“Our ladie is gonne, an all joys pass wyth her. Wyll you nott join us yn the hunt?”

The Oldhammer inspired  banner is something I really like on these guys – it may not be particularly well executed, but it’s the best I can do at the moment and I love the way it came out.

The armour on the lady knight was given a basecoat of VMA Silver which is unbelievably pretty. I kept turning the model around in my hands under a lamp to look at the shine and was quite tempted to keep it mostly metal, although the need to keep the hunting party consistent put paid to that.

I realise I have not yet created any ‘good’ guys for The Dark Age of Sigmar, so my next warband will be a Witch Hunter and his retinue, but have no fear, he’ll be just as evil and twisted as the next man*.

*or mutant, or daemon, or…


Next up directly however is going to be some House Cawdor gangers – I’ve got my first Necromunda game in more than a decade coming up on Tuesday and suffice it to say their paintjob needed to be… refreshed.

Upsyde Downe Cake

an thi skye is fallyng/the kynge shi has lost her crowne/
thi centre is nott holdyng/thi worlde yt turnt upsyde downe

– verse from a song sung by the Stakehutt tribe on the borders of the Bog of Despair


























WIP on a most noble heretic.

As The Death of Samothrace requires a little more thinking and dry fitting of parts before I embark on that project, I decided to start on Pontius Glaw as I thought I had most of the bits I would need. The first mockup, after some initial removal of Imperial iconography, looks a little rough. I think I need to reduce the size of the arms, as he looks a little like a robotic ape at the moment. Anyway, here he is held together with bluetack at a very early stage.


The Secret War

The thing that got me back into the hobby after a break of a few years was the fortuitous discovery of Krautscientist’s blog, Eternal Hunt. On there I saw that he was making miniatures that far exceeded the typical 40k aesthetic for something called Inq28. As I was always a hobbyist for whom narrative and atmosphere was more important than rules or efficiency I followed his suggested link to The Ammobunker, more specifically the Inq28 subforum and spent the next few months (and years, I suppose) following their hobby, while slowly a desire to follow in their footsteps built. Now, having taken my old hobby materials out of the dusty recesses they had whiled the last few years away in (and bought a fair few more), I feel ready to try and bring what I have in my head out into the world.

On that note, here are my first two finished miniatures in the spirit of Inq28 – esoteric, sinister and yet slightly playful.


Magistrar Heinrich Cornelius von Hohenheim

Once a scion of a noble household fallen through ill fortune to but a shadow of its former glory, Heinrich Cornelius von Hohenheim set out at a young age at the behest of his father to form new alliances in order to restore the ailing fortunes of their house. Unfortunately for the Noble Lord von Hohenheim, the starship on which the young Heinrich travelled never arrived at its first scheduled destination. In the years that followed, the ship was assumed lost with all hands in the ever-shifting tides of the Empyrean, and after a suitable period of mourning the von Hohenheim family sunk deeper into debt and barely remembered grandeur. Twenty standard Terran years after the dissapearance of their eldest son, the von Hohenheims entered into a new contract with an aged man from offworld. He required contracted labour, he said, and had chosen them for their fair price and high quality indentured servants. The Noble Lord von Hohenheim was delighted at this seeming reversal of their slow decline and provided this Magistrar, as was the title he gave, with what passed for the best of their hereditary household servants.

This continued for nearly one year, until Lord von Hohenheim arrived at the Magistrar’s chambers unannounced one chill morning, and found a scene of horror that rendered him mute with shock. Profane symbols scrawled in blood and other, less identifiable, fluids shone balefully on the stone walls of the room and a faint susurration seemed to circle the space. In the centre of a circle made from the blackened corpses of the servants who had been hired out to the Magistrar, a familiar figure rose. The Noble Lord moaned with terror and grief as the form of his son, lost all those years ago, straightened and walked slowly towards him. He knew little of the dread works of the Archenemy, but he could taste the foul stench of sorcery on his tongue and his head pounded as the sigils seemed to warp and writhe under his gaze. What happened next is known only by one person.

The following morning, the Arbites raided the chambers let by the Magistrar after the disappearance of the Noble Lord had been reported by those of his family not busily fighting for the succession. They found nothing except scorched stone.


Always found within three feet of the Magistrar, Narcelsus inspires both fear and fascination in those it encounters. Although it has no face, rather a shining void, those who survive often report they saw great sorrow in its non-existent features. The chains which bind it to the Materium are as twisted as the form of the abomination itself, shimmering with colours which defy accurate categorisation.

I’m moderately happy with their paintjobs, except for the bases – I will be repainting those very soon.

A Vain Salute

Hrosskel raised his axe high as the knights thundered past, in the hope the gesture would be echoed. A sign of respect from those so honoured by his Lord would make his men view him as their leader after Gellvax had fallen in the last raid. They rode by without even looking at him, their horselike steeds dribbling thick strands of gory spit between their jagged teeth.


He cursed, the sound muffled by his helmet. His breath steamed out into the freezing air and the rime cracked beneath his heavy boots. Next to him Helvar chuckled quietly, his standard flapping as he marched alongside Hrosskel. The skin was freshly stripped from the leader of the village they had razed a day or so before and the stench of the untanned flesh was putrid, even in the chill air.


“Ignore the ones who ride into battle for their greater height inspires them to greater arrogance. Now, if you had thrown the axe at them, you may have caught their attention.”

Hrosskel snorted bitterly at the skull-masked warrior’s taunt. Next to him Ernmund raised his brass-bound horn and loosed a mighty blast, at once heartening and terrifying. Hrosskel welcomed the sound, as it promised a new battle was near. He would prove his right to lead these men in the bloody furnace of combat through slaughter and cruelty.