It’s only a few more days to the start of my sixth annual Monster May(hem) Painting Challenge! Do you have your monsters picked out yet?
Does the Alien Queen count as a monster? You bet!
What is Monster May(hem)? Why, it’s the month you paint monsters, of course. Any monster will do, although it should be a proper MONSTER, something big and mean. I mean something truly beastly; like a cockatrice or a byakhee or a giant, mutated zombie bear. Your monster(s) doesn’t have to be strictly a fantasy miniature, and it may be any scale and from any manufacturer. I will link to your stuff throughout the month, and (if it’s not there already) add your blog/website/social media to the blogroll on the side! If you don’t have a site of your own and still want to participate, I’ll happily host your pictures here and ensure you get proper attribution!
How many monsters you paint is up to you. The minimum is one, of course; but feel free to do as many as you like. The only caveat is that they get painted sometime in May.
Blacksting the Wyvern, from Monster May(hem) 2021
But wait! There’s more! 2024 is also the Year of the Dragon, and in celebration of my nonexistent Chinese heritage I am hosting yet ANOTHER painting challenge all year long. You guessed it! It involves painting at least one dragon over the course of the year. Dragons are monsters, so if you paint a dragon miniature in May, it counts for BOTH challenges!!
The Crimson Hound followed the directions of the Gingerbread Man, arriving at a seemingly-deserted warehouse in the late hours of Christmas Eve. Conveniently for the Crimson Hound, it was located on a bus route, and as luck would have it, the warehouse stored gargoyles for eventual placement atop the corners of Glumengrad buildings. The Crimson Hound perched atop one, silently watching events unfold below.
Someone had cleared most of the warehouse floor and drawn a huge pentagram in red. You didn’t need to be a vampire to recognize the red as blood, but the Crimson Hound was, in fact, a vampire; and he recognized it immediately as blood. The Crimson Hound knew that entagrams drawn on the floor in blood rarely indicated good times ahead. These idiots had no idea what they were doing. The last time Santa summoned Savirax the Unclean, the blasphemous monstrosity almost destroyed the world.
As if on cue, a group of five chanting figures approached the pentagram from the shadows on each side. The group on the left wore purple robes, while the group on the right were dressed in green hoods. The chanting faltered as they saw each other, then stopped altogether.
“What the hell, Bob?” asked one of the purple-clad cultists. “What the fuck are you guys wearing?”
“I thought it was green hoods and grey boiler suits tonight!” one of the green-hooded cultists–probably Bob–exclaimed. “What are YOU wearing?”
“Dude, do you ever check your email? I sent it to you last week! It’s supposed to be purple tonight!” The purple-robed cultist seemed genuinely irate.
“Never got it,” said Bob, reaching for his cell phone.
“Oh, bullshit, Bob!”
“Look!” said Bob, holding up his phone. “Oh, wait…I did get it. It went in my spam folder.”
These guys are fucking idiots, thought the Crimson Hound. Apparently, someone else did, too. “Who gives a shit what you’re wearing?!” came a booming voice from the shadows. “You’re all going to die tonight anyway! Take your places, morons!” With some bitter mumbling and grumbling, the two groups assembled around the pentagram. The group of five green-hooded cultists stood in the center, while a purple-robed cultist took up a position at each point of the star.
What looked like a tall, anthropomorphic rabbit stepped into the light. “Once the Gingerbread Man arrives, we’ll be ready to begin.”
Seemed like as good a time as any. The Crimson Hound dropped from his gargoyle perch. “He’s not going to make it tonight,” said the Crimson Hound, taking a moment to wipe some telltale golden-brown crumbs from around his mouth.
“IT’S…THE CRIMSON HOUND!!!” cried the Easter Bunny, who the Crimson Hound realized was not an actual bunny, just some guy in a dirty rabbit costume.
“Yep,” said the Crimson Hound.
“Aww, man,” said one of the cultists. “I knew we shouldn’t have set up shop in a gargoyle warehouse!. It’s like we were begging for this to happen.”
“That’s right, you ignorant poltroon!” said the Easter Bunny. ” We KNEW he’d show up!” The Easter Bunny turned to the Crimson Hound. “You fell right into our trap! You think you can just get away with killing Santa Claus? Think again, asshole!”
“Let me guess,” said the Crimson Hound. “You were friends?”
