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I have both. Khanjira is totally worth 50 bucks but I'm glad to have gotten him for 25. Dragons don't share for 75... I dunno. I'm happy with it for 35 but at that price I probably won't be picking up another. It's.... probably worth that. The quality is there, and the ruins are pretty sweet.
"Khanjira: the Monster Who is Totally Not a Tarrasque Because They're Copyrighted" ($50)
I thought from Day One that it was a Tarrasque, but they seem to be selling it more as a Godzilla type monster (which is a pretty fine distinction, now that I think about it).
Nice model, and it's huge!
2015/03/17 12:07:35
Subject: Re:OK, fine, here's a 2015 Reaper thread!
Well, my cow has been listed as a March release, but it still hasn't been released yet!
I have my game scheduled on the 28th. I need that cow!
And if anyone is interested, I finished the introductory fluff for the Moolinda game. I had to bleep out some dirty words...
Spoiler:
I’m Sorry Mrs. Moolinda
Scenario 1
Rare Beef
The turnout at the County Fair was unprecedented, and owed little to the fine weather. The beef was jumping, as they say, and prices were as high as anyone in Devil’s Perch could remember. The stockyards were packed to the rails and folks about town were in high spirits. Pistol shots rang out almost on the minute, and only occasionally in anger, as punchers from one end of the Rio Huevos to the other poured into the saloons on a mission to relieve themselves of hard-earned wages, untouched for long months spent in the saddle.
If this were not enough, the story of Moolinda the Miracle Cow had caught like wildfire on the open prairie. The tale of Moolinda’s heroic exploits had been passed by saddle and stage across the Territory, had spread by rail and wire across the Republic, and had shipped itself across the seas in less than a month’s time. In every big city Moolinda was the latest rage. They sang about her in the coffee houses, she was praised and ridiculed in the newspapers, she was dramatized in the theater. Any tabloid short of material milked the story for every drop of copy, filling their columns with curdling speculations. They reprinted reports from ancient times of scholars and philosophers describing the fantastical bovines of myth. The least scrupulous papers went so far as to print any tale of man-beasts and blasphemous couplings they could skim from the classics.
A debate over the authenticity of the story then broke out amongst believers and skeptics in the scholarly societies and scientific journals. During this campaign, journalists making a profession of science battled with those making a profession of wit, churning through gallons of ink and some little blood once they wheeled from zoology and morality to the most utterly offensive personal remarks.
The debate drove the citizens of Loughton Territory mad, and they petitioned the Governor to authenticate the story. None could say where Montgomery Cole stood on the Moolinda question, but public pressure was absolute. The Governor therefore decreed that the beneficent bovine would be awarded a medal of valor in a special ceremony to take place at the forthcoming County Fair.
Curiosity seekers and newspapermen poured into Devil’s Perch, rubbing shoulders with drunken cow punchers and effervescent locals alike. Not a spare room, hay loft, wagon bed, or store counter was unoccupied. Even the whores were three to a bed, and the houses were overflowing into the streets. Scores of people and some 200 dogs turned out for Moolinda’s award ceremony. The little stage, special built for that purpose, was surrounded by fawning and jeering onlookers, all pressing shoulder to shoulder for a closer look at the miracle cow.
Mr. Poole, appointed by the Governor to present the award, waited on the platform in the noonday sun, sweating through his newly pressed suit. A gasp arose from the crowd as little Billy Williams led Moolinda onto the stage. Whether or not the tales of her heroism were true, none could deny the animal’s stately bearing and placid magnificence…
“You stock-thieving sonofa! That’s my cousin’s stock wife!” The crowd stood in dumbfound silence at the sudden ejaculation while a wiry, weather-beaten Walburn shoved his way to the platform. He mounted the stage with a quick leap and had snatched little Billy Williams by the shirt collar before anyone could raise the least word of protest. “You stole my cousin’s cow you little home-wrecking stock thief!”
Mr. Poole was as shocked as anyone by this sudden and incomprehensible interruption, but he recovered quickly and moved to intervene, conscious of the number of pencils even then being freshly licked by tabloid journalists scenting in on a new angle to the story. “Now sir,” Mr. Poole began, “take your hands off of that boy. I am a duly appointed representative of the Governor and I…”
“Don’t you manhandle a Walburn you god pimp!” interrupted the irate Walburn, “I’m the one been wronged! This here boy stole from my kin!” The Walburn commenced to shake little Billy Williams like a terrier shaking a rat. “You tell how you stolt this cow, boy, or I’ll stove yer head in!” “Now sir!” protested Mr. Poole, “I must insist that you unhand that child this instant! This here is Moolinda the Miracle Cow, from the papers you see, and you are obviously mistaken about the animal’s provenance.”
