first knocks the warrior onto his back, and the second tears open a bloody gash in the man’s neck. The gouge-horn huffs and turns away, hefting his axe once more. Then, amidst the din of battle and rain of arrows, the beastlord catches sight of an otherwise unmarked glade guard gesticulating wildly, signing to push forwards the attack. Intelligent, Khazrak thinks to himself, but not intelligent enough.
Barging through the front rank of glade guard, the beastman leaps towards the aelven leader, smiling as Scourge leaps up to beat aside an arrow of its own accord. The aelf sees Khazrak approach, and draws a pair of blades. Braying a challenge, Khazrak brandishes his axe above his head. Before either of the warriors can strike, Scourge pounces, leaping like a snake for the aelf’s throat. He is saved by millimetres, as the aelf dances out of the way of the weapon before feinting to Khazrak’s left. Anticipating the next blow, Khazrak ducks. While the aelf swings for Khazrak’s neck and misses, he lunges forward, angling his head downwards and forcing his horn through the chestplate of the aelf. Scrabbling to free himself from the beastman’s crimson flecked antlers, he falls to the floor coughing. Khazrak grins a predatory grin, raising his axe above his head. Then, moments before he can finish the kill, his vision lights up, enormous, enraged glyphs bathing his retina in unholy bright red. And then, everything goes dark.












And yes, I know I promised a Bray-Shaman, but I think this is a little more interesting!








Thanks for looking guys!