Topic: [AoS] The Legions of Myrmidia - Darknight's AoS Army!!

[Darknight]

Introduction

My WFB army http://warhammer-empire.com/theforum/index.php/topic,40057.0.html with background here http://warhammer-empire.com/theforum/index.php/topic,40410.0.html was obviously designed without the End Times in mind. And, I intent to continue to add to my WFB army. However, AoS is here and I want to make an army for it. I always said I wanted to “continue” my existing force through the End Times and into Age of Sigmar. A lot of the rumors we got didn't pan out, but now the game is out, the background is clearer and so I have done some thinking and come up with some ideas!

Which I am totally sharing here … with a view to getting feedback, ideas, corrections etc. People who know the fluff (or correct mistakes) or people with any ideas are welcome to chime in. What I don't want – and respectfully request I don't get – is people who dislike AoS posting snippy, sarcastic, derogatory etc. comments about AoS itself. If you don't like AoS, but have comment on what I have written (corrections, ideas etc.) wonderful. If you are posting to dog on AoS and / or its players, please find another thread. It's quite possible to offer constructive elements to this without negative comments on the game itself.

I shall be posting THREE initial posts – this one, a background post, and an post detailing some of the modeling and painting ideas I have. Any comments welcome!

[Darknight]

Background

Here is the background for my army – it expands on the existing AoS background and ties this force together with my existing WHFB army. Please feel free to make suggestions / corrections (if I am referencing existing fluff incorrectly). As changes are made, I shall edit this and make sure the most up-to-date version is in place as we move along! Right now, the background is somewhat perfunctory and mechanical – I shall edit it to be more “literary” as I go!

The Order of the Eightfold Cross of Melite was founded after a miraculous intervention by Myrmidia which saved an Imperial force lead by an irreligious general on an island just off the coast of the Myrmidens peninsula. They benefited from frequent personal intervention by the goddess herself, unusual among knightly orders. They were a pragmatic group of warriors and devotees, making use of creatures (minotaurs, beastmen, chimeras and other monsters) often considered “chaotic”. The sacred animal of the Order – in addition to the pegasus and eagle of Myrmidia – was the bull (as bulls were used to topple the columns of the Chaos temple) and use was made of the hammer (after instruments used to destroy the temple) as a symbol.

There were two central places of worship for the Order – the former Chaos shrine plaza with the toppled columns and a temple altar built at the site of the goddesses manifestation about a quarter mile away. Magic still remained in these places easily detected by the priestesses of the order. The haruspicas predicted a time of destruction and change, when “the gates would open and all would be unmade”.


Grand Master Vladimir Hunyadi, killed during the End Times

Obviously, this was the End Times. The Grand Master of the Order was killed and none of the auguries carried out by the haruspicas revealed a successor. Rather, Myrmidia herself returned to lead the Order in its final days, manifesting as an avatar as she had done on occasion before – but now, it seemed, permanently.


A haruspica divining the future from the liver of a sacrificed animal

But even with this leadership, the forces of Chaos were too great. Myrmidia could see the writing on the wall and – perhaps with some foresight not granted to other gods, or perhaps from gleaned from councils held beyond the realm of mortals – she knew of the inevitable victory of Chaos and the destruction of the world.


The Avatar of the Goddess

She directed the Order to scour the lands they were fighting in – Tilea, the Border Princes and the southern Empire and Bretonnia – for her devotees and bring them to the island of Melite. This they did, gathering the nucleus of a civilization – farmers, warriors, artists, scientists, magicians and more.

But the Order was hard-pressed and – as the Skaven rose from the Underempire to overrun Tilea – they were pushed back to Melite, besieged by the Skaven in their unseaworthy ships, ratmen splashing in a harbor that soon became foul with the grease from their fur.

This was not all that threatened the Order. As the End Times reached its crescendo, the ancient Chaos temple stirred and a gate to realms beyond opened. The eight columns of the temple – once dedicated in pairs to the Great Powers of Chaos as the temple was dedicated to Chaos Undivided, now each resonating with a single Wind of Magic – throbbed with power and lifted themselves up to stand anew. From the gate poured a horde of Daemons.

Caught between these attackers and the Skaven, there was no victory to be had for the Order. They prepared to sell their lives dearly. But the goddess had other ideas – bellowing ancient words of power, she stretched out her spear and a golden lance of light flew from it, driving the powers of Chaos back. It seemed as if the day might not be lost.

