Saurus
Lium
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I did suspect that was the case but thought it might be an idea to mention it anyway. That's fair enough if that's the way you wanted it then.
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Blog The Legendary Lord Project
- Thread starter Oh_Man
- Start date
Slann
NIGHTBRINGER
Second Spawning
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Pretty cool!!
Kroxigor
Oh_Man
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Wow how time flies! It has been awhile since I've posted anything on my blog. I've been hard at work on the Legendary Lore mod for Total War: Warhammer 2. But now I'm back ready to paint up the brand new Realmshaper Engine! Here's what has been going on in the meantime:
Araloth
The Elf that would be known as Araloth was not always a hero. In his youth, he was a craven lordling who had not the mettle to hunt any prey that could hunt him in return. Whilst others went to battle in his stead, Araloth caroused and hunted in the company of worthless friends, and tried to forget his shame. It was upon one such hunt that Araloth was thrown from his horse, and separated from all companions save for Skaryn, his trusted hawk. After wandering lost for many hours, Araloth came to a strange glade.
Though dawn had broken scant hours before, the lordling now beheld a crescent moon hanging low in a darkened sky. It was a scene to stir the heart, yet Araloth scarcely saw it. He had eyes only for the Elf maiden who stood alone at the glade's heart, and the monstrous four-armed Daemon that menaced her. There, at last, Araloth found his courage, for even his craven heart could not abandon the maid to the Daemon's cruel pleasures. Before he realised it, Araloth was running to her aid, and his hunting spear soon gouged the Daemon's flank. The beast was swift, and Araloth would have perished from its counterblow, had Skaryn not descended from the skies to tear out the Daemon's eyes. Blinded, the beast flailed madly, but Araloth ducked easily under its claws and thrust his spear deep into its black heart.
As the Daemon fell dead, Araloth closed his eyes, amazed both at his victory and at the courage with which he had won it. When he opened them once more, the Daemon's body had vanished. Looking upon the maiden once more, Araloth saw at last beyond her mortal guise, and knew that he was in the presence of a goddess. Long they walked under the stars, the goddess and the lordling. They spoke of many things, and she revealed to him many wonders. The goddess told of how she had watched and counselled the Elves since the dawning of the world, speaking plainly when the Creator allowed it, and through dreams when he would not.
But even the power of the gods must fade, she said sadly. Hers was nearly spent, but she still had three great gifts to bestow. Araloth, freed now of his fears, was the first of these; a hero to defend the Elves in the coming dark. The second would be Araloth's first-born daughter, a saviour to bring hope when it was needed most. Of the third gift, however, the goddess would not speak, for there were some secrets even she could not share. Soon after, Araloth fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he did so in his hall, with friends at his bedside. He had been thrown from his horse, they said, his senses scattered by the fall. When Araloth told them of his tale, his companions laughed, thinking that he had dreamt it all.
Not wishing to be thought mad, Araloth laughed also, but his heart knew the truth. In the years after, Araloth became the fearless hero that the goddess had foretold, his triumphs the inspiration for many a song. Following the Battle of Arden, in which Araloth slew Morghur the Corruptor, the Mage Queen decreed that he would thereafter be her royal champion, an honour not bestowed in living memory, yet despite the renown and the accolades, Araloth has never forgotten she who made him thus. So it is that on those nights when the crescent moon shines down upon Athel Loren, Araloth the Bold embarks upon the hunt with Skaryn as his only companion, hoping to meet with his beloved goddess once more.
Spellsinger
Elves are intrinsically magical beings. In most, this talent is too weak to be developed, presenting itself as occasional forebodings, but in truly gifted Elves it can be shaped into a tool of great power. Such a boon is not without danger, for raw magic is a destructive thing if drawn upon unwisely. Whilst other Elves protect themselves from such ravages through ritual, the Spellweavers and Spellsingers of Athel Loren shield themselves by joining their minds to the forest's sleeping consciousness. Mages sometimes take to the field in pairs composed of one Highweaver and one Darkweaver. Whilst the Darkweaver unleashes flesh-shredding storms of sorcery, her Highweaver counterpart employs High Magic to bolster their allies. Yet the Highweaver has another duty - should the Darkweaver show signs of being overcome by the sorceries she wields, the Highweaver becalms the Winds of Magic, shutting off the flow of corrupting power, and thus holding the incipient madness at bay, at least for a while...
Glade Guard
When Athel Loren goes to war, it is the Glade Guard who form the core of the army. Each Elven household fights together on the battlefield with disparate kinbands, combining to create one or more formal regiments under the command of a lesser Lord or Lady of the realm. The Wood Elf army can only seem haphazard and slightly disorganised to outsiders, for each band of Glade Guard is expected to follow the general's broad instructions but, at the same time, is encouraged to take the initiative when the opportunity presents itself. Such a principle often leads to an overlapping line of battle, with individual Glade Guard kinbands advancing and retreating like blown leaves in a storm, all the while pouring volleys of arrows into the foe.
Rumble in the Jungle
More images of this diorama here.