“No!” sputtered the Easter Bunny, angrily hopping from foot to foot. “Santa was a fucking prick! But if you think we’re gonna let you set a precedent–“
“We?” asked the Crimson Hound. “Who’s we? You mean these clowns? Do you now how many henchmen I kill in a given week?”
“No, not these imbeciles,” The Easter Bunny laughed.The henchmen were feeling pretty despondent at all these insults, but no one could see their crestfallen looks under their hoods. “I brought other friends, you jerk.” The Easter Bunny gestured to his right, where a massive form lumbered out of the darkness. It was big and orange and carried a rusty scythe in its hands. “Behold the avatar of Halloween, Crimson Hound: The Great Pumpkin!”
“Hello,” said the Great Pumpkin, nodding his massive jack o’ lantern head in greeting.
“‘Hi,” said The Crimson Hound.
“And here,” the Easter Bunny pointed to his left, “representing…um…St. Patrick’s Day is…uh… Finnegan Feeney!” A man stepped out of the shadows. His face was red with burst capillaries and he wore a tam o’ shanter atop his curly grey hair. He held a long, churchwarden pipe in his hand, from which issued a plume of white smoke.
“Jaysis, ’tis himself,” said Finnegan Feeney. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, boyo!”
“You gotta be kidding me,” said the Crimson Hound. “Who the actual fuck is this?”
The Easter Bunny looked embarrassed. “Look…Cupid isn’t returning my calls, so no Valentine’s Day avatar. I tried St. Patrick, but he reminded me what you did to St. Nicholas, and said, and I quote, ‘no fucking way’. So, I tried to find a leprechaun, but it turns out they don’t exist. I had to make do with this ridiculously offensive ethnic stereotype. Anyway, I don’t need to explain myself to you, you asshole! Fuck off!”
Finnegan Feeney removed a flask from his breast pocket, because of course he did, and took a swig. “Blimey and begorrah! Let me at him! I’ll fong ya in the arse, laddie-buck!” Finnegan Feeney dropped his flask and his pipe and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and assumed a fighting stance. “Let’s get this donnybrook started, sunny Jim!”
The Crimson Hound would have rubbed his eyes in exasperated annoyance if he could, but he couldn’t reach them through his goggles. Instead, he broke the fourth wall and addressed me directly. “Really, Piper? This is the best you could come up with, or is Chris Claremont secretly writing this?”
“Don’t break the fourth wall,” I said to the Crimson Hound. “It’s unprofessional.”
“Whatever,” said the Hound. “Next time you talk to Bruno, remind him how much he underutilizes me.”
“Um…ok,” I said
“Now,” said the Crimson Hound, “Let’s get this shit started.”
Scenario: The Easter Bunny has gathered together some other holiday mascots to participate in a ritual to re-summon Savirax the Unclean and bargain for Santa’s life, hoping to exact their revenge upon the Crimson Hound for killing one of their own. He is using a group of 10 willing cultists as sacrifices to fuel the ritual.
Special Rules: One by one, the cultists are pulled into the dimension of Savirax the Unclean to meet their grisly doom. At the beginning of each round, a cultist disappears. When there are no more cultists, Savirax the Unclean appears and…well, we’ll see! That means the Crimson Hound has only 10 rounds to defeat the Easter Bunny before time runs out!
Victory Conditions: The Easter Bunny and his minions must defeat the Crimson Hound and summon Savirax the Unclean. The Crimson Hound must defeat the Easter Bunny and his minions and stop the ritual!
The Red Thirst: Although he’s a “good guy”, the Crimson Hound is, at heart, a bloodsucking vampire. If he defeats a model in melee combat, the Hound may take his next action to feed on the blood of his opponent. This allows him to roll 4D, and for every 2 goals scored, he heals one box of Body box damage as he sucks the poor soul dry. It also has the additional effect of causing fear to any enemy model within 6″, as they look on in horror at the Hound’s monstrous predations. On the following turn, any affected model must win an opposed Psyche roll or be unable to attack the Crimson Hound for one turn. (Note: this is a variation on both the Parasite and Healing minor powers.) This has no effect on the Great Pumpkin, who is a sentient plant and has no blood. If the Crimson Hound feeds on Finnegan Feeney, he gets drunk immediately after his healing roll and is -1D to all rolls for the rest of the game.