But that was not Myrmidia's plan – she knew that even if they won today, the victory of the Ruinous Powers was inevitable. The End Times had truly come for this world, and there was naught to be done to save it. “In to the gate!” she ordered. Her followers, devoted to her beyond reason, abandoned their positions and fled into the swirling Warp vortex, a chittering tide of Skaven running after them.

Falling through the Warp, protected from the horrors of its denizens by Myrmidia's power, the Skaven and the Order still fought until at last they were vomited out at a nexus between the Mortal Realms. Here, with inhuman geometry that would flay the mind of any man who looked on it for too long, the Eight Realms of the Winds of Magic met. Myrmidia and her followers crashed to the ground, the great spars of the columns cracking and humming with magical power piercing the ground around them.

The Skaven had survived too and, invigorated by the Warp, redoubled their attack. With the last of her strength, Myrmidia drove her spear into the ground at the exact center of the eight pillars, using them as conduits to draw power from the Winds of Magic. Solid rock coalesced out of the immaterium between worlds, the power of the Winds made stone, and a great mountain spire rose, trapping the Skaven beneath it and lifting the goddess and her followers higher and higher.

Even her divine soul burned by the power flowing through her, Myrmidia collapsed, her physical form now an ancient, wizened old woman not the powerful, youthful maiden she had worn before. But her great work was complete – the Spire of Wind-forged rock rose a mile or more above the shifting plains of the Eight Realms below it, each anchored to the nexus at the point where that Wind's column had fallen. She had done her part – now, she must recover while her followers did theirs.

And so they did, building a city and civilization atop the Spire they simply called the Citadel. Drawing heavily on the culture of old Tilea, it was a structured society with a dedicated military class well-equipped with sophisticated weaponry. But, if the need arose, virtually any of the citizens could take up arms and defend their home.

And the need did arise, sooner than they thought. Myrmidia's plan had not been perfect – as well as the rock she gathered out of the Winds of Magic, the raw stuff of Chaos coalesced into its own crystal; Warpstone. The Skaven – many crushed, but more merely trapped – were draw to this like moths to a flame and began to carve out warrens within the rock of the Spire. Soon, Myrmidia's followers were assailed from below.

But with heart, faith and steel they drove them back and an uneasy peace settled – ebbing and flowing like the tide the front line might be, but the Skaven were contained and a semblance of civilization could continue … albeit threatened when the breeding time came and litter after litter of ratmen warriors scurried out of hidden holes to threaten the cities atop the Spire.

This was during the time Sigmar floated through the Heavens, clutching the core of the World-That-Was. Over the years, Myrmidia recovered much of her strength, although she remained weaker than she had been before. No longer an ancient crone, she still appeared as a gray-haired matron when Sigmar came to the Spire, seeking allies.

This was the beginning of the Age of Myth. Although distrustful of him – Myrmidia remembered when the Unberogen had walked the world as an unwashed barbarian, gibbering primitive sounds while her followers built glittering cities of white marble irrigated by complex aqueducts and illuminated by the light of philosophy as much as oil lamps – the goddess recognized his value and agreed to an alliance with Sigmar. Supported by his followers, her military pushed outward from the Spire, founding the civilization named after its goddess.

For the Age of Myth, all was well. Myrmidia recovered more of her strength, sable creeping back into the roots of her hair and the wrinkles leaving her face. Her civilization grew, going from strength to strength and bringing many mortals – Duardin, Aelf and more – under her aegis. Mining the enchanted rock of the Spire, her engineers and sorcerers created wondrous technologies; steam-powered automata fueled by glowing stones, deadly engines of war and marvelous machinery to help agriculture, learning and more.

But it was not to last. The Age of Myth was drawing to an end. The Ruinous Powers were drawn to the civilizations of Order, seeking their destruction. Sigmar's alliance fractured, Nagash and Gorkamorka breaking away. Night was falling once again.

Sigmar and his remaining allies fought valiantly, but the god-king did not think the battle could be won and urged retreat, saying he would withdraw into the Celestial Realm and lock the gates, to marshal his strength and prepare for a future assault on the forces of Chaos. Of course, that would mean abandoning other seven Mortal Realms … and leaving Myrmidia's empire broken.