Araloth
The Elf that would be known as Araloth was not always a hero. In his youth, he was a craven lordling who had not the mettle to hunt any prey that could hunt him in return. Whilst others went to battle in his stead, Araloth caroused and hunted in the company of worthless friends, and tried to forget his shame. It was upon one such hunt that Araloth was thrown from his horse, and separated from all companions save for Skaryn, his trusted hawk. After wandering lost for many hours, Araloth came to a strange glade.
Though dawn had broken scant hours before, the lordling now beheld a crescent moon hanging low in a darkened sky. It was a scene to stir the heart, yet Araloth scarcely saw it. He had eyes only for the Elf maiden who stood alone at the glade's heart, and the monstrous four-armed Daemon that menaced her. There, at last, Araloth found his courage, for even his craven heart could not abandon the maid to the Daemon's cruel pleasures. Before he realised it, Araloth was running to her aid, and his hunting spear soon gouged the Daemon's flank. The beast was swift, and Araloth would have perished from its counterblow, had Skaryn not descended from the skies to tear out the Daemon's eyes. Blinded, the beast flailed madly, but Araloth ducked easily under its claws and thrust his spear deep into its black heart.
As the Daemon fell dead, Araloth closed his eyes, amazed both at his victory and at the courage with which he had won it. When he opened them once more, the Daemon's body had vanished. Looking upon the maiden once more, Araloth saw at last beyond her mortal guise, and knew that he was in the presence of a goddess. Long they walked under the stars, the goddess and the lordling. They spoke of many things, and she revealed to him many wonders. The goddess told of how she had watched and counselled the Elves since the dawning of the world, speaking plainly when the Creator allowed it, and through dreams when he would not.
But even the power of the gods must fade, she said sadly. Hers was nearly spent, but she still had three great gifts to bestow. Araloth, freed now of his fears, was the first of these; a hero to defend the Elves in the coming dark. The second would be Araloth's first-born daughter, a saviour to bring hope when it was needed most. Of the third gift, however, the goddess would not speak, for there were some secrets even she could not share. Soon after, Araloth fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he did so in his hall, with friends at his bedside. He had been thrown from his horse, they said, his senses scattered by the fall. When Araloth told them of his tale, his companions laughed, thinking that he had dreamt it all.
Not wishing to be thought mad, Araloth laughed also, but his heart knew the truth. In the years after, Araloth became the fearless hero that the goddess had foretold, his triumphs the inspiration for many a song. Following the Battle of Arden, in which Araloth slew Morghur the Corruptor, the Mage Queen decreed that he would thereafter be her royal champion, an honour not bestowed in living memory, yet despite the renown and the accolades, Araloth has never forgotten she who made him thus. So it is that on those nights when the crescent moon shines down upon Athel Loren, Araloth the Bold embarks upon the hunt with Skaryn as his only companion, hoping to meet with his beloved goddess once more.
Spellsinger
Elves are intrinsically magical beings. In most, this talent is too weak to be developed, presenting itself as occasional forebodings, but in truly gifted Elves it can be shaped into a tool of great power. Such a boon is not without danger, for raw magic is a destructive thing if drawn upon unwisely. Whilst other Elves protect themselves from such ravages through ritual, the Spellweavers and Spellsingers of Athel Loren shield themselves by joining their minds to the forest's sleeping consciousness. Mages sometimes take to the field in pairs composed of one Highweaver and one Darkweaver. Whilst the Darkweaver unleashes flesh-shredding storms of sorcery, her Highweaver counterpart employs High Magic to bolster their allies. Yet the Highweaver has another duty - should the Darkweaver show signs of being overcome by the sorceries she wields, the Highweaver becalms the Winds of Magic, shutting off the flow of corrupting power, and thus holding the incipient madness at bay, at least for a while...
Glade Guard
When Athel Loren goes to war, it is the Glade Guard who form the core of the army. Each Elven household fights together on the battlefield with disparate kinbands, combining to create one or more formal regiments under the command of a lesser Lord or Lady of the realm. The Wood Elf army can only seem haphazard and slightly disorganised to outsiders, for each band of Glade Guard is expected to follow the general's broad instructions but, at the same time, is encouraged to take the initiative when the opportunity presents itself. Such a principle often leads to an overlapping line of battle, with individual Glade Guard kinbands advancing and retreating like blown leaves in a storm, all the while pouring volleys of arrows into the foe.
Rumble in the Jungle
More images of this diorama here.
Last edited:
Kroxigor
Oh_Man
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My partner has also been enjoying painting the Gloomspite Gitz. Skragrott the Loonking is in progress!
Group Shot
Skarsnik & Gobbla
Skarsnik is the chieftain of the Crooked Moon tribe and the most powerful Night Goblin in the World's Edge Mountains. All of the surrounding Greenskin tribes acknowledge Skarsnik's overlordship of the peaks, valleys and upper levels of the ruined Dwarfhold of Karak Eight Peaks. Through devious machinations and relentless spite, he has risen to command in the midst of the bitter and ongoing three-way battle between the Greenskins, Dwarfs and Skaven. A merciless opponent, Skarsnik is forever devising new traps with which to lure his enemies to their doom. His mere name kindles incandescent rage in Dwarfs; it is said that the abominable deeds of Skarsnik have gained their own chapter in the Book of Grudges, but the Dwarfs are not alone in hating Skarsnik. The Skaven have made innumerable pacts with the Greenskins, only to find themselves double-crossed by arguably the shrewdest Night Goblin ever. Skarsnik orders heaps of Skaven skulls stacked into grim monuments to demoralise his ratmen foes. Queek Headtaker, second in command and Right-Claw to the Grand Ruler of Clan Mors, has vowed to place the head of Skarsnik on his trophy rack. Not a day goes by in Karak Eight Peaks without some plot, probing raid, ambush, assassination or full-scale assault. Yet still Skarsnik rules supreme. By the light of flickering candles made of Dwarf-fat, Skarsnik sits on his iron throne and plots yet more wicked schemes of conquest.
