Goliaths are up next

I was set on Enforcers for the next gang. Had the lists worked out, colour scheme, and then picked up and started painting this dude. You go where the paintbrush takes you! More to come ..

Pigsy

The Great Tidy

For a while now my hobby area has been a depressing pigsty, but no more! My better half bought this handy drawer storage (subtle hint) and an entire Sunday was spent cleaning and organising. This is the result and it feels pretty damn good. Sometimes I just bask in the tidy, order of everything.

No more excuses now. Time to get some painting done.

Smeagol's Forbidden Pool

I love anything Halfling / Hobbit related and fell for this mini straight away. He just looks so royaly pissed off! It was also an opportunity to try something new - a fancy base and some water effects - and  I'm chuffed how it turned out. If anyone's interested, the water is Still Water by Vallejo and it was pretty easy to work with. The main take away is to add layers a few mm deep at a time and to let each fully set before putting on the next. 

Part 5: The Scrap Yards, The Hangars and Bazza

First thing - this awesome, disturbing mini isn't one of mine. It was painted by Sump Dweller from over on the YakTribe forum. As soon as I saw it I wanted to write him into a story and Sump kindly gave permission.

Bazza

The Scrap Yards, The Hangars and Bazza

The Scrap Yards didn't start out as a scrapyard; it was a recycling plant for Warpships. Three hangers, each the size of a small city and capable of housing spacecraft kilometers long, were constructed. Around them, the factories required to process the parts and habblocks for the tens of thousands of workers brought in to strip the ships to bare skeletons. Warp engines were broken down, weapons salvaged and slab-armour reforged. The parts not immediately re-purposed were laid out in neat, storey high rows that radiated out from the hangers and formed the maze that now makes up the current streets and lanes of the Scrap Yards. It was an ambitious undertaking. Too ambitious, it turned out. Soon the maze was so big it took hours for the crawler-transporters to make a round trip to the hangers and back. Then days. Then over a week. And then they stopped altogether and the lights in the hangers went out.

And for a while this is how it was, until, one day, some bright spark had the idea of using the plant to process waste. The equipment was already there, the vehicles still functioned and labourers were cheap. The rubbish came in and the maze once again started to grow. Eventually the majority of an entire planet's waste started heading towards the Scrap Yards and any semblance of trying to process it was abandoned. There was just too much. The workers went home and giant grav-vehicles began raining down scrap indiscriminately across the maze while titan-sized excavators pressed it in from all sides. The Scrap Yards grew and changed and grew - and all the while the Hangars waited in the dark.

Millennia passed.

Everyone knew the best loot was in the Hangars, but they also knew you had to be crazy, or stupidly brave (usually both) to think about setting a foot inside them. Years ago, back when he was a lad and trying to prove himself, Dave, who is braver than most, had ventured just few meters into the dark and was attacked by what looked like a butthole with legs. Which is why he was now hunkered down with Spike and spying on the main entrance to West Hangar. Going in was one thing, jumping someone who'd made it out alive and nicking their stuff was another.

'Over there,' said Spike, pointing towards some ancient engine parts. 'Something's coming.'

They both ducked down lower. There was definitely movement.

'Looks like there's two of 'em,' whispered Dave, peering round the washing machine they were hiding behind to get a better look, hand slowly moving towards his shotgun. 'They're coming right towards us ..'

Spike shivered with a now familiar cold, electric sensation. He liked this more than he was comfortable to admit.

'.. let 'em get get nice and close.'

They could hear talking now. And footsteps. Closer, closer ..

'Hang on, that sounds like Donny,' said Spike.

They both leaned out.

'Yeah, that's Donny, alright,' replied Dave. 'Gods, who's that with him?'

Whatever it was was tall and looked sick, flesh a pallid green, and walked like a puppet on strings. But heavy, limping and stumbling under the weight of a distended belly. It was missing a leg and where a right hand once was was a massive hook. In the other, an autogun. And while humanoid in shape, there didn't seem to be much human about it. Not in the eyes. Perhaps despair. Mostly nothing. And it was following a seemingly unconcerned Donny.