Her civilization was supported by more than its people, land, agriculture and social order. It was supported by the very rock of the Spire, a rock which was drawn from vortex of the Winds of Magic that formed at the nexus. Without all of the Winds, the Spire would be weakened and crumble, allowing the still-scuttling Skaven easier access to the Citadel's underbelly. If Sigmar closed the gates to the Realm of Azyr, the decline of everything she had worked for was inevitable.

She and Sigmar clashed in the Council of the Gods. She called him a coward, accusing him of abandoning allies who had built the empire of Order. He told her he had no choice – that the victory of Chaos was inevitable, and that he must preserve what he could to strike back later.

It was not that she disagreed – she knew the incursions of Chaos were too-strong to be defeated – but she did not see retreat and isolationism as the first steps on the path to victory. She had spent too long, too much energy and the blood of too many of her people to abandon her civilization.

But Sigmar would not be dissuaded. They came to blows. The young god-king was mightier than she and she was left bleeding on the floor of the council chamber by blows from his hammer. Silently, she picked herself up and returned to the Spire.

One by one, Sigmar shut the Gates to Azyr, locking his people inside the Celestial Realm and abandoning the Mortal Realms and his allies. Finally, he came to the Spire to destroy the final lynchpin that joined Azyr to the rest of reality – the Celestial Column at the base of the mountain.

Myrmidia – her body still bruised and battered from the blows she had received during the Council of Gods, her hair more gray now and her face more lined – met him there. “Please don't do this,” she asked simply.

“I will do what I have to to defeat Chaos,” he replied.

She nodded and turned away. “Then so will I,” she promised.

For an instant, he looked at her retreating back … and then swung his hammer and shattered the column, breaking the connection and isolating Azyr from the rest of the Realms.

The effect was immediate – the Spire shuddered, a great tremor running through it. Buildings atop the mountain shook and tumbled. The column crumbled to shattered shards and dust, and the magic of the Spire began to unknit itself.

And thus began the Age of Chaos. Myrmidia and her greatest sorcerers poured their power into sustaining the Spire, delving deeply – perhaps too deeply – into ancient, forbidden knowledge. The Citadel was still plagued by quakes and tremors, but the Spire was – for the most part – stable.

The settlements of Myrmidia's civilization in the Celestial Realm had been lost to her when the gates were closed, of course – but now the armies of Chaos marched on them. Step by step, village by village, city by city, soul by soul her empire was lost to Chaos. Fighting like a champion every inch of the way, making them pay dearly in blood and treasure for even a single pebble, Myrmidia and her forces were pushed inevitably back, cursing the name of Sigmar with every retrograde step. Soon, only the Citadel atop the Spire – assailed from the Skaven below and forces of Chaos on all sides – flew her banners.

And so it has remained for centuries. The Citadel still stands, her people battle-hardened and grim – but there is a perverse kind of joy there, too. The society is strongly militaristic, giving great honor to the Legions who defend them, but it is a place of old knowledge and civilization preserved, a city of light and laughter, art and entertainment. Desperately, Myrmidia keeps these things – knowing that, once day, the night will be driven back and someone, somewhere, must have preserved that which makes life worth living.

The Legions are armed with spears and large curved shields, carrying a short stabbing sword and wearing segmented armor. They are accompanied by auxiliary forces – archers and other skirmishing troops drawn from the citizenry of the Citadel – and augmented by specialized war-machines – chariots, ballistae and more. The Duardin, Aelfs and others of the Citadel also fight alongside the Legions in specialized roles.

But perhaps the most famous and famed members of the Legions are the Praetorians. An all-female Order dedicated solely to the goddess, their members are chosen by Myrmidia herself and they answer to none but her. Their two commanders – the Praetors – have permanent seats on the Council of the Citadel and none but the Consul himself may gainsay them. They are armed and armored in sophisticated armor and with deadly weapons, powered by a wondrous combination of magic and science. In the field, a Praetorian is capable of taking on many times her number and emerging victorious.