Scuttletide
First comes a weird whispering, a rising scrape and skitter like a wind through dry leaves. Then the Scuttletide spills out onto the battlefield, sorcerous spiders by the thousand squeezing from cracks in the ground and surging from shadows and undergrowth to overrun and frenziedly bite everything in their path.
Scrapskuttle's Arachnacauldron
Scrapskuttle’s Arachnacauldron fumes with sorcerous energies, and a shaman who drinks of its foul fluids feels magical knowledge burn through their brain. Yet the cauldron squeals always with idiot hunger, and there is a price to be paid for the arcane power it bestows.
Mork's Mighty Mushroom
Mork’s Mighty Mushroom begins as a single spore plucked from between the caster’s filthy toes. By the time it is flung at the foe, it has swollen into a fully grown mushroom, and within moments it blooms into something huge and unutterably foul.
Malevolent Moon
The Malevolent Moon is conjured when a shaman raises high a carved loonstone simulacrum of the Bad Moon and jabbers the right words. The statue swells into a cackling, glowing abomination that sweeps across the battlefield wreaking havoc.
Group Shot
Skarsnik & Gobbla
Skarsnik is the chieftain of the Crooked Moon tribe and the most powerful Night Goblin in the World's Edge Mountains. All of the surrounding Greenskin tribes acknowledge Skarsnik's overlordship of the peaks, valleys and upper levels of the ruined Dwarfhold of Karak Eight Peaks. Through devious machinations and relentless spite, he has risen to command in the midst of the bitter and ongoing three-way battle between the Greenskins, Dwarfs and Skaven. A merciless opponent, Skarsnik is forever devising new traps with which to lure his enemies to their doom. His mere name kindles incandescent rage in Dwarfs; it is said that the abominable deeds of Skarsnik have gained their own chapter in the Book of Grudges, but the Dwarfs are not alone in hating Skarsnik. The Skaven have made innumerable pacts with the Greenskins, only to find themselves double-crossed by arguably the shrewdest Night Goblin ever. Skarsnik orders heaps of Skaven skulls stacked into grim monuments to demoralise his ratmen foes. Queek Headtaker, second in command and Right-Claw to the Grand Ruler of Clan Mors, has vowed to place the head of Skarsnik on his trophy rack. Not a day goes by in Karak Eight Peaks without some plot, probing raid, ambush, assassination or full-scale assault. Yet still Skarsnik rules supreme. By the light of flickering candles made of Dwarf-fat, Skarsnik sits on his iron throne and plots yet more wicked schemes of conquest.
Scuttletide
First comes a weird whispering, a rising scrape and skitter like a wind through dry leaves. Then the Scuttletide spills out onto the battlefield, sorcerous spiders by the thousand squeezing from cracks in the ground and surging from shadows and undergrowth to overrun and frenziedly bite everything in their path.
Scrapskuttle's Arachnacauldron
Scrapskuttle’s Arachnacauldron fumes with sorcerous energies, and a shaman who drinks of its foul fluids feels magical knowledge burn through their brain. Yet the cauldron squeals always with idiot hunger, and there is a price to be paid for the arcane power it bestows.
Mork's Mighty Mushroom
Mork’s Mighty Mushroom begins as a single spore plucked from between the caster’s filthy toes. By the time it is flung at the foe, it has swollen into a fully grown mushroom, and within moments it blooms into something huge and unutterably foul.
Malevolent Moon
The Malevolent Moon is conjured when a shaman raises high a carved loonstone simulacrum of the Bad Moon and jabbers the right words. The statue swells into a cackling, glowing abomination that sweeps across the battlefield wreaking havoc.
Slann
Warden
Tenth Spawning
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Wow how time flies! It has been awhile since I've posted anything on my blog. I've been hard at work on the Legendary Lore mod for Total War: Warhammer 2. But now I'm back ready to paint up the brand new Realmshaper Engine! Here's what has been going on in the meantime:
Araloth
The Elf that would be known as Araloth was not always a hero. In his youth, he was a craven lordling who had not the mettle to hunt any prey that could hunt him in return. Whilst others went to battle in his stead, Araloth caroused and hunted in the company of worthless friends, and tried to forget his shame. It was upon one such hunt that Araloth was thrown from his horse, and separated from all companions save for Skaryn, his trusted hawk. After wandering lost for many hours, Araloth came to a strange glade.