The Walburn turned his harsh, animalistic gaze on Mr. Poole. His jaw hung loose for a moment or two whilst he worked Mr. Poole’s words over in his mind, one hand still locked on Billy’s shirt collar with an iron grip. “I aint never heard ‘no Moolinda afore. This here cow is Hephzibab, my cousin’s wife and lawful property. She been stolt near ‘month ago by this lil’ vermit.” The Walburn called over to a fellow in the crowd that might have been his double if you weren’t counting teeth. “Zeb, run oft and tell Hezekiah I done found his wife!”
The blasphemous horror of these words struck Mr. Poole like a physical blow. Whatever else happened, this would not look good for the Governor, and he was damn sure to take the blame for it. Before Mr. Poole could formulate a response, his swiftly churning thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shattering glass and a wave of oppressive heat.
Everything seemed to happen in an instant. Flames leapt across the stage. A panicked scream arose from the crowd. A gentleman in a broadcloth suit leapt onto the stage with a wicked-looking knife incongruously gripped in one hand. The Walburn shouted a curse and ran from the stage still clutching little Billy Williams. And Moolinda, beautiful, serene Moolinda, bothered by neither the screams of horror nor the leaping flames, trotted off in pursuit of Billy. Had Mr. Poole harbored any doubts about Moolinda’s authenticity, the debate was now settled as far as he was concerned. That cow deserved her medal.
“Quick! Somebody! Help! Stop that cow!” Mr. Poole raced from the platform, waving his arms and imploring to no one in particular for aid. “In the name of the Governor, protect that cow!”
Without missing a beat, Mr. Reems, the faro dealer at the Velvet Glove, explodes through the doors of the saloon. Mr. Reems hurriedly scans the crowd for a familiar face and, settling on yours, gestures frantically towards Moolinda. “Quick! Help! If you wish this world to see another dawn, protect that cow!”
This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2015/03/17 12:18:48
Kirasu: Have we fallen so far that we are excited that GW is giving us the opportunity to spend 58$ for JUST the rules? Surprised it's not "Dataslate: Assault Phase"
AlexHolker: "The power loader is a forklift. The public doesn't complain about a forklift not having frontal armour protecting the crew compartment because the only enemy it is designed to face is the OHSA violation."
AlexHolker: "Allow me to put it this way: Paramount is Skynet, reboots are termination attempts, and your childhood is John Connor."
2015/03/18 01:46:08
Subject: Re:OK, fine, here's a 2015 Reaper thread!
weeble1000 wrote: Well, my cow has been listed as a March release, but it still hasn't been released yet!
I have my game scheduled on the 28th. I need that cow!
And if anyone is interested, I finished the introductory fluff for the Moolinda game. I had to bleep out some dirty words...
Spoiler:
I’m Sorry Mrs. Moolinda
Scenario 1
Rare Beef
The turnout at the County Fair was unprecedented, and owed little to the fine weather. The beef was jumping, as they say, and prices were as high as anyone in Devil’s Perch could remember. The stockyards were packed to the rails and folks about town were in high spirits. Pistol shots rang out almost on the minute, and only occasionally in anger, as punchers from one end of the Rio Huevos to the other poured into the saloons on a mission to relieve themselves of hard-earned wages, untouched for long months spent in the saddle.
If this were not enough, the story of Moolinda the Miracle Cow had caught like wildfire on the open prairie. The tale of Moolinda’s heroic exploits had been passed by saddle and stage across the Territory, had spread by rail and wire across the Republic, and had shipped itself across the seas in less than a month’s time. In every big city Moolinda was the latest rage. They sang about her in the coffee houses, she was praised and ridiculed in the newspapers, she was dramatized in the theater. Any tabloid short of material milked the story for every drop of copy, filling their columns with curdling speculations. They reprinted reports from ancient times of scholars and philosophers describing the fantastical bovines of myth. The least scrupulous papers went so far as to print any tale of man-beasts and blasphemous couplings they could skim from the classics.
A debate over the authenticity of the story then broke out amongst believers and skeptics in the scholarly societies and scientific journals. During this campaign, journalists making a profession of science battled with those making a profession of wit, churning through gallons of ink and some little blood once they wheeled from zoology and morality to the most utterly offensive personal remarks.