'Donny, you OK?' said the washing machine.

Donny and the thing stopped.

'That you, boss?'

'Yup,' replied Dave. 'It's me. Spike's here too.'

'Hey Donny,' said Spike.

'Whatcha mate,' said a cherry sounding Donny. 'Come out. You guys are never gonna guess what I found!'

Slowly, hesitantly, Dave and Spike rose up from behind the washing machine and immediately dived back down as the creature, with unexpected speed, raised his autogun and squeezed the trigger.

Click, click, click.

'What the shit, Donny!' yelled Dave, laying on his side and hugging his knees.

'It's OK, boss. He does that.'

'You what?!'

'Yeah, I think it's how he communicates. But don't worry, we had a long chat earlier and he's out of ammo.'

Dave and Spike looked at each other. Donny was a good lad, but sometimes you had to wonder if he was all there.

'You sure you're OK, mate?' asked Spike.

'Yeah, i'm all good. Come out, I want you to meet Bazza.'

Dave and Spike slowly lifted themselves up from the floor, edged their way around the washing machine and walked over.

'Bazza?' enquired Dave.

'Yeah, I named him,' replied Donny. 'He doesn't speak much.'

'Where'd you meet?' asked Spike, leaning in for a closer look and just managing to duck under the hook that cut through the air where his face had been.

'Fuckk sake, mate!'

'Yeah, be careful!' warned Donny. 'He's pretty happy with that thing.'

Dave and a slightly shaking Spike both took a step back.

'He's from the hangar.'

Silence.

'You went in the hangar?' asked a distant sounding Dave, his mind racing back through the decades to the charging butthole.

'No mate, i'm not daft. He was near one of the side entrances and I lured him out with a rat. And then he started shooting and it got exciting for a bit, but he's calmed down and we're friends now. Look.' Donny put an arm amiably around Bazza's shoulders and Bazza grinned, revealing rows of broken gravestone-like teeth. 'Best buds!'

Dave groaned. He knew where this was going.

'I was thinking, boss,' said Donny.

'No.' Interrupted Dave.

'Can we keep him?'

Dave sighed.

'Every bloody time you find something weird, you do this. We're not keeping him.'

'But ..'

'Remember that fuck off big Goliath croc you found?'

'Yes,' replied Donny, looking at the floor.

'What happened then?'

'It bit Kev's leg off'

'Yes, it bit Kev's leg off.' Dave repeated. 'And why would you want to keep him anyways?! Look at him. He's the stuff of nightmares!' Dave pointed. 'He's got a fucking hook arm! He's not holding that hook, that's his arm. He cut his arm off and stuck a hook on it. It's a hook arm!'

Dave was in full rant mode now.

'How old do you reckon he is?'

Donny looked at Bazza. 'Hard to say boss. Fourty, maybe?'

'So for fourty years he's lived in the Hangars and he's not dead. Do you know what that means?'

Donny shook his head.

'It means everything else he's met, is. Now take him back!'

Bazza, obviously not happy with the way his new friend was being spoken to, frowned at Dave, lifted his autogun and clicked at him a few times. Dave flipped him the bird with his massive hand.

'OK,' said a sulky Donny. 'I can see you guys aren't going to get along.' And then, grabbing Bazza by the hook and pulling in the direction they'd come from, 'Come on, mate, time to go home.'

Gaslands nade dispensing rust bucket!

I'm chuffed with this one! The plan was to have a beat-up, people carrying truck that could dish out some seriously heavy nade damage - and it turned out pretty damn close to what I had in my mind's eye. This is quite rare! With the potential of adding a bunch of hazards to anyone who gets close enough, cars should be wiping out all over the place. And if not, there's the deterrent of messing with a vehicle with 20 nades on-board and being caught in the fireball should it explode (pro tip - it will explode!)