Though dawn had broken scant hours before, the lordling now beheld a crescent moon hanging low in a darkened sky. It was a scene to stir the heart, yet Araloth scarcely saw it. He had eyes only for the Elf maiden who stood alone at the glade's heart, and the monstrous four-armed Daemon that menaced her. There, at last, Araloth found his courage, for even his craven heart could not abandon the maid to the Daemon's cruel pleasures. Before he realised it, Araloth was running to her aid, and his hunting spear soon gouged the Daemon's flank. The beast was swift, and Araloth would have perished from its counterblow, had Skaryn not descended from the skies to tear out the Daemon's eyes. Blinded, the beast flailed madly, but Araloth ducked easily under its claws and thrust his spear deep into its black heart.
As the Daemon fell dead, Araloth closed his eyes, amazed both at his victory and at the courage with which he had won it. When he opened them once more, the Daemon's body had vanished. Looking upon the maiden once more, Araloth saw at last beyond her mortal guise, and knew that he was in the presence of a goddess. Long they walked under the stars, the goddess and the lordling. They spoke of many things, and she revealed to him many wonders. The goddess told of how she had watched and counselled the Elves since the dawning of the world, speaking plainly when the Creator allowed it, and through dreams when he would not.
But even the power of the gods must fade, she said sadly. Hers was nearly spent, but she still had three great gifts to bestow. Araloth, freed now of his fears, was the first of these; a hero to defend the Elves in the coming dark. The second would be Araloth's first-born daughter, a saviour to bring hope when it was needed most. Of the third gift, however, the goddess would not speak, for there were some secrets even she could not share. Soon after, Araloth fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he did so in his hall, with friends at his bedside. He had been thrown from his horse, they said, his senses scattered by the fall. When Araloth told them of his tale, his companions laughed, thinking that he had dreamt it all.
Not wishing to be thought mad, Araloth laughed also, but his heart knew the truth. In the years after, Araloth became the fearless hero that the goddess had foretold, his triumphs the inspiration for many a song. Following the Battle of Arden, in which Araloth slew Morghur the Corruptor, the Mage Queen decreed that he would thereafter be her royal champion, an honour not bestowed in living memory, yet despite the renown and the accolades, Araloth has never forgotten she who made him thus. So it is that on those nights when the crescent moon shines down upon Athel Loren, Araloth the Bold embarks upon the hunt with Skaryn as his only companion, hoping to meet with his beloved goddess once more.
Spellsinger
Elves are intrinsically magical beings. In most, this talent is too weak to be developed, presenting itself as occasional forebodings, but in truly gifted Elves it can be shaped into a tool of great power. Such a boon is not without danger, for raw magic is a destructive thing if drawn upon unwisely. Whilst other Elves protect themselves from such ravages through ritual, the Spellweavers and Spellsingers of Athel Loren shield themselves by joining their minds to the forest's sleeping consciousness. Mages sometimes take to the field in pairs composed of one Highweaver and one Darkweaver. Whilst the Darkweaver unleashes flesh-shredding storms of sorcery, her Highweaver counterpart employs High Magic to bolster their allies. Yet the Highweaver has another duty - should the Darkweaver show signs of being overcome by the sorceries she wields, the Highweaver becalms the Winds of Magic, shutting off the flow of corrupting power, and thus holding the incipient madness at bay, at least for a while...
Glade Guard
When Athel Loren goes to war, it is the Glade Guard who form the core of the army. Each Elven household fights together on the battlefield with disparate kinbands, combining to create one or more formal regiments under the command of a lesser Lord or Lady of the realm. The Wood Elf army can only seem haphazard and slightly disorganised to outsiders, for each band of Glade Guard is expected to follow the general's broad instructions but, at the same time, is encouraged to take the initiative when the opportunity presents itself. Such a principle often leads to an overlapping line of battle, with individual Glade Guard kinbands advancing and retreating like blown leaves in a storm, all the while pouring volleys of arrows into the foe.
Rumble in the Jungle
More images of this diorama here.
Great work, well done on that armies on parade entry!
Kroxigor
Oh_Man
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Just completed the two biggest models in the Lizardmen collection. Team effort with me and my partner who had the great idea to add some extra bits to his tail. Enjoy!
Dread Saurian
Wasn't a big fan of this model, but had to have it as the centrepiece for my Lizardmen collection. The flesh on his neck is reminiscent of a rooster's wattle... hardly a fearsome creature. And I don't like the bone spikes along his back either, there's just something about them. Maybe they're too realistic looking or something.
Maybe it's the fact that there are no Lizardmen actually present on this model, unlike the Stegadons, Bastiladons and Carnosaurs/Troglodons, which makes this model further stand out from the rest of the roster. Though of course ones can be kitbashed on, and I've seen some good ones of that already.
And of course, the sheer size of this monstrosity. Is it even legal to call it a "miniature" at this point?
I wish we could get a centerpiece model more like Alarielle the Everqueen, Archaon Everchosen, etc. One day...
It never occurred to me that this beast walked on all fours until they were released in the Total War Warhammer 2 DLC. I always assumed they would walk like Carnosaurs and this model was just posed with one arm resting on the ground!