But there are other creatures that march alongside the Legions, limping and slinking in the shadows and about which the citizens and even Legionaires know better than to ask too-much. Monsters and creatures of Chaos, bound to the goddess' service by ancient magics and dreadful pacts. Perhaps the rumors are true – perhaps she, deprived of the Wind of Azyr, had to seek elsewhere for the power and potency to shore up the Spire and her dream. Perhaps she turned to Chaos. But, certainly, the darkest rumors cannot be true … surely? That the column of Azyr shattered by Sigmar has been replaced by a pillar of purest Warpstone, defended from the predations of the greedy Skaven by an elite cadre of Praetorians sworn to silence?

This has been the state of affairs for centuries. Myrmidia and the people of the Citadel have defended against a dreadful siege, never defeated but never victorious either. Myrmidia pours herself tirelessly into Citadel's defense, her own power waxing and waning with the fortunes of her armies. She appears as a middle-aged woman now, still beautiful but with iron-gray in her hair, quivering on the cusp of old age.

And now Sigmar has returned, throwing open the Gates of Azyr and sending his Stormcasts crashing into the lives of the mortals desperately trying to survive in the Mortal Realms like a thunderbolt. With the gates reopened, the Celestial Wind can blow over the Spire once more – but with the column shattered and fragments scattered, its influence is weak. The sky above the Citadel shows no stars, no planets, none of the glory of the heavens. Instead, a swirling kaleidoscope of color dazzles the eye as the Winds of Magic mingle.

Myrmidia is bitter and angry towards Sigmar; she considers him an opportunist, coward and glory-hound. He has stayed safe in his realm for centuries, rebuilding his strength while he abandoned the people of the Mortal Realms to Chaos and despair. And now he has returned in force, his Stormcasts assaulting the Ruinous Powers with lightning and tempest.

And so they have redoubled their efforts. Now, god-like beings clash, the moral inhabitants of the Realms caught up in titanic battles. Previously, men could stand against the forces of Chaos – but now they are trapped between two opposing forces of uncountable power. Villages burn, cities topple, collateral damage is terrible.

Sigmar has reached out to Myrmidia, sending a Lord-Celestant as his herald. In the Citadel and the Spire, the Wind of Azyr does not blow strongly so he marched to the gates and requested an audience. In the sight of all in the Citadel, Myrmidia personally broke him, beating his armor into the sigil of the Citadel and crucifying the unfortunate Eternal warrior on it. Alone, and with none daring to oppose her, she dragged the screaming ruin to Ayzrheim and – in contemptuous silence – tossed it down before Sigmar's throne. Her message was clear, and Sigmar received it without comment.

But, although she might not admit it, with the coming of Sigmar and his Stormcasts, a window of opportunity has opened for Myrmidia. Although the Realms are ravaged by destructive war when previously a tenuous, oppressed peace had existed, her armies can advance and drive back Chaos – not fighting alongside Sigmar's forces, but for the same cause. She has stirred herself, making the most of this opportunity, sending out armies of her Legions with Praetorians at their head, rebuilding the empire of Myrmidia in their beloved goddesses name.

The crusading forces seek something else, although this is merely whispered – they seek the shards and fragments of the column of Azyr, hoping to gather enough together to rebuild the lynchpin of the nexus, freeing Myrmidia from whatever dark pacts she made to sustain the Spire.

But, for now, the Celestial Wind does not blow through the Spire and alongside Myrmidia's armies march dark and dreadful creatures, for such is the price of survival in the face of treachery and cowardice.

[Darknight]

Aesthetics / Modeling / Painting

Obviously, this is a Roman-esque army in many ways. I think the basic Legionaries will be, well, Roman Legionaries! I have been looking at various 28mm figures, and have found some I rather like and are inexpensive;

Hail Caesar Romans
Wargames Factory Romans
Victix Ancient Romans

Of the three, Victrix are least expensive (50c per figure) but they only have 42 actual Legionaries (making their price 71c per figure). The Wargames Factory ones are 62c per figure. The Hail Caesar figure are over double the price at $1.75 per figure, but this does not include the Scorpion (which is really rather nice).

Also, the Hail Caesar figures have the classic “segmented” armor look I really like for Romans as well as the lovely curved rectangular shield. The other figures do not have these features. There are a large number of 'Imperial Roman' figures available from Hail Caesar, and I think this is the direction I will take.

I shall mount the figures on 20mm round bases (likely metal washers as that will be inexpensive!) and shall paint them in bright gunmetal and red. I want to avoid the use of blue and blueish colors (to represent the absence of the Celestial Wind). I shall use various Roman war engines etc. to support the army.