The debate drove the citizens of Loughton Territory mad, and they petitioned the Governor to authenticate the story. None could say where Montgomery Cole stood on the Moolinda question, but public pressure was absolute. The Governor therefore decreed that the beneficent bovine would be awarded a medal of valor in a special ceremony to take place at the forthcoming County Fair.
Curiosity seekers and newspapermen poured into Devil’s Perch, rubbing shoulders with drunken cow punchers and effervescent locals alike. Not a spare room, hay loft, wagon bed, or store counter was unoccupied. Even the whores were three to a bed, and the houses were overflowing into the streets. Scores of people and some 200 dogs turned out for Moolinda’s award ceremony. The little stage, special built for that purpose, was surrounded by fawning and jeering onlookers, all pressing shoulder to shoulder for a closer look at the miracle cow.
Mr. Poole, appointed by the Governor to present the award, waited on the platform in the noonday sun, sweating through his newly pressed suit. A gasp arose from the crowd as little Billy Williams led Moolinda onto the stage. Whether or not the tales of her heroism were true, none could deny the animal’s stately bearing and placid magnificence…
“You stock-thieving sonofa! That’s my cousin’s stock wife!” The crowd stood in dumbfound silence at the sudden ejaculation while a wiry, weather-beaten Walburn shoved his way to the platform. He mounted the stage with a quick leap and had snatched little Billy Williams by the shirt collar before anyone could raise the least word of protest. “You stole my cousin’s cow you little home-wrecking stock thief!”
Mr. Poole was as shocked as anyone by this sudden and incomprehensible interruption, but he recovered quickly and moved to intervene, conscious of the number of pencils even then being freshly licked by tabloid journalists scenting in on a new angle to the story. “Now sir,” Mr. Poole began, “take your hands off of that boy. I am a duly appointed representative of the Governor and I…”
“Don’t you manhandle a Walburn you god pimp!” interrupted the irate Walburn, “I’m the one been wronged! This here boy stole from my kin!” The Walburn commenced to shake little Billy Williams like a terrier shaking a rat. “You tell how you stolt this cow, boy, or I’ll stove yer head in!”
“Now sir!” protested Mr. Poole, “I must insist that you unhand that child this instant! This here is Moolinda the Miracle Cow, from the papers you see, and you are obviously mistaken about the animal’s provenance.”
The Walburn turned his harsh, animalistic gaze on Mr. Poole. His jaw hung loose for a moment or two whilst he worked Mr. Poole’s words over in his mind, one hand still locked on Billy’s shirt collar with an iron grip. “I aint never heard ‘no Moolinda afore. This here cow is Hephzibab, my cousin’s wife and lawful property. She been stolt near ‘month ago by this lil’ vermit.” The Walburn called over to a fellow in the crowd that might have been his double if you weren’t counting teeth. “Zeb, run oft and tell Hezekiah I done found his wife!”
The blasphemous horror of these words struck Mr. Poole like a physical blow. Whatever else happened, this would not look good for the Governor, and he was damn sure to take the blame for it. Before Mr. Poole could formulate a response, his swiftly churning thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shattering glass and a wave of oppressive heat.
Everything seemed to happen in an instant. Flames leapt across the stage. A panicked scream arose from the crowd. A gentleman in a broadcloth suit leapt onto the stage with a wicked-looking knife incongruously gripped in one hand. The Walburn shouted a curse and ran from the stage still clutching little Billy Williams. And Moolinda, beautiful, serene Moolinda, bothered by neither the screams of horror nor the leaping flames, trotted off in pursuit of Billy. Had Mr. Poole harbored any doubts about Moolinda’s authenticity, the debate was now settled as far as he was concerned. That cow deserved her medal.
“Quick! Somebody! Help! Stop that cow!” Mr. Poole raced from the platform, waving his arms and imploring to no one in particular for aid. “In the name of the Governor, protect that cow!”
Without missing a beat, Mr. Reems, the faro dealer at the Velvet Glove, explodes through the doors of the saloon. Mr. Reems hurriedly scans the crowd for a familiar face and, settling on yours, gestures frantically towards Moolinda. “Quick! Help! If you wish this world to see another dawn, protect that cow!”
That's awesome. Love the Ike Clanton Tombstone dialogue. I picture Mr. Reems as wild west incognito Doc Brown/Christopher Lloyd. Would play x1000.