Of all the reptilian nightmares that inhabit the jungle shrouded continent of Lustria, Dread Saurians are one of the most feared; an echo of ancient days when huge beasts such as they did battle with the forefathers of the dragons for supremacy. The spiked fins on a Dread Saurian's back brush the top of the jungle canopy as they move, the massive beasts constantly searching for prey to satisfy their unending hunger. Once found, their gigantic, snapping crocodilian jaws can tear apart an adult Stegadon in a welter of blood, the Dread Saurians thrashing and shredding their prey until the jungle around them is coated in red.
Immense creatures, larger than the towering Carnosaur, Dread Saurians are few in number and sacred to the Lizardmen, and the fury of each that prowls the foetid jungles is moderated only by the arcane power of the ceremonial armour that bedecks them. Without this precaution even the power of the Slann could not hold their hunger in check.
The trumpeting calls of the Dread Saurians echo through the mosaic-tiled plazas of Lizardmen cities as well as Lustria's deep jungles, the sound summoning their Saurian inhabitants to worship. Retained in certain cities' mountainous temples, these beasts are kept as living shrines to the Old Ones, symbols of their lost glory.
Armoured in beaten gold inscribed with prayer and prophecy, the Dread Saurians are kept in lavishly decorated lairs as rich as any king's throne room, but under this finery are layers of old blood and shattered bones, the remains of those fed to them by the Skink Priests, torn apart as living sacrifices to the Old Ones. These ceremonial titans bear the most precious relics from the ancient days, items of power left behind by the Old Ones, and the power of these artefacts makes them all but indestructible on the battlefield as they charge forth wreathed in flame or with skin as hard as stone.
When the winds of magic rise and a great storm draws close, the Slann Mage-priests will stir and chant the ancient rituals of binding, shackling the captives Dread Saurians to their will, while their legendary might is coveted by the sorcerers and wizards of the younger races. Let loose upon the battlefield these reptilian monstrosities wreak terrible havoc upon the foe with both their fang-lined jaws and the divine blessing of the Old Ones.
Realmshaper Engine
I regret picking the overgrown version because it took so much longer to paint! Disappointed that the two sides are exact replicas of each other. It's fine for the non-overgrown pyramid, but for the overgrown it creates an immediate dissatisfaction in the authentic feel of the product, since vines would not grow exactly the same way on each side as they do on this model.
There are no lengths the Seraphon will not go to in order to see the Great Plan fulfilled. At a Starmaster’s decree, Realmshaper Engines are deployed to remake reality in line with the Old Ones’ will, rendering the lands a primordial haven for the lizardfolk and a sweltering, inhospitable nightmare for their foes.
Dread Saurian
Wasn't a big fan of this model, but had to have it as the centrepiece for my Lizardmen collection. The flesh on his neck is reminiscent of a rooster's wattle... hardly a fearsome creature. And I don't like the bone spikes along his back either, there's just something about them. Maybe they're too realistic looking or something.
Maybe it's the fact that there are no Lizardmen actually present on this model, unlike the Stegadons, Bastiladons and Carnosaurs/Troglodons, which makes this model further stand out from the rest of the roster. Though of course ones can be kitbashed on, and I've seen some good ones of that already.
And of course, the sheer size of this monstrosity. Is it even legal to call it a "miniature" at this point?
I wish we could get a centerpiece model more like Alarielle the Everqueen, Archaon Everchosen, etc. One day... It never occurred to me that this beast walked on all fours until they were released in the Total War Warhammer 2 DLC. I always assumed they would walk like Carnosaurs and this model was just posed with one arm resting on the ground!
Of all the reptilian nightmares that inhabit the jungle shrouded continent of Lustria, Dread Saurians are one of the most feared; an echo of ancient days when huge beasts such as they did battle with the forefathers of the dragons for supremacy. The spiked fins on a Dread Saurian's back brush the top of the jungle canopy as they move, the massive beasts constantly searching for prey to satisfy their unending hunger. Once found, their gigantic, snapping crocodilian jaws can tear apart an adult Stegadon in a welter of blood, the Dread Saurians thrashing and shredding their prey until the jungle around them is coated in red.
Immense creatures, larger than the towering Carnosaur, Dread Saurians are few in number and sacred to the Lizardmen, and the fury of each that prowls the foetid jungles is moderated only by the arcane power of the ceremonial armour that bedecks them. Without this precaution even the power of the Slann could not hold their hunger in check.
The trumpeting calls of the Dread Saurians echo through the mosaic-tiled plazas of Lizardmen cities as well as Lustria's deep jungles, the sound summoning their Saurian inhabitants to worship. Retained in certain cities' mountainous temples, these beasts are kept as living shrines to the Old Ones, symbols of their lost glory.
Armoured in beaten gold inscribed with prayer and prophecy, the Dread Saurians are kept in lavishly decorated lairs as rich as any king's throne room, but under this finery are layers of old blood and shattered bones, the remains of those fed to them by the Skink Priests, torn apart as living sacrifices to the Old Ones. These ceremonial titans bear the most precious relics from the ancient days, items of power left behind by the Old Ones, and the power of these artefacts makes them all but indestructible on the battlefield as they charge forth wreathed in flame or with skin as hard as stone.