For the Praetorians, I want to use the Valkir models available here. I was inspired by this thread – I will sculpt and cast some different backpacks (which will be miniature steam engine powerplants in a steampunk style) and shoulder pads (which will be more fantasy and less futuristic – I will likely make a segmented design echoing the Legionaries' shoulders). For heads, I have a bunch of Wargames Factory Amazon spare heads which have a sort of “Legionary” helmet on. I will see how those look.

I can also include whatever sort of monsters etc. I like the look of, as bound monsters and creatures … which is fun!

For rules, I shall use some basic infantry warscrolls for the Legionaries – likely Empire State Troops – and Stormcast for the Praetorians. Monsters etc. I shall pull from the appropriate place.

Anyway – those are my ideas for modeling etc. Comments welcome! I'm really rather excited by this.

[Alexis]

Really enjoyed reading that story. Great idea on how to include your current models. Good reason to fight Stormcast Eternal forces too, which you may see a lot of!

[Darknight]

Thanks! I don't think I will be using any current models in this army - everyone is dead and the aesthetic is different. But, I do want to link the two armies together.

And, yes - excuse to fight Sigmar is always good. Glory-hound barbarian . . .

[SoonerSox]

I agree that was a good read. I've always favored the Knights of the Blazing Sun and have a soft spot for Myrmidia. This lore would make a wonderful addition to the AoS fluff.

[Darknight]

This lore would make a wonderful addition to the AoS fluff.

GW can have it for free

[Darknight]

So, the only overview of the AoS fluff I could find was on 1d4chan http://1d4chan.org/wiki/Warhammer:_Age_of_Sigmar - but it seems pretty clear. I think my background can work within it - clearly, it focuses on the relationship between Myrmidia and Sigmar more than the wider issues and places the nexus and the Spire in a unique place (not the location with Gates to all the Realms where Nagash is treacherous, but something else and perhaps more esoteric). And, of course, this is an age of myth ... so the actual truth of the matter is always open to debate!

I have added some pics of my existing army to the background post, for interest and color.

[Alexis]

I mean't to say, was this story inspired by the Eldar Altansar fluff?

[Darknight]

I have never even heard of that, so no - although it might have been subconsciously inspired by whatever inspired that!

[SoonerSox]

I was working on my war altar last night and I was reminded of this thread as I read the names "Ulric, Taal, Morr, Manaan, Ranald, Verena, Shallya and of course Sigmar" on the griffons wings. There was no mention of the "strange and foreign deity" Myrmidia.

[Darknight]

I was working on my war altar last night and I was reminded of this thread as I read the names "Ulric, Taal, Morr, Manaan, Ranald, Verena, Shallya and of course Sigmar" on the griffons wings. There was no mention of the "strange and foreign deity" Myrmidia.

Haha! My fluff fits better than I could have hoped!

The Goddess doesn't need you. The Goddess fights alone. The Goddess kneels for no-one.

[Gankom]

Myrmidia is not the only one who does not kneel I hear. Myrmidia rules!

[Darknight]

I was a little inspired, and bashed out a little bit of story - just a small vignette of sorts;

“Milady-Praetor?”

The imperious figure in the silvered armor battered to gunmetal and smirched with blood, soot, dirt and more did not move. Except for the face lined with care and weariness between the cheekguards of the crested helmet, she could have been a statue of some long-forgotten goddess worn down by time. Nervously, the man swallowed and opened his mouth to speak again.

“I heard you, Legionnaire.” She moved nothing but her lips, her eyes blue as a midnight-sea staring at nothing. “My title is Praetor.” Now she turned, looking him up and down with a single raised eyebrow that crinkled the faint-but-visible, long-healed scar on her cheek, tweaking the corner of her mouth in a deceptive pseudo-smile. “Or do you think my gender matters?”

“N-n-no, Mila . . . Praetor,” the man stammered. Of course her gender mattered – who but a woman would be a Praetorian, let alone a Praetor? Answering directly to the Goddess Herself? Genuflecting before the Throne on only one knee? And – for the Praetors alone – the left knee at that. He shook his head very slightly; the argument wasn't worth it.

