Just a quick break from watching England lose the Ashes in style (down a crack) to give you all an update on where I am at hobby wise.
Disclaimer: as a true blooded Kiwi I am disliking my support for the Aussies in this series...but bitterness from the last series vs England and a begrudging ANZAC spirit has forced my hand + the Michael Clarke kinda looks like Dean Winchester.
All troops are assembled sans shoulderpads. The forgeworld order has been made via Glen and hopefully I will have some pics for you all of the pre-painted dudes in the early new year. I have started green stuffing the flames and stuff...I'm determined to not resort to posting it all to Shirts Off Warhammer hehe
Nothing to report other than a wee bit of list-hammer.
I'm enjoying the discussions on Ulthuan.net about the potential for Swordmasters to be the main elite block. DL:DR - swordmasters lose less effectiveness with the loss of rare ranks and benefit the most from high magic and the loremaster...who loses combat anyway?
RUINATION is coming up in the early new year. 4000pts of Warhammer goodness with "dont be that guy" veto comp. I am very much looking forward to this event. So much so it has managed to get me to unpack my painting gear and get repairing all the old stuff.
As usual, I like to keep my lists inside my army theme...so here's some pre-list fluff to keep everything in context:
Otto liked winter. It was cold, the forest was quiet, and the village folk were hungry and restless...but too drunk to do anything about it other than grumble. His soldiers were more worried about gambling than they were about wanting to go home. At least in the service of Otto and his Rickwald forest Inquisitional Forces you got food and grog which was more than they could guarantee was waiting for them back home. Besides, the winter patrols rarely lasted more than a day or two. Winter was easy. Winter was predictable, and more importantly the snow meant that Otto could ignore the rest of the so-called "empire" for a few precious long months. Witch hunters, glory seeking knights and the like were not so zealous or brave when they were freezing and the forest was just a little bit darker...Otto found himself cracking a sly smile.
This however was all coming to an end. As Otto walked the walls of the village his troop were wintering in he could hear the forest slowly waking up. The river was swelling and the snow was beginning to melt a little too fast for his liking. Even worse, the red full moon signalled the return of the Elector Count's court of fools. Otto's reputation at court had recovered somewhat after the fall of Stonefalls to the undead Manfred...the graveyards surrendered few bodies to the unholy master still at large in the forest when the ground refused to be broken. There was little to report, or embarrass him further other than the odd missing villager. However Otto just knew this court would require him to swear mumbled allegiance (again) and prove it with some grand gesture about "taking Stonefalls back for the glory of the Emperor" or whoever was on the throne somewhere far-away. People who only swung a sword in tournaments never counted the cost of progress in pints of spilled blood. The counted in flags over their keeps, trophies in their halls, and songs on the lips of (well paid) bards.
Otto never cared (nor could care) for frivolous displays of pretend power. Fear is the root of all religion (and Otto had seen enough to make him fearful for a lifetime) , and religion was the true key to power. The fools at the courts had never smelt the blood of a frenzied mob who willingly throw themselves on the weapons of evil so as to win battle with the sheer weight of their dead bodies. They had never witnessed the miracles on the battlefield when the chanting of ancient tongues slowed down time itself...or blasted apart the horrors that lurked in the shadows of the forest. Otto had faith and the cunning to weave the zeal of fellow believers to his own benefits....and that of the church. He was just not so good with the unbelievers, or even worse, the fake believers.
But all that meant nothing right now as Otto took in the sights and the smells, savouring every last moment of winter. What was going to happen was going to happen and the only real question was whether Otto and his nice little corner of the world would survive it. Trouble was arriving all dressed up in shiny armour and expensive weaves, on well groom steeds to the sound of horns, the waiving of flags, and proclamations of false piety by those of important birth. This is the worst sort of trouble (naive fools!), and the sort that Otto would best rather avoid.
...And here's some exciting prep pics
That's all from me at the mo.