When the winds of magic rise and a great storm draws close, the Slann Mage-priests will stir and chant the ancient rituals of binding, shackling the captives Dread Saurians to their will, while their legendary might is coveted by the sorcerers and wizards of the younger races. Let loose upon the battlefield these reptilian monstrosities wreak terrible havoc upon the foe with both their fang-lined jaws and the divine blessing of the Old Ones.
Realmshaper Engine
I regret picking the overgrown version because it took so much longer to paint! Disappointed that the two sides are exact replicas of each other. It's fine for the non-overgrown pyramid, but for the overgrown it creates an immediate dissatisfaction in the authentic feel of the product, since vines would not grow exactly the same way on each side as they do on this model.
There are no lengths the Seraphon will not go to in order to see the Great Plan fulfilled. At a Starmaster’s decree, Realmshaper Engines are deployed to remake reality in line with the Old Ones’ will, rendering the lands a primordial haven for the lizardfolk and a sweltering, inhospitable nightmare for their foes.
Last edited:
Temple Guard
Koriialstraz
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I love your RSE !
Kroxigor
Oh_Man
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Tetto'eko
Tetto'eko's appearance on the battlefield heralds events of such importance that heavenly bodies have been known to realign themselves in his favour. Those sensitive to the skeins of destiny can feel its precarious balance as well as sense Tetto’eko’s uncanny ability to shift the winds of fate his own way. At over a century old, Tetto’eko is ancient for a Skink, yet his mind is quick and his unprecedented ability to predict the future only seems to improve. The Skink Priest was spawned when the true moon obscured the cursed second moon; this was previously seen as an ill omen, but with the coming of Tetto’eko it has now been pronounced as a sign of good fortune. The Mage-Priests have also proclaimed that the Old One Tepok has blessed Tetto’eko and granted the astromancer his unfathomable foresight.
By Tetto’eko’s predictions, many dire events have been averted before they were allowed to happen. It was Tetto’eko and his precognitive skills that defeated the Skaven forces that massed once again at Quetza. It was Tetto’eko that pointed the great Chameleon Skink Oxyotl towards the hidden enclave of Skaven Assassins that was waiting to ambush Lord Mazdamundi. It has been said that the Lizardmen have never lost a battle with Tetto’eko present. Recognising Tetto’eko’s unique ability, the Slann Mage-Priests have gifted the Skink with his own palanquin to carry the Chief Astromancer’s frail body. So famous are Tetto’eko’s predictions that he is afforded the same reverence as a Slann - the Temple Guard bowing low as the Skink hovers across the city to attend to his many star-viewings.
The Eye of the Old Ones: As stellar alignments draw near, Tetto'eko can see opportunities for his forces to exploit in the future.
The Stellar Staff: Atop this staff is a mystical orrery with which Tetto'eko can alter the trajectory of passing comets.
Deep Jungle Warden
A custom mini from Clay Project Miniatures.
Tetto'eko's appearance on the battlefield heralds events of such importance that heavenly bodies have been known to realign themselves in his favour. Those sensitive to the skeins of destiny can feel its precarious balance as well as sense Tetto’eko’s uncanny ability to shift the winds of fate his own way. At over a century old, Tetto’eko is ancient for a Skink, yet his mind is quick and his unprecedented ability to predict the future only seems to improve. The Skink Priest was spawned when the true moon obscured the cursed second moon; this was previously seen as an ill omen, but with the coming of Tetto’eko it has now been pronounced as a sign of good fortune. The Mage-Priests have also proclaimed that the Old One Tepok has blessed Tetto’eko and granted the astromancer his unfathomable foresight.
By Tetto’eko’s predictions, many dire events have been averted before they were allowed to happen. It was Tetto’eko and his precognitive skills that defeated the Skaven forces that massed once again at Quetza. It was Tetto’eko that pointed the great Chameleon Skink Oxyotl towards the hidden enclave of Skaven Assassins that was waiting to ambush Lord Mazdamundi. It has been said that the Lizardmen have never lost a battle with Tetto’eko present. Recognising Tetto’eko’s unique ability, the Slann Mage-Priests have gifted the Skink with his own palanquin to carry the Chief Astromancer’s frail body. So famous are Tetto’eko’s predictions that he is afforded the same reverence as a Slann - the Temple Guard bowing low as the Skink hovers across the city to attend to his many star-viewings.
The Eye of the Old Ones: As stellar alignments draw near, Tetto'eko can see opportunities for his forces to exploit in the future.
The Stellar Staff: Atop this staff is a mystical orrery with which Tetto'eko can alter the trajectory of passing comets.
Deep Jungle Warden
A custom mini from Clay Project Miniatures.
Last edited:
Saurus
Andrew Smith
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Terradon Riders
I love the paint job on these terradons. Do you happen to remember what colours you used for the wings, head and back?
Saurus
Andrew Smith
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Thanks! I’ve been thinking of a grey/blue scheme for my terradons, so this gives me some ideas.
Kroxigor
Oh_Man
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Chakax, the Eternity Warden
Very few warriors will ever prove worthy enough to protect a Slann Mage-Priest at his most vulnerable moments - when he meditates in his Eternity Chamber. Those few Saurus Temple Guard who earn such honours are given the sacred rank of Eternity Warden. In the temple-city of his birth, it is Chakax who bears the title and responsibility of Eternity Warden. This stalwart Temple Guard has defended the Mage-Priests of the City of Mists, in their seclusion and in battle, for millennia. Only the most powerful of the Slann are allowed to contemplate from Xlanhuapec’s secluded Eternity Chamber and when they retire to its tranquil composure, it is Chakax alone who is entrusted to watch over them. He has been known to maintain his vigil for many centuries at a time.
