Somewhere to put my pictures and other ramblings on the wonderful world of Oldhammer and miniature wargaming.
Kurt Todeswunch was awake before his adjutant burst in to the tent - perhaps he had never actually slept. How was one to know where the border between dream and reality was in this accursed place.
"Sir - reports of movement along the line, just in from the forward pickets. They say the woods have come alive!"
Kurt silenced the panicky Captain with a glare. What new devilry was this?
“Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?"
Nope - the Cult hasn't got them yet, but where indeed are they one might ask and my answer would be that they reside in numbers amongst my lead pile, waiting to meet this year's Old World Army Challenge! I've just realised I never published this post last month after it aired on the OWAC blog - oh well, better late than never!
Apologies for the terrible pun in the title - it's not even entirely accurate as there's no Bosch I'm afraid...
So we come to the end of the fourth Old World Army Challenge and I have finally joined the hallowed ranks of OWAC veterans! If you haven't already, do go and check out the other entries - they're all fantastic! Time for one more literary reference I think by way of reflection over the last six months. As Eliot says in his Four Quartets, "What we call the beginning is often the end and to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." Well that's definitely where I'm at with this project! I've heard it said many times that an army is never finished and it seems almost a shame if one should find themselves guilty of such a thing. Again to paraphrase Eliot, to finally finish something and put it to rest or reach a final end is to arrive at "the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is... Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point, there would be no dance, and there is only the dance." Other than all the dancing and not dancing, it sounds a bit sterile and lifeless to me so I think the Cult of the New Colossus will live on - but more on that later.
This is the end, my only friend the end! My last painted entry for the Old World Army Challenge IV. I'll save all my gushing and introspection for the wrap up post I have to write for July as well as the whole army shot. The last hours of last month were spent furiously painting banners and I reckon I've sold the last remnants of my soul to the ruinous powers to get these last bits done. Hopefully the low figure count won't be an anti-climax when compared to my earlier entries but I thought it best to lavish a bit of attention on this unholy quartet as the leaders of the Cult. I've certainly tried to up the level of epic in the narrative to make up at any rate!
Long and arduous was the pilgrimage back over the roof of the world yet the Cult tired not. From the blasted pit they had clambered, up in to the heavens, and now they descended once more, down through the dark pine forests that bristled on the beetled brow of the World's Edge Mountains. Glowering over the huddled and sagging gambrel rooves of witch-haunted Nachtdorf, these stony pinnacles gave way to the dreary vista of ancient and festering Sylvania - far removed from the pitiless sands of the wasteland they had dragged themselves from. Man and Beast alike rejoiced at the chill air and damp mists of these heavily wooded slopes, for they were a balm to parched lips and blistered hands and feet. Slowly the weary procession began its painful descent back in to the lands of Men once more.
