Wednesday, December 12, 2018

Der Greiche, Chaos Thug

As the strange, masked figure approached camp,  Shak'nar knew his growing fame was spreading far across the chaos wastes. The Gods had told him that more followers would be flocking to his command and here was the proof of their generosity. Shak'nar returned the focus of this thoughts back to the warrior approaching. His helmet sported an impressive horse hair crest, indicating he must possess some skill, that crest would attract too much attention to survive in the chaos wastes without some skill. He was mostly armored, but his exposed arms were a swarthy color Shak'nar did not recognize...clearly the stranger had wandered a long distance to arrive at this place. Shak'nar also admired the leering demon face on his shield. Shak'nar smiled beneath his helm in triumph. "Soon..." he though, "Soon, I shall topple the world."

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Sandstorm Wars Review--Part 2

"Not all who worship the plague god gain the mutations of the truly devout. That is not to say that they are no less fervent in their devotion, but they lack the strength of will to attract the attention of their dark patron. But these cultists are the most worrisome, for they can blend in with the imperial masses to plot and scheme."
-Excerpt from the Reports of Inquisitor Corrigan, 3 226 765.M38
A lone guardsman calls in an airstrike after a cult overruns his squad's position

Monday, December 3, 2018

Sandstorm Wars Review--Part 1

"And when the Plague God show favors upon those humans that flock to his cults, he sometimes bestows upon them mutations to make the cultists resemble the Plague Marines who's aid they pray for. Even though they look like the dreaded heretic Astartes, they are not. But they do posses greater strength and resilience then regular humans."

-Excerpt from the Reports of Inquisitor Corrigan, 3 226 765.M38

A VERY large cultist heavy weapon trooper

Wednesday, November 28, 2018

Iron Warrior Cultists

"Get to work ya wretches!" barked the overseer as he gunned the engine on his chainblade. The half-witted slaves continued working, too simple to understand the overseer's orders. Nor did he expect them to. As the only one who's brain was not surgically altered, his shouts were to help his own anger at the lack of progress because he knew his neck was on the line if the slaves did not complete their tasks to the Warsmith's liking. 

Wednesday, November 14, 2018

The Mud Demon of Ottersricht

"I thrive under pressure, go tough when it gets hot,
but when I have too much water, I'll kind of lose the plot,
Every snotty pig I see just rubs in my Face,
because I am underdog, and they think that they are ace!
My body gets sore, due to jumps and bumps galore."
-Czu'shrul Qogdand Clawkeeper, the thing in the bog

"I was minding my own business, hunting game in the marshes, when I stumbled upon this thing, with giant paws, lifting up the muck and slapping it all over itself. I dunno what it was, but it was happier than a pig in shit."
-Otto, local drunkard

Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Krunk and Smegmoos

Armed with a complete lack of conscience, the ability to squeeze the jelly out of a man's skull between only his thumb and forefinger...

What is there to say about Krunk the Barbarian? A legend in life, he was a mountain of muscle who could crush ten lesser beings with a single mighty blow of his magical great axe, Primrose. With oiled, rippling thews and a wanton disregard for personal space and property rights, Krunk wandered the empire and beyond shedding copious amounts of blood and amassing untold treasure that he threw away on bad dice, worse women, and truly atrocious booze as quickly as he amassed it. Thus armed with a complete lack of conscience, the ability to squeeze the jelly out of a man's skull between only his thumb and forefinger, and the brainpower of a toadstool, Krunk imposed himself upon the world. When Krunk arrived in Karr-Keel it looked like the perfect night to triple up on Ye Olde Combatte Burgers’ quad-patty meal and get into a couple of rousing bar fights. But, fortune didn't have Krunk's back on the Mayor's birthday, and the Necroburgher's curse hit just as he was ruthlessly pummeling the former occupants of his favorite table at the Westgate Ye Olde Combatte Burgers. Now, he wanders the ruins of Karr-Keel, a hulking form, rotting and even more mindless, forever seeking the thrill of combat and the mountain of burgers he never got to eat.

Wednesday, October 31, 2018

Saul, the Creepy Clown

"Another performance finished," thought Saul, wearily. He's been living the life of a travelling performer since he ran away from home all those years ago. He spent the evening performing, then spent most of the night cleaning up after the performance; only to rise early to pack up and move on to the next town. It was a hard life. But it kept him busy--it helped him not to think about those...urges. The ones that pops used to beat him for. "I hope that sonovabitch died painfully," he brooded. 

Snapping back to reality, Saul got back to scrubbing the grease paint off. The ugly light bulb overhead hurt his eyes as it reflected off of the paint. After all these years, that shit had started to stain his skin. "Can't be good for me," he mused as he glared at the red reflection of his cheeks in the mirror. "One of these days, I'm going to finally give this traveling up..."