Chakax is the eldest of the ancient city’s Temple Guard. He has never yielded in his task and has butchered whole regiments of foes that have dared attempt to kill his charges. Each sweep of his heavy Star-stone Mace leaves a trail of devastation in its wake. As the last line of defence between an assassin’s blade and the Mage-Priest he is charged with defending, Chakax’s skills as a bodyguard are commensurate with his age. Not a single Slann under his special protection has died to an enemy blow, and he has become an expert at discerning the most covert of threats and then flattening them with a mighty two-handed swing.
The Star-stone Mace: This massive, double-handed mace was crafted before the founding of the first temple-city, and its stone was not quarried upon this world. The star-stone itself has the rare property of rendering magical enchantments inert.
The Helm of the Prime Guardian: Chakax wears a massive skull-helm that belonged to the first of all the Temple Guard, the Guardian of Origins. The spirit of the long-dead Saurus lingers on and heightens the bearer's awareness of threats.
The Key to the Eternity Chamber: The Key to the Eternity Chamber is inlaid with intricate wards that slow the passage of time, allowing the bearer to fight at the same speed as his opponent and to dodge blows with ease.
Temple Guard (led by Chakax)
Batch painted using a lot of contrast paints. Definitely keen to return to painting individual minis!
The Temple Guard are a revered and uncommon spawning of Saurus. They were created to protect the Slann Mage-Priests and the temple-cities in which the Lizardmen dwell. To their tasks, they dedicate every fibre of their beings, displaying a single-minded determination that will result in either the safeguarding of their charges or their own deaths. As befits their honoured status, Temple Guard are armed with heavy ornamental halberds and adorned with sacred glyphs. In addition to armour plates of the strongest bronze, the Temple Guard bear distinctive helms fashioned from the horned and crested skulls of Lustria’s predatory beasts.
Some Temple Guard are as old as the temple-cities and Slann that they protect. However, should one fall in battle, his helm is salvaged by Skink attendants to be placed within the inner sanctum of a pyramid-temple. There it remains, a relic, until a new generation of Temple Guard is spawned to claim the helms of the fallen. It is believed that when a Saurus inherits one of these sacred heirlooms, he becomes imbued with a portion of its predecessor’s strength and martial skill. In this way, the Temple Guard continue to safeguard their charges for eternity – clearly the role for which they were designed.
Drycha, Briarmaven of Woe
Had to paint up this one after playing the Twisted and the Twilight! Used some purple elements to reflect her in-game appearance.
Long ago, Drycha held court amongst the roots of Addaivoch, the once-glorious creature known in recent times as the Tree of Woe. Most believe that Drycha lost her mind when Morghur’s death tainted that ground forever, but in truth, she was capricious and malevolent for many long years before that tragedy. Drycha remembers well the days before the coming of the Elves, and has ever rued the folly that shackled the forest to mortal whim and fate. She rarely converses with others, even the Dryads who serve her as handmaidens, but instead chants a mantra of the names of all those fellow spirits whom she believes have been failed by the Elves. As old as Drycha is, she still possess a crystal-clear memory, and it is doubtful that she will ever reach the end of her tally; new names are added with every battle between Athel Loren and the outside world.
In the early years of the alliance between the Elves and forest, Drycha was ever in evidence about the glades and groves, watching the Elves and examining their every action for any sign of betrayal. She has been seen little in the years since Morghur’s blood was spilt upon her glade, though she is known to commune with Coeddil, a Treeman of great age and power, and serves as his herald while the great being lies shackled in the depths of the Wildwood. Such a thing cannot help but provoke unease, for Coeddil’s distrustful attitude of the Wood Elves is legend. He is so incredibly ancient that it is difficult to ascertain his motivation, for Coeddil has forgotten more than many younger beings – the Elves included – will ever know. If these two embittered spirits have found common cause, as it appears, it can only be a matter of time before the balance of Loren forest is thrown into disarray.
In recent years, strange tales have come to Athel Loren, worrying rumours of Drycha’s activities. On the fringe of the great Drakwald Forest in the Empire, the peasants tell stories of the trees that come alive, hungry for blood. On the edge of the Forest of Arden in Bretonnia, villagers gather only deadwood for their purposes, citing tales of other settlements found ruined and torn, the inhabitants left as scraps of tattered meat by the vengeance of the trees. To many, these events seem as senseless as they are apparently random, but if they are indeed the work of Drycha and her handmaidens, there must surely be a greater goal behind them than mere slaughter – though what that goal is remains to be seen. Alas, even Naieth the Prophetess cannot see the destination for which Drycha strives, for the road leading there is hidden by blood and horror.