If anyone's interested - the mins are from https://www.elhiem.co.uk/ and the truck is a 30 year old matchbox from the loft. There's a tonne of these for pennies on ebay.

Gaslands!

There's so much to say about Gaslands that i'm going to have to have a stab at writing a review sometime soon. But for now, here are some of the reasons why updates have been a little slow of late. Don't worry, Necromunda will always be my main squeeze, but goddamn if Gaslands isn't the nuts!

Battle Report

I haven't had much hobby time recently for an update, so here's a few pics of a skirmish I had with my mate, Boris, from a few months back. This was actually our first game of new Necromunda and Dave's Gang's first outing - cutting their teeth against The Royals, a bunch of roided up Goliaths. 1750 point a piece - lots of boys and lots of toys!

The scene was set - an old factory surrounded by shanty shacks and old watch towers:

A mixture of GW Sector kit, various lazy man's pre-done stuff and a Gamemat.eu battle mat

Round 1

Dave and the guys (playing count as Orlocks) took the tactical decision to totally hide and run away as The Royal's, under the cover of smoke nades, rushed forward along what became known as ..

It's a  sobering sight seeing this come at you!

.. the 'road of death'. 

I see you!

This culminated in a massive street fight with the only thing saving Dave and the guys being some comically timed, mass smoke dissipation that left The Royal's leader and champion out in the open. Loads down on both sides, still working out the rules and with a new found respect for Heavy Bolters, we decided to call it a draw. Notable mention of Boris' Renderizer wielding champ who chased Donny around Benny Hill style for 3 turns!

Round 2 

This one played out very differently, with pretty much everyone up on the factory walkways. There was lots of hiding and peaking out of cover and nades flying about. While the first game was an immediate and drawn out exchange of shooting punctuated by melee, this was a gradual, tense build up of not much followed by two turns of total carnage! Again it was close. Spike and Moobs got very lucky with some sawn-off shotgun action and Boris was unlucky with his nade launcher.

In the end it all come down to a couple of krak grenades and Boxer rushing in like a total star and getting the final kill. The guy's done good! 

Dave, like any great leader, leading from behind!

Had it gone on for another turn, Goliath reinforcements would have turned up and their Ogryn, who had spent most of the fight running under the factory to attack from the rear, would have totally wrecked us. Ah well, too slow!

Part 4: Marv

Marv

'Some people are just born mean,' said Moobs, staring at Marv through the camp fire.

Dave's gang were holed up for the night, a few hours walk north of Motown, trying to get comfy and cooking rats on a stick.

'I heard he got that bolter shanking someone on the shitter,' added Donny, quietly.

'I was there,' whispered Spike, leaning in uncomfortably close for someone covered in spikes. 'He took his boots too, while the poor sod was still trying to breathe. Cold as you like.'

The three of them sat in silence for a few moments, mulling that over.

Moobs spat. 'Reckon he might be due a bit of an accident.'

The others, now also staring at Marv through the fire, nodded in agreement.

Part 3: Scalies, Boxer, Red & Croc:

Boxer

Red

Croc

Raving Reggie

Scalies

It is not widely known that more Scalies inhabit the Underhive than humans. Which is because they're rarely seen - surprising, given their numbers and monstrously huge, scale covered frames - and that most of them choose to hide in the darkest levels, of which there are many. Less is known about how they came to be. It's safe to say, contrary to Redeemer Raving Reggie's ramblings at the pulpit, they are not born of the unholy union 'twixt fat bloke and and frog. There could be some Ogryn in there, but really it's anyone's guess. What is known is they are massive - comprised, seemingly, entirely of biceps - bad tempered and commonly found in the company of Scavvies.