Here are my Super Mission Force builds for the characters in this scenario:
The Crimson Hound (Brawler) Major: Scrapper Minor: Melee Specialist, Resistance (Special: Vampire, Cause Fear); Move 7, Body 7, Psyche 6
The Easter Bunny (Brawler) Major: Scrapper, Minor: Melee Specialist, Super-Agility; Move 9, Body 7, Psyche 6
The Great Pumpkin (Wild Card) Minor: Entangle, Massive, Melee Specialist, Reach; Move 8, Body 8, Psyche 6
Turn 1: One of the cultists on the pentagram’s points vanishes (cue Wilhelm scream), drawn into another dimension to be devoured. The Crimson Hound loses initiative. Finnegan Feeney scuffs the ground a few times and charges like a bull with a full head of steam into combat with the Crimson Hound. He inflicts no damage, however, as the Crimson Hound easily swats aside his pathetic punches and smacks him across his big, red nose, dealing 2 Body to the blithering drunkard, stopping him in his tracks and dropping him to 3 Body. The Easter Bunny wastes no time, hopping into combat and winding up. After the dice are tallied, the Easter Bunny wallops the Crimson Hound for 2 Body, dropping him to 5. The Great Pumpkin shuffles forward and ropy vines snake towards the Crimson Hound, trying to hold him fast. The Crimson Hound sees the vines and realizes what The Great Pumpkin is up to. He’s able to avoid the entanglement–for now.
In response, the Crimson Hound attacks Finnegan Feeney, scoring a net 5 Body in damage. Not even Finnegan Feeney’s vaunted Luck o’ the Irish (his Fortune power) is enough to help him. So vicious is the Crimson Hound’s assault, one might think the Crimson Hound (or perhaps the guy writing this) was so offended by the cartoonish stereotype of the Irish that it had to go, immediately. Five Body is 2 more than Finnegan Feeney has, so he is KO’ed!
Turn 2: Another henchman vanishes to the dark ritual (cue Wilhelm scream).
The Crimson Hound gains initiative and turns his attention to the Easter Bunny. His net 3 goals drop the Easter Bunny from 7 Body to 4, and knocks his bunny head askew. The Easter Bunny is a seasoned fighter, though; an even match for the Crimson Hound. He adjusts his bunny head with one hand and uppercuts the Crimson Hound with the other, scoring 2 Body in damage. The Great Pumpkin tries to entangle the Crimson Hound again, and this time he succeeds. The Crimson Hound is now at 3 Body and held firmly in the strong viney grip of the Great Pumpkin! Things aren’t looking good!
Turn 3: Another henchman is dragged to his otherworldly doom (cue Wilhelm scream). The Crimson Hound keeps initiative, and realizes he’s in a tough spot, so he tries to escape the pumpkin vines. Sadly, he fails! He can only helplessly struggle as the Easter Bunny punches him in the breadbasket for 2 more Body, dropping him to 1. But it’s the Great Pumpkin who administers the coup de grace: a vine bearing the rusty scythe shoots out and slashes the Crimson Hound for an additional 4 Body. That’s way more than the Crimson Hound has, and he fails his KO check. The Crimson Hound falls!
The Great Pumpkin shambled over to the Easter Bunny, who stood gloating over the unconscious body of the Crimson Hound. He raised his rusty scythe to finish the job, while the screaming of the cultists continued unabated, as they were taken to their doom one by one.
“No, wait,” said the Easter Bunny. “I have other plans for him.”
The Great Pumpkin lowered the scythe. “But I thought the whole point was to kill him.”
“And we will. By sacrificing him Savirax the Unclean!” The Easter Bunny began to laugh maniacally. Somewhere nearby, another cultist screamed and vanished.
“Right,” said the Great Pumpkin. “Well, you can take it from here, then. If we’re not killing him, I’ve got my wife and three kids to get back to. It’s Christmas.” And with that the Great Pumpkin slithered off, vines trailing behind him like a wedding dress train.
In a few moments, the final cultist was sacrificed. The Crimson Hound began to stir. With a loud, interdimensional pop, Savirax the Unclean appeared in the pentagram’s center. “Who dares summon me?”
“I do, O Great Savirax the Unclean,” said the Easter Bunny.
“Why is some fuckhead in a bunny suit summoning me on Christmas Eve?” asked Savirax the Unclean.
“I wish to bargain with thee, O Great One, for the life of Santa Claus.”