Very few warriors will ever prove worthy enough to protect a Slann Mage-Priest at his most vulnerable moments - when he meditates in his Eternity Chamber. Those few Saurus Temple Guard who earn such honours are given the sacred rank of Eternity Warden. In the temple-city of his birth, it is Chakax who bears the title and responsibility of Eternity Warden. This stalwart Temple Guard has defended the Mage-Priests of the City of Mists, in their seclusion and in battle, for millennia. Only the most powerful of the Slann are allowed to contemplate from Xlanhuapec’s secluded Eternity Chamber and when they retire to its tranquil composure, it is Chakax alone who is entrusted to watch over them. He has been known to maintain his vigil for many centuries at a time.
Chakax is the eldest of the ancient city’s Temple Guard. He has never yielded in his task and has butchered whole regiments of foes that have dared attempt to kill his charges. Each sweep of his heavy Star-stone Mace leaves a trail of devastation in its wake. As the last line of defence between an assassin’s blade and the Mage-Priest he is charged with defending, Chakax’s skills as a bodyguard are commensurate with his age. Not a single Slann under his special protection has died to an enemy blow, and he has become an expert at discerning the most covert of threats and then flattening them with a mighty two-handed swing.
The Star-stone Mace: This massive, double-handed mace was crafted before the founding of the first temple-city, and its stone was not quarried upon this world. The star-stone itself has the rare property of rendering magical enchantments inert.
The Helm of the Prime Guardian: Chakax wears a massive skull-helm that belonged to the first of all the Temple Guard, the Guardian of Origins. The spirit of the long-dead Saurus lingers on and heightens the bearer's awareness of threats.
The Key to the Eternity Chamber: The Key to the Eternity Chamber is inlaid with intricate wards that slow the passage of time, allowing the bearer to fight at the same speed as his opponent and to dodge blows with ease.
Temple Guard (led by Chakax)
Batch painted using a lot of contrast paints. Definitely keen to return to painting individual minis!
The Temple Guard are a revered and uncommon spawning of Saurus. They were created to protect the Slann Mage-Priests and the temple-cities in which the Lizardmen dwell. To their tasks, they dedicate every fibre of their beings, displaying a single-minded determination that will result in either the safeguarding of their charges or their own deaths. As befits their honoured status, Temple Guard are armed with heavy ornamental halberds and adorned with sacred glyphs. In addition to armour plates of the strongest bronze, the Temple Guard bear distinctive helms fashioned from the horned and crested skulls of Lustria’s predatory beasts.
Some Temple Guard are as old as the temple-cities and Slann that they protect. However, should one fall in battle, his helm is salvaged by Skink attendants to be placed within the inner sanctum of a pyramid-temple. There it remains, a relic, until a new generation of Temple Guard is spawned to claim the helms of the fallen. It is believed that when a Saurus inherits one of these sacred heirlooms, he becomes imbued with a portion of its predecessor’s strength and martial skill. In this way, the Temple Guard continue to safeguard their charges for eternity – clearly the role for which they were designed.
Drycha, Briarmaven of Woe
Had to paint up this one after playing the Twisted and the Twilight! Used some purple elements to reflect her in-game appearance.
Long ago, Drycha held court amongst the roots of Addaivoch, the once-glorious creature known in recent times as the Tree of Woe. Most believe that Drycha lost her mind when Morghur’s death tainted that ground forever, but in truth, she was capricious and malevolent for many long years before that tragedy. Drycha remembers well the days before the coming of the Elves, and has ever rued the folly that shackled the forest to mortal whim and fate. She rarely converses with others, even the Dryads who serve her as handmaidens, but instead chants a mantra of the names of all those fellow spirits whom she believes have been failed by the Elves. As old as Drycha is, she still possess a crystal-clear memory, and it is doubtful that she will ever reach the end of her tally; new names are added with every battle between Athel Loren and the outside world.
In the early years of the alliance between the Elves and forest, Drycha was ever in evidence about the glades and groves, watching the Elves and examining their every action for any sign of betrayal. She has been seen little in the years since Morghur’s blood was spilt upon her glade, though she is known to commune with Coeddil, a Treeman of great age and power, and serves as his herald while the great being lies shackled in the depths of the Wildwood. Such a thing cannot help but provoke unease, for Coeddil’s distrustful attitude of the Wood Elves is legend. He is so incredibly ancient that it is difficult to ascertain his motivation, for Coeddil has forgotten more than many younger beings – the Elves included – will ever know. If these two embittered spirits have found common cause, as it appears, it can only be a matter of time before the balance of Loren forest is thrown into disarray.
In recent years, strange tales have come to Athel Loren, worrying rumours of Drycha’s activities. On the fringe of the great Drakwald Forest in the Empire, the peasants tell stories of the trees that come alive, hungry for blood. On the edge of the Forest of Arden in Bretonnia, villagers gather only deadwood for their purposes, citing tales of other settlements found ruined and torn, the inhabitants left as scraps of tattered meat by the vengeance of the trees. To many, these events seem as senseless as they are apparently random, but if they are indeed the work of Drycha and her handmaidens, there must surely be a greater goal behind them than mere slaughter – though what that goal is remains to be seen. Alas, even Naieth the Prophetess cannot see the destination for which Drycha strives, for the road leading there is hidden by blood and horror.
Last edited:
Slann
Lizards of Renown
Herald of Creation
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