Boxer

Long before Boss Dave started his gang, he found Boxer. He found a bunch of squashed rats first and it was following this mysterious trail of guts and fur that brought him to a clearing in the piles of rusty metal sheets and bin bags that made up that part of the Scrap Yards. At first Dave couldn't see anything unusual and was about to leave when he noticed something odd about one of the smaller piles. It was breathing. On closer inspection he also discovered a pair of tiny yellow eyes, staring intently at him. A little wary - there's all kinds of weird stuff in the Scrap Yards - Dave edged his way towards the living pile and was almost within arms reach when it suddenly sprouted limbs, a head, charged and punched him square in the knee. As he lay on his back, trying to hold his leg together and swearing, Dave glimpsed a waist high, rust coloured blur disappearing around a corner. 'Gods,' said Dave to himself. It was a native Scrap Yard Scaly.

It took months for Dave's knee to heal - he still walks with a limp - and once recovered he went back to the clearing, put a crate filled with rats in the middle, and waited. And waited. And nothing happened. The next day Dave returned and there, in the center of the clearing, was a broken crate and a pile of squashed rats. He went off to get more rats. This process repeated for days - each time Dave finding a pile of squashed rats and leaving a crate of live ones - until one day Boxer was just standing there, out in the open, waiting. Very cautious now - the memory of his knee still red hot sharp - Dave walked over and held out a rat. For a while nothing happened ... then Boxer reached out, took the rat, and smiled.


Red & Croc

'Bloody hell, boss - I thought you were only gonna get one!' said Moobs, wearily eyeing up the two 8ft tall reptilian monsters. Dave's gang had recently stumbled on a couple of lost bounty hunters who, in exchange for directions out of the Scrap Yards, had given up their boots and more credits than any of them had ever seen. As leader, Dave had taken it upon himself to head to the slavers market in Motown to buy some muscle.

'Yeah, that was the plan, mate,' Dave agreed with a sly grin, 'but I got a special deal.'

Moobs eyes were still locked on the monsters, 'oh yeah, how come?' he asked, a note of suspicion creeping in.

'Well, Red here only has one eye,' said Dave, giving a Red a friendly pat on the shoulder. 'He's fine, just messes with his depth perception a bit.'

'Depth perception,' Moobs repeated.

Dave nodded.

'You mean shooting,' said Moobs, eyes now on the 500lb ballista Red was comfortably resting on one shoulder.

'Yeah, you could say that,' Dave conceded. 'It might be an idea to keep a wide birth when he fires that thing.'

'Riiiight,' noted Moobs, mentally branding that information into his brain.

'But they threw in a rat,' Dave quickly added.

'A rat?'

'Yup'

'A normal rat?'

'Well, it's got one ear.'

'A one eared rat?'

'Yeah.'

Moobs felt a headache coming on. 'Boss, we live in a dump. I can see 10 rats right now. And all with two ears.'

Dave rubbed his head with his massive hand - a nervous tic familiar to anyone that knew him. 'Truth be told mate, I think I got a little bit excited with all those credits and it went to my head.'

'Well, how much did you spend?' Moobs asked.

'All of it.'

Moobs shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was definitely getting a headache.

'But this one's great!' Dave exclaimed cheerfully, pointing towards Croc. 'Look at him, scary as shit!'

Moobs opened his eyes and looked over. Croc was indeed massive. Even by Scaly standards. And after a little while, 'He doesn't move much, boss.'

'No,' agreed Dave. 'Not very dynamic, i'll give you that.' And, after a short pause, 'he does fall asleep a lot. All the time, actually. Look,' Dave clicked his fingers in front of Croc's face a few times, 'he's sleeping now. Eyes open an everything!'

'Great,' said Moobs.

'But he'll make a good sentry,' Dave added. 'Guard the camp day and night'.

Moobs looked at the sleeping giant.

'He'll be fast asleep, boss!'

'Yeah, but only we'll know that.'

'But someone could just walk up and shoot him!'

'Well, they could,' Dave agreed. 'But that would definitely wake him up. And then they'd really be in trouble ..'