“Santa Claus?” asked Savirax the Unclean. “I ate that guy like…two years ago didn’t I? He’s dead. Not merely dead–he’s really most sincerely dead. You’re too late. Trust me. Hey! Is that the Crimson Hound?”
The Easter Bunny ignored Savirax the Unclean’s question. “But surely you have the power to bring Santa back, Great Savirax the Unclean?!”
“Sure. But why would I do that?” asked Savirax the Unclean. “He was an asshole. Hey, it IS the Crimson Hound! I thought I recognized you, you old rascal! How have you been?”
“Been better,” said the Crimson Hound, holding his guts together. “Yourself?”
The Easter Bunny was getting frustrated. “We conducted the ritual of summoning to offer you the Crimson Hound as a sacrifice. and beseech you to resurrect Santa Claus, O Great Savirax the Unclean!”
Savirax the Unclean appeared to consider the Easter Bunny’s offer. “Offer rejected. I think I’ll just devour you instead. You piss me off..” A pseudopod snaked its way towards the Easter Bunny and plucked him into the air, drawing him towards the gaping, foul maw of Savirax the Unclean.
“But why?” screamed the Easter Bunny. “What have I done to displease you?
“Bob should have read his fucking email,” said Savirax the Unclean. “I prefer the purple robes.” The Easter Bunny let out a final scream as he was swallowed whole.
The Crimson Hound rose unsteadily to his feet. “So, what now? You gonna destroy the world?”
“Nah,” said Savirax the Unclean. “It’s Christmas, you know.? I’d love to catch up; but I’ve got a mug of cocoa and some Johnny Mathis waiting for me back home.”
“Yeah, some other time,” said the Crimson Hound. “Merry Christmas, Savirax the Unclean.”
“Merry Christmas, Crimson Hound. I’m sure we’ll see each other again…maybe next year.” And with a pop, Savirax the Unclean disappeared.
The Crimson Hound killed Santa Claus two years ago, and since then, the residents of Glumengrad had continued to celebrate Christmas as if nothing happened. Most of them didn’t believe in Santa Claus anyway, so no one really missed him when he was gone for good. But such a fat, jolly vacuum cannot remain empty long. Someone would try to step into the black, buckled boots of the now deceased St. Nick, and the Crimson Hound made it his business to keep tabs on the main players in town.
Now, it seemed one had made his move: the Gingerbread Man.
The Crimson Hound watched from his perch atop a conveniently-placed gargoyle as the Gingerbread Man directed his henchmen to load up the postal truck with stolen presents. The Crimson Hound wondered what it would be like to receive a present, but no one had ever given the Crimson Hound a gift before. He thought it might be nice to receive new, custom grips for his pistols or a form-fitted Kevlar breastplate, or even a bag of blood he didn’t have to drain from some evildoer. His eyes narrowed behind crimson lenses when he thought about all the disappointed citizens of Glumengrad who would wake up on Christmas morning to nothing under the tree, because of the greed of the Gingerbread Man.
That would not do. The Crimson Hound leaped down from his gargoyle perch, landing atop a stack of extra-large, brightly wrapped gifts. He had no way of knowing what was in the boxes before he jumped, or whether they would support the weight of a muscular man in an armored suit who was dropping from three stories above. They didn’t, but they did break his fall. Loudly.
“Ah, shit,” said the Crimson Hound, emerging from beneath a stack of crushed presents and torn wrapping paper.
“It’s the Crimson Hound!” screamed the Gingerbread Man , in a high, piping voice reminiscent of a cartoon mouse. The Crimson Hound winced. That voice was tough to take. He looked upon the Gingerbread Man’s henchmen with newfound sympathy, until he noticed some of them looked familiar.
“Some of you look familiar,” said the Crimson Hound.
“We used to work for Santa,” one of them said. “We’re the ones left that you didn’t eat, you bloodsucking freak.”
You might think the Crimson Hound would not be hurt by the words of a common thug. But the Crimson Hound has feelings, too. He frowned. “I didn’t actually eat anyone. Just tore open their necks and drank their blood.”
“Never mind that!” said the Gingerbread Man, causing the Crimson Hound to wince anew. “I’m ready for you! Now you will taste the true power of my Candy Cane Lance!”
“Looks like someone’s been tasting it already,” said the Crimson Hound.
“You have to lick it to make it sharp!” said the Gingerbread Man. He gave it a demonstrative lick. “See?”