She stared at him silently for a second. “Well, Legionnaire?” she asked silverly.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, segmented laminar armor ratting like chainlinks supporting a thiruble. “Yes. The Gate, Praetor – the Gate is opening.”

Now she did smile. “Finally,” she muttered, striding past him in a hissing, clanking cloud of oily steam, gigantic boots stamping Myrmidia's sigil into the crackling grass of the Realm of Fire. “I treat with them alone,” she told a cadre of her sisters who hastened forward, dismissing them with a shake of her head.

Younger than her, they shared an uncertain look. “But what if he's not alone?” the bravest of them asked.

“Then the tin-soldiers lied and we told the truth,” she said shortly. They didn't immediately get out of her way and it was only when she gestured with her polearm they stumbled backwards, letting her past unhindered.

The Gate was aptly named – a doorway without a wall, a framework of ancient stones whose arched lintel stood five times the height of a man. The steps at the base hovered level with the Praetor's waist, coiling clouds chained in place with lightning clinging to it like memories. The portal itself was a rippling blue mirror reflecting nothing but an unknown starfield. The Praetor cocked her head and studied it – she was fascinated by stars, loved the color blue, unseen from the Citadel and so rare above the Spire. Ever since the traitorous gloryhound had shattered the Column of Azyr and left the Goddess' beautiful and beloved empire to crumble.

She had not seen it, of course – no-one but the Goddess Herself had been there when the betrayer destroyed the Spire's foundation, and it had happened centuries before. But the tale was told to every child of the Citadel, whispered to them in their cribs before they were old enough to understand, the subject of childhood games (she smiled as she remembered the first time she had been big and strong enough to 'persuade' the other girls she got to 'be' Myrmidia), the central doctrine and article of faith in the Goddess.

Traitor. Gloryhound. Coward. Selfish. Fair-weather friend.

Wounder of the Goddess.

The muscles of her jaw popped, pressing against the cheek guards of her helmet as she grit her teeth. She only came back to herself – focusing but not relaxing – when the surface of the portal crackled with lightning, static electricity crawling over the surface of her armor and lifting the ends of her helmet's plume. She gave a thin smile and then narrowed her eyes, composing her face into icy indifference. Her fingers worked on the haft of her weapon, clenching and unclenching with a rhythmic ripple. Here it comes . . .

Reality itself was split with a thunderclap, a bolt of lightning impacting the ground mere feet in front of her. The Legionnaires and even some of the Praetorians started back, but she held her ground before the massive gilded figure that appeared as the afterimage of the lightning bolt faded. He towered over her – her head came only up to his chest, her stoic face reflected in the perfect curves of his plastron. A gigantic warhammer – the haft twice as long as she was tall, the head larger than her torso – was held in one monstrous fist, a table-sized shield adorned with the hated twin-tailed symbol of the traitor-barbarian in the other.

His face was veiled with a golden mask, pristine and unscuffed like the acres of polished armor gleaming in the ruddy light of the Realm of Fire. Like fire, she felt anger rise in her – she wanted to spit on the armor, to throw mud over it, to wrestle this arrogant vassal of a coward to the ground and grind his face into the dirt until he looked like a warrior rather than an icon of a false god.
Soon enough, she promised herself.

“Greetings.” The giant's voice was resonant and deep, smooth as oil and rolling like the storm. “I am Fulrex Warborn, Lord-Celestant of the Cloistered Stormhost. In the name of Sigmar, God-King of Azyrheim I . . .”

“I care nothing for your titles and your coward master's duplicity,” she said. Her contralto sounded harsh as a raven's cry next to the melodious thunder of his voice. “You are not welcome here. This land is claimed in the name of the Goddess. Begone.”

The Stormcast's expressionless mask did not shift, but the set of the mantled shoulders vast and gleaming revealed at least enough humanity remained beneath the armor and repeated lighting-fueled remakings to feel frustration. “The Goretide hold this land, Praetor – Myrmidia will not . . .”

Her face twisted with rage. She leveled her polearm, pointing the blade at his face. “Sully her name with your filthy lips again, barbarian, and it will go ill with you,” she warned.

Fulrex had been chosen – by Sigmar himself – for more than his skill at arms. Diplomatic to the bright core that still remained within his lightning-scorched flesh, he inclined his head. “Bickering avails us nothing, Praetor,” he said easily. “My quarrel is not with you.”