Mini nostalgia

I thought i'd try something a bit different with this post and write about when I first got into minis. It's inspired by Punktaku's thread over on the Yaktribe forum - 'When did you fall?'.  For me, it was when first seeing the box art for the original RTB01 plastic Space Marines, drawn by a chap named John Sibbick.

This is going back 30 something years - I was around 9 - while shopping with my dad. I was bored and when we passed by a model shop he took us in to check out the tanks and planes we were into at the time. And there they were, three boxes of:

RTB01 Space Marines

This was before GW existed anywhere nearby and I had no idea what Space Marines were - other than that they were goddamn awesome! The picture in particular blew my mind and he must have seen the longing in me as he bought a box there and then, no questions asked, and that night we started painting them with the Humbrol paints we used for model aeroplanes. This is one of my fondest memories.

Pretty soon after my tastes changed. There'll always be a soft spot for beakies, but it was all about Orcs, then Blood Bowl, and then I found my calling with Necromunda. John's picture stayed with me, though, and about a year ago I tried to source an original ..

Look at it - it's glorious

.. with no luck at all. Which isn't surprising given they were printed back in 1987. I did manage to get an anniversary reprint from a nice guy on the Oldhammer Community page, which is cool and will be framed as soon as the new hobby room is finished, but I thought i'd give it one last shot and contacted John Sibbick via email. As expected, they were all long gone. He did, however, have an early sketch that he passed on for nothing and said he had no trouble with it being shared. So here it is. What a dude!

Where it all began (note the Ork head was present)  ..

Of course, and most significantly, this image also went one to become the front cover for the first 40k rulebook and the rest is history ..

Warhammer 40,000: Rogue Trader

So that's it - a bit of history about the picture that started it all for me and probably a bunch people. BTW - if you have an original for sale, or know of someone that does, let me know. You'll get a good price and and a life time's worth of gratitude!

Part 2: Spike, Moobs and Big Lennie

Spike

Moobs

Big Lennie

Spike was on patrol, which is Scavvy for scrounging or stealing stuff.

"Hey Spike," said Moobs, jogging to catch up and falling into stride.

"Watcha Moobs. You good? Hell of a scrap last night."

"Sure was, mate." Moobs took a deep drag on a rollie and offered it over. "You see Donny and that poor sod with the shield?"

"Yeah," said Spike, taking the rollie with his weirdly long blue fingers. "Hell of a way to go that. Might have won us the fight, you know."

"Haha yup," Moobs laughed. "They totally bottled it. All started retching and puking - like they never seen someone get shit sticked before! And Donny afterwards. Gods, you never seen someone looking so proud. The way he turned round to make sure we'd all seen it, big dumb grin on his face!"

Spike smiled, nodding. "He's a sweet kid that one. Proper Scavvy." And handed back the rollie.

They walked on for a while in a comfortable silence. The kind of comfortable you only get with someone you'd grown up with. And fought with. And Spike and Moobs had been fighting and surviving together for as long as they could remember. As kids, in the unnaturally long winters caused by the smog that blocked out the sun millennia ago, they'd slept in the boots of old cars together to keep warm (not easy when one of you is covered in 10 inch spikes!).

"Shame about Big Lennie, though." said Moobs, shaking his head and breaking the quiet.

"Why, what happened? I was over on the other side."

"Well, you had to see it to believe it, Spike. This Van Saar, with the BIGGEST plasma gun you ever seen, popped out from behind a wall, fired off a shot, and scarpered back behind cover. All in the blink of an eye."

Spike frowned. "Not very sporting."

"Not sporting at all, mate." Moobs agreed. "Nuffin' anyone could do about it."

"And he got Lennie?"

"Yup," replied Moobs, spitting out the bad taste. "Totally one-shotted him. All that was left was his boots and a puddle."

"Gods," Spike breathed, taking a moment to digest things. "You all start fighting for his boots?"