GrimDork wrote: I have both. Khanjira is totally worth 50 bucks but I'm glad to have gotten him for 25. Dragons don't share for 75... I dunno. I'm happy with it for 35 but at that price I probably won't be picking up another. It's.... probably worth that. The quality is there, and the ruins are pretty sweet.
Sure. Lemme dig around, I think I've got some somewhere. Khanjira is resting in pieces at the moment and the dragon is in process of being painted but I think I took several when the stuff came in.
GrimDork wrote: I have both. Khanjira is totally worth 50 bucks but I'm glad to have gotten him for 25. Dragons don't share for 75... I dunno. I'm happy with it for 35 but at that price I probably won't be picking up another. It's.... probably worth that. The quality is there, and the ruins are pretty sweet.
Would you mind doing some scale pics?
He had some pics of them in his P&M blog a couple weeks ago when they arrived.
LOL, Theo your mind is an amazing place, never change.-camkierhi 9/19/13
I cant believe theo is right.. damn. -comradepanda 9/26/13
None of the strange ideas we had about you involved your sexual orientation..........-Monkeytroll 12/10/13
I'd put you on ignore for that comment, if I could...Alpharius 2/11/14
So pretty standard Knight Forscale pose on this one That's a standard sized keyboard behind the set.
Here's a loosely assembled Khanjira by Forscale, that same keyboard, and the Mars Attacks big stompy robot. I think the robot is supposed to be 170mm high which is very close to 7 inches.
Did you have anything in particular you wanted to see them sized up with? I know those two photos are pretty limited.
Automatically Appended Next Post: Ninja'd by Theo! Yeah, they were in the blog too but I don't expect people to dig through nearly 100 pages of random hobby goodness to find one little post about bones arriving
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2015/03/18 01:54:49
The uhh... cargo containers at almost nine dollars?
Ouch.
Definitely not cheap enough to want to buy more, unless I can find them at a strong discount somewhere. I'm not trying to say they *should* be cheaper necessarily... but I won't buy more at that pricepoint. The minotaur lord is pretty affordable. Mashaaf or w/e at 30 is probably worth it. Could be cheaper, but probably not a bad deal, it's a really cool model.
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2015/03/24 12:13:20
Reaper's tradition of releasing minis you never knew you wanted continues with a small line of Victorian civilians/adventurers/serial killers/victims suitable for all sorts of roles.
2015/03/25 01:56:55
Subject: Re:OK, fine, here's a 2015 Reaper thread!
Reaper's tradition of releasing minis you never knew you wanted continues with a small line of Victorian civilians/adventurers/serial killers/victims suitable for all sorts of roles.
Huh, they were in the preview gallery now I can't find them either. They might be in the queue for release soon...
MLaw wrote: I'm sad at the cargo container price point.. is that for 2?
They had a few at Adepticon last week, and it's one per blister pack.
I don't know about anyone else, but I impulse bought the four shipping containers they had, along with some dumpsters and ammo boxes. They're hard plastic, and I don't think it'd be much work to cut the door on one side if you to open them up.
2015/03/25 02:45:09
Subject: Re:OK, fine, here's a 2015 Reaper thread!
Now it is listed as a May release. Perhaps my incredulous inquiry prompted the revision...
I ordered a bunch a tiny cobras from reaper because I needed a bunch of, you know, tiny cobras. Well, it depends on how you use them I suppose. I mean, they're tiny, but properly scaled for 28mm...unless they are supposed to be king cobras...in which case they are small king cobras...unless you are playing 15mm, in which case they would be normal sized king cobras...
In any case, in my order comments I lamented the cow not being available despite the fact that it was already deeply into March. So maybe they decided to revise the release date.
C'est la vie. I have 8 hours of gaming all based around that beautiful cow and I'll have to use some humdrum bovine now...so sad...so sad...
Kirasu: Have we fallen so far that we are excited that GW is giving us the opportunity to spend 58$ for JUST the rules? Surprised it's not "Dataslate: Assault Phase"
AlexHolker: "The power loader is a forklift. The public doesn't complain about a forklift not having frontal armour protecting the crew compartment because the only enemy it is designed to face is the OHSA violation."
AlexHolker: "Allow me to put it this way: Paramount is Skynet, reboots are termination attempts, and your childhood is John Connor."
(more)
(building)
(less)
houses were overflowing into the streets. Scores of people and some 200 dogs turned out for Moolinda’s award ceremony. The little stage, special built for that purpose, was surrounded by fawning and jeering onlookers, all pressing shoulder to shoulder for a closer look at the miracle cow.
Order of the Sable Heart
Grave Knights
House Rouen 