“It will be – unless you leave,” she promised.

A low growl rumbled through his throat, the building crescendo that heralds a breaking storm. “I have fought more years than you have been alive, girl,” he growled, leonine as his armor. “I have seen more battles than you have sunrises. I have a host of Eternals at my command. We cannot die.”

She snorted contemptuously and spun on her heel, unconcernedly giving him her back. “And so you have no desire to live,” she tossed off.

“My lord and master's offer is not perpetual, Praetor!” he called after her. “Accept it now, or fight alone. Without us, you will lose.”

For an instant, he thought he had persuaded her – she stopped, standing stock-still. And then she turned and stalked towards him. “With you, we have already lost,” she spat. “Why would you not flee like your coward master did when he betrayed the Goddess? Get you gone ere the Goddess' patience grows thin.”

“Sigmar did what he had to, Praetor. Let us put the past aside, work together to drive back Chaos from these lands. My host will not flee – we do not fear death, we cannot die.”

She smiled thinly. “I wonder,” she mused, “can you bleed?”

He did not answer before a discordant blaze of brazen trumpets blasted across the landscape. “Praetor!” one of the Legionnaires shouted. “The Goretide approaches!”

The Lord-Celestant made to speak – an assurance, a final desperate persuasion – but she beat him to it. “Begone,” she said again. “If I find you here when I return, I will not answer for my conduct.”

“My host fights alongside you, Praetor,” he promised, “whether you will it or no.”

Her face twisted. “Typical Sigmarite,” she sneered. “'Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law'.” She snorted and tossed her head. “Fine – try and keep up, brute. My sisters' blades shall reap a bloody harvest – you may have the chaff we leave. But pray to your failed god the Goretide strike you down – for I will not be as merciful as they if any of you survive.” She did not wait for a response, but instead hefted her polearm and charged forward, her screamed battlecry echoed by a hundred voices. “For Myrmidia and the Citadel! Alone and unbowed!”

Beneath his mask, Fulrex's scarred lips twisted into a smile. He lifted his hammer aloft and roiling black clouds gathered, flashes of lightning leaping between them and arcing to the plain below, bringing the hammers of Sigmar's fury to earth. All around him, gleaming warriors stood with electricity crackling and writhing across their armor, faces expressionless masks of terrible beauty and gigantic weapons in their fists. His hosts gathered, the Lord-Celestant leveled his own weapon and charged after the woman, bellowing his own battlecry as he did;

“In the name of Sigmar!”

[Gankom]

Excellent story! Loved it! Really like the imagery and names it conjures up.

[StealthKnightSteg]

Nice fluff!

A few comments, the location of the Spire / Citadel seems a bit vague compared to what we know of the walkways between the mortal realms and now suggests somewhat to be in the middle of nowhere.

And maybe a bit more explaining about the slaying of the lord celestant coming for an audience as his body/soul would normally return instantly to Sigmarbelum and thus cannot be dragged to Sigmar.

[Lord_Crom]

Am really interested in following this army and enjoying how it is developing. I like the fact that Sigmar isn't getting all the love but as a strict follower of Manann it means that should your army ever discover Meriport we will have to go to war 

Excellent fluff looking forward to more to come.

[Darknight]

Nice fluff!

Thanks!

A few comments, the location of the Spire / Citadel seems a bit vague compared to what we know of the walkways between the mortal realms and now suggests somewhat to be in the middle of nowhere.

And maybe a bit more explaining about the slaying of the lord celestant coming for an audience as his body/soul would normally return instantly to Sigmarbelum and thus cannot be dragged to Sigmar.

Where is the rest of the background for AoS located? I know they have a novel out and that big honking book of background etc. - is that where all this is coming from? Am I going to have to buy books now?

The location was intended to be vague ... because I didn't know the geography of the mortal realms (or, indeed, if they had geography). I kind of envisaged it as this sort of weird, mind-shattering inhuman geometry - there are connections between all the Realms at the nexus, but you could walk all around the Spire and stay in the Realm of Fire (for example) .... but then you enter by the Fire Column, walk through the tunnels, exit by the Death Column and poof! You're in Nagash's Realm... and can walk all around the Spire without ever treading on anything except bones ....