"Damn right. Good pair of boots." Moobs held out a leg for inspection. "I got one of 'em."

"Hah good work, mate."

Moobs handed him back the rollie as they turned a corner and started down an alley way of ancient speeders and rusting kitchen ware.

"See, it's what I always say," Said Spike. "There's good that comes out of every bad."

Moobs grinned and carefully - that lesson was learned long ago - clapped Spike on the back.

"That's why I like you, mate. Always looking on the bright side."

Part 1: The Scrap Yards, Dave and Donny

Boss Dave

Donny

The Scrap Yards are vast. And deep in the Scrap Yards, somewhere between Crushers and the Rad Lakes, you'll find Dave's gang. Well, they'll probably find you. And nick your shoes. And probably kill you. But that's where they are. Slowly migrating through the debris. Sifting, scrounging, collecting and stashing. And right now, if you were to zoom in through the ash clouds and rising fumes, and a little way out from the rest of the gang, you'd see Dave (Boss Dave. Sometimes Big Hand Dave), sitting on a box and trying to dig something out of his foot, when a concerned looking Donny walks onto the scene.

"Hey Donny, how's tricks?" asked Dave, working away at his foot.

"Oh, hey, boss. Didn't see you there. Yeah, not bad. You?"

"All good mate. Apart from my bloody foot. What brings you over here?"

"Nothing much," replied Donny, waving something around in the dark with a swishing sound. "Just needed to have a bit of a think."

Dave half smiled at that, attention still on his foot. "That's not like you, mate. Thinking."

"Hah, yeah," Donny chuckled. And after a pause, "it's just I was sneaking around near the Van Saar camp we're raiding tonight .."

Still digging away, Dave's lips peeled back, revealing a bunch of fangs. "Those boys strayed too far from home," he muttered.

.. and I noticed they have this fancy new gear."

"That so?" asked Dave.

"Yeah, one of them even has some kind of energy shield."

"Well, Van Saar are always poncing about with fancy gear. Nothing new there."

"I know that, boss," said Donny, his words taking on a more urgent tone and starting to tumble over each other, and all the while swinging something around in the dark, "it's just we don't have anything new! Same old stuff. And they've got these radiation guns and plasma up the ying yang and .."

.. and with that Dave looked up from his foot for the first time and met Donny's gaze. And the Scrap Yards went quiet.


....


"Come over here, mate. In the light where I can see you."

Donny slowly scuffed his way over, hands behind his back.

"What's that you've got there?" Dave asked. "Behind your back. The thing you've been waving around."

Looking embarrassed now, "it's nothing boss, just something I made."

"Show me."

Donny held out his stick. "It's just a sharp stick."

"We can both see that's not just a sharp stick," said Dave, trying to hold back a grin.

"Well no," said Donny. "I covered it in shit."

"Yeah you did. And you made that. Looks pretty new to me."

"Yeah, I guess, it's just .."

"Sit down next to me, Donny" Dave interrupted, shifting over to one side and waiting for Donny to hop up.

"I've been doing this for more years than anyone has any right to. And trust me when I tell you this - there is nothing more terrifying on this world, or on any other, than a Scavvy armed with a shitty stick."

"Yeah?" asked Donny, looking at the creation in his hand.

"I know so, mate. I'm terrified just sitting next to it. You bring it to the fight tonight and I guarantee the Van Saar with the shield will soil his damn amour when he sees you coming."

"Haha, you reckon?!"

"I reckon, mate!"

And with that Donny pushed himself off the box and started swinging his stick around, foulness flying in all directions. This lasted a little while, both of them grinning like idiots.

"Cheers, boss!" beamed Donny. "I'm going to go back and hang out with the guys now."

"No worries, mate. Anytime."

Dave turned his attention back to his foot and before Donny disappeared completely into the dark and without looking up, "bring your gun along tonight anyways, Donny. You know, just in case"

"Right you are, boss."