Hello, I have been "building" an Empire army for about six months now, but due to other obligations, they have simply been the black-sprayed army of destruction. Now that everything has drifted away, I find myself with a lot of spare time to paint the army. I grabbed my paints and decided to do a Stirland River Patrol army - mainly because I like the colour scheme. So, below you find a short introductory story for the army and the test model. I know I am not a fantastic painter, but I am getting better. At the moment I cannot do facial features (eyes/mouths) so their faces can look a little unloved. Thanks for reading - Furball
The bow dropped and rose under the heavy current as the water circled around the rocks. Those aboard this ship barely notice the movement. their bones long ago forming adapt sea-legs. The tattered sails fluttered in the breeze, the skull emblem seemingly grinning at the world that passed across its bare features. The crew stood motionless, unable to move without the command of their master. Their unloved weapons rusted in their hands, their armour decaying into a similar state. These were bastard children of Sylvania, dead for countless centuries, forced to go to war once more at the will a necromancer. Skeletons. The Undead.
Their master paced backwards and forwards, a small bounce of glee with each step; he was getting excited. His pale skin was blistering in the hot summer sun, but he couldn't feel the pain. His lips were dry and he craved for the sweet taste of blood to wash away his thirst. He was eager to reach the shoreline, the quiet little fishing village that rested so peacefully on the shores. His last victim had bled dry mere hours ago; her wrists slashed open against the wooden frame of the bed. Her own life was a cheap payment to escape the torment each day had become for her. He shook his head, what a wasted opportunity, but still, her body would be his for as long as he willed it to be. He was the puppet master and she had just attached strings to her arms. It was time for a new virgin with unpoisoned blood. Yes, these people will do, these poor humans of Stirland.
The ship was getting too close to the village now, to near for Niklas Weiss liking anyway. Still, he would wait for the signal of his captain before he would unleash his fiery revenge on these raiders. The bow that he had spent so many nights crafting from the perfect tree rested in his hands, the precious pot of oil wrapped safely in bovine hide to protect from the moisture in the air. He could feel the rage that was building up in his men, their faces intent of destroying these beasts that dared set foot in their homeland.
Through his knees, he felt a sharp vibration, followed by a second, a third; hoofbeats. Niklas prepared himself, the signal was close. He uncoiled the tough leather that protected the ceramic pot and placed it carefully on the ground. Removing an arrow from his quiver, he draped a piece of cloth over the shaft. Soaking the material in the oil, he removed his flint from the pouch at his waist.
He looked up just in time to see a lone cavalry man approach the bank of the river. The beautiful beast, Flussstute, the pride of his commander, leaped high from the crumbling soil under her feat. Instantly, her angelic wings unfolded and within a second she was soaring through the skies towards the boat. As she passed above the Undead crew, a hammer lashed down from her rider; Captain Berinhelm von Apfelsine.
That was Niklas' signal; the arrow was alight and following his leader. Five flaming missiles struck the wood corpse of the vessel, the fire aching to engulf the Sylvania murders. From the sleepy village emerged the Third Stirland River Patrol force, ready to lay to rest any of the skeletons that made it ashore. From behind Niklas, the knightly order formed up in the shining armour; a sight that might even terrify the Undead.
All watched the boat as it slowly burnt, take pleasure in the deep scream as the necromancer was engulfed by flame. In chorus they replied:
"For the Young Count! For Stirland!