The "killing" of the LC might merely be apocryphal, or it could be Myrmidia using her power. But also notice that he isn't killed - he's screaming and howling. So, she might have just broken every single bone in his body and then dragged him out of his armor and ...

She's not a nice girl

Am really interested in following this army and enjoying how it is developing. I like the fact that Sigmar isn't getting all the love but as a strict follower of Manann it means that should your army ever discover Meriport we will have to go to war 

Excellent fluff looking forward to more to come.

Thank you! I don't know about Meriport - is that AoS official, or connected with your developing army?

And the Praetor's attitude to your guys would be purely informed by who they allied with during the war of the end of the Age of Myth. Did you stand with Sigmar as he abandoned us, or were you betrayed too?

[Darknight]

I have started a plog! I am looking for suggestions on there that I might have some idea how to convert up these Praetorians.

[Darknight]

Sotting in starbucks by target while the wife shops. On my 'phone. Thinking about stuff. Will have to add in the following units;

Legionaires with greek fire launchers.
Armoured elephant.
Praetorians on wolves.
The praetor on a winged panther / lion.
Wolf pack.
Various auxiliaries with slings, javelins etc.
War altar with the Consul on it.

I am digging Aos because I can just think of these ujits and make them and don't have to worry about them fitting into a specific army list!

[Oxycutor]

I think I'll do warscrolls for the old Dogs of War stuff, and Reiksguard foot knights.  War wagon, steam tank variants, and the wizard wagons I have for each lore of magic.

Sent from my thingamajig via wadyamacallit

[Darknight]

Foot reiksguard would be easy - just greatswords with sword and shield. Let 'em reroll saves of 1 and reduce the dmg done by weapons.

[Darknight]

@Oxy; I think someone on an FB group I am a member of did scrolls for the DoW... I'll have to dig 'em out.


OK, so I am not going to post in the Brush & Palette until I have some figures to show (and they are all on order right now - and it will take me a while before I can get them ready for paint anyway). I don't want to spam up the rest of the forum with stuff people are saying "dude, who cares?"

But I was having some ideas about units for this army and how to convert them up.

The Praetorians are going to be based on these figures



with a number of custom-cast components (shoulders, shield, backpack).  I have a box of five on order - I am going to convert those up to represent a basic unit of 5 count-as Stormcast Liberators (although I might come up with my own scrolls for them.

I want to use the Thunderwolves to make a unit of bio-mechanical wolf-riding Praetorians (likely using Demigryphon rules). With the Skaven infestation in the Spire, I think there will be some bio-mechanical, steampunk influence on the army. I am going to expand the fluff to include a wolfish element to the background; something like the first Praetors being sisters who were raised by wolves in a cavern deep in the Spire, protected from the Skaven by the pack.

I am also toying with the idea of using this thing;

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQic43y41yk

as a mount for a Praetor (using the gyphon or the Dracolith rules, or some variation thereof). It's a really lovely model - but of a manticore. I am thinking of replacing the wings with those from the Flamespyre Phoenix (they are about the right scale), removing the scorpion elements and making it into a sort of winged lion. The model has a very cool pose, but it is quite unusual - it is clambering down the raised branch. I am not sure if that model is really needed, or if I could use some kind of plastic lion figure as I have before for these things.

The idea I am going for is the winged Babylonian-style lion - the Phoenix wings are very much that style. I was thinking of painting it like some kind of metallic lion - an enchanted creature from the Realm of Metal or Fire. Perhaps even use this model;

http://www.amazon.com/Papo-50094-Jaguar-Figurine/dp/B0014MTAHW

or

http://www.amazon.com/Papo-50026-Black-Panther/dp/B0006281JE

(I have used the later one before, for a Pleasant Surprise figure; image below;



Those are Deathclaw wings - I think the Phoenix wings would work well).

I could use one of those panther / jaguar figures and sculpt on a mane - a mane of living fire! and paint the body up as some highly-chromed thing.

Yeah, I'm just spitballing now ...

What about this guy as a giant? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IDgxEUW1T_0

[Gankom]

I think those ideas sound great. Those soon to be praetorians will fit in very well with the rest of the age of sigmar stuff we've seen so far.

[Darknight]

According to tracking, models arrive tomorrow. I want to make them look like they have been fighting for years. Beat down armour and scuffs etc. Not shiny golden like the Stormcasts.