The Crimson Hound shook his head at how ridiculous his life seemed to become when his creator neglected to produce new Chronicles of the Crimson Hound content on his YouTube channel. “So that’s it’s power? It’s sharp? Ooooooooo. I’m gonna shove that candy cane up your ass, dude.”
“The joke’s on you, Crimson Hound!” giggled the Gingerbread Man. “I’m a sentient cookie! I don’t have an anus!”
“Not yet,” said the Crimson Hound. He smiled.
The Gingerbread Man’s mouth formed a prefect, icing O of surprised horror. “Get him!”
The Crimson Hound leaped upon the henchmen, moving through them like a red wave of death. He struck out left and right. Bones crunched. Teeth shattered. Blood sprayed. In a moment he was the only one left standing.
Game note: This was the single fastest round of Super Mission Force I’ve ever played. The Crimson Hound won initiative and charged the henchmen group, inflicting 4 wounds, dropping 4 henchmen. The remaining henchman responded, but the Crimson Hound’s Reflection power allowed him to do 2 more damage to his attacker, effectively wiping out the entire group in 1 round. Damn.
The Crimson Hound looked around at the crumpled bodies of the Gingerbread Man’s henchmen. “Well, that was surprisingly quick.”
The Gingerbread Man dropped his Candy Cane Lance and turned to flee. “Run, run as fast as you can! You can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Ma–URK!”
The Crimson Hound proved that he could, in fact, catch the Gingerbread Man; and he did, gripping the Gingerbread Man by his throat, or at least where his throat would be if he had a neck. “You were saying?” The Hound bared his fangs. “Time to see what all the fuss is about, Cookie-Puss.”
“WAIT!” choked the Gingerbread Man.
“Nope” said the Hound, opening his mouth.
“WAIT!” begged the Gingerbread Man.
The Hound stopped. “Dude, I already said no.”
“But if you eat me, you’ll never know about the Master Plan!”
The Crimson Hound sighed. He really wanted to eat the Gingerbread Man, because he was hungry and because the Gingerbread Man smelled delicious; but mostly because the Gingerbread Man was really fucking annoying. “OK, I’ll bite,” the Hound said, smiling at his own pun. “What Master Plan?”
November draws to a close, and with it, my first Dwarvember painting challenge. It was a modest field of participants this year, but some really great submissions, so I certainly can’t complain. For my own efforts, I fell a bit short (Ha! See what I did there?). I planned on painting 3 dwarfs, but only managed 2. Considering they’re the only 2 miniatures I painted all month, I’ll take it as a win.
First, some old-school lead, courtesy of Ral Partha and Bob Olley, circa 1990. This dwarf has some character! Outside of Tolkien, you just don’t see too many dwarfs armed with broadswords; it’s usually hammers or axes or (God forbid) double-bladed axes. Know what I think of ridiculous double-bladed axes?
This look says it all.
Next, a Reaper miniature sculpted by Werner Klocke: Hagar, Dwarven Hero (77482). This one is Bones plastic. He’s also about twice the size of the older Ral Partha sculpt above.
I usually don’t have a hard time with eyes, but painting the eyes on this miniature was pretty challenging. Maybe it’s the shape of the face itself. I just couldn’t get it to look right, so after about six tries, I just said the hell with it. The helmet provides enough overhang that his sockets would be shadowed, anyway.
But what of the others who picked up brush and paint (and in Dave’s case, sculpting medium!) and joined me in this challenge? You remember them, don’t you? What have they done?
Snapfit, from Da Green Horde; did Heckarr and Jeckarr, two “dwarfs” from the Orcquest game; something I’ve never personally heard of, but you can’t argue with his results!
Mike, a.k.a. Sasquatch, from the @sasquatchminis Instagram account; painted two versions of GW’s iconic White Dwarf himself, one is the original sculpt from the late 70’s, early 80’s; the other is the 30th anniversary edition! (I had that miniature once, but I sold it. Dumb!)
Dave Stone, from Wargames Terrain Workshop; not only painted a dwarf, he sculpted it first, in true Dave fashion…and it’s none other than ME!!!! Well, not really me, but a great likeness of my avatar, the red-bearded dwarf piper. (In real life, I look nothing like my avatar.) Dave even got the highland bagpipes right, which (believe me) doesn’t always happen among sculptors in our hobby.
Be sure to visit these sites and check out the work of these folks yourself. You won’t be disappointed. I will post the remaining submissions once I get word of them!
Finally, to wrap up my three-part Star Frontiers posts, an actual post about miniatures! (Yes, I still do that here.)
Back in the mid-80s, TSR released a couple of boxed sets and blisters of Star Frontiers miniatures, both for the Alpha Dawn game and the Knight Hawks spaceship expansion. Let me skip to the end, here: like most TSR miniatures, they suck.
I have vented my spleen about the TSR line of miniatures before. In addition to Star Frontiers, TSR released miniature sets for Marvel Super Heroes, Indiana Jones and Advanced Dungeons & Dragons. They all suck. Awkward poses, poor sculpts, no sense of scale…all made out of what has to be the shittiest white metal alloy ever produced. It’s too soft, holds paint like shit, and is prone to metal rot. This was not a good era.
The best Star Frontiers miniatures by far are the spaceships for Knight Hawks. Although also prone to metal rot, these are in scale with each other (mostly). Spaceships in Star Frontiers don’t have artificial gravity, rather, gravity is achieved from the centrifugal force generated by the spinning of the ship on its axis. All the interior decks of the ship are perpendicular to the ship’s body. The miniatures look pretty good, but then again the sculpts should be hard to fuck up, considering they’re mostly cylindrical as a result of this gravitational concept.
Which brings us to the modern era of miniatures. Star Frontiers definitely has a retro vibe to it. Although there are several companies that make terrific retro sci-fi models (like Hydra Miniatures, Killer B Games, and Black Cat Bases; not to mention our own friend Roger from the now-sadly-closed Wargames Supply Dump), none of these really capture the feel of Star Frontiers, which has a retro vibe firmly rooted in the 1980’s. It seems like there just weren’t any good options, until now.
Behold! Reaper’s Chronoscope line has done it again, coming out with a Korkosan Explorer (a not-Yazirian if ever there was one) and an Argamite Explorer (a not-Dralasite). Together with their “Rand Daingerfield, Smuggler” this trio could have walked off the pages of any Star Frontiers book published back in the 80’s.
Check out that vest and those metal pants on Rand! Sadly, there’s no “not-Vrusk” miniature yet; but I’m holding out hope, as Vrusk are by far my favorite species in Star Frontiers.
I painted the Argamite and the Korkosan last year with the intent of doing a Star Frontiers post for the Year of Pop Culture; but since I didn’t have Rand painted yet I put it off. I only just got around to painting him last month.
I converted the Korkosan by removing his pistol and giving him a GW laspistol, then adding some wire as a power cord connected to a beltpack. (Everyone knows beltpacks are the way to go. They hold five times as many SEUs as a clip.)
This brings me to the end of my Star Frontiers retrospective. Maybe I’ll get around to running that game this year. Best way to find out is to join my Discord server and keep your eyes peeled in the announcements channel!
That Cthulhu Jawn is an actual-play Call of Cthulhu podcast set in 1980’s Philadelphia. I discovered the podcast through Instagram and It’s a lot of fun. George, the GM, contacted me a couple of months back and asked me if I do commission painting. He’d seen my IG account and liked my work. I was quite flattered that anyone would think my stuff is good enough to pay for, and I told him so; but I offered to paint some miniatures for him for free if it wasn’t too big a job. It wasn’t.
George wanted these two miniatures painted for his players’ characters in a different game (I can’t remember what). I think they’re 3D prints from HeroForge. I didn’t think to take any “before” pictures. so this is the finished product. George picked the colors.
Anyone who knows me knows I need little if any excuse to paint a dwarf, or at least a dwarf miniature. I like this guy.
The minotaur was not so much fun. I admit I’m not really a fan of this miniature, but once I started rolling it came together pretty quickly.
The axe handle had broken off at some point below the hand , leaving him with a comically-short, massive cleaver. I fixed it with some plastic rod and green stuff. (The benefit of never throwing anything away is that I had the correct diameter rod at hand.)
One of the questions I never thought to ask is why these two very different characters are adventuring together. They seem an unlikely pair. Now that I think about it, the dwarf’s gun and wrench and the minotaur’s weird jet-pack thing give me a Spelljammer vibe. Maybe I’ll ask George if I remember.
As you may know, the last few months have been somewhat trying for me. George had to wait a bit for his miniatures, but at last they are finished and are winging their way home to him via the United States Postal Service.
Also leaving Dead Dick’s Tavern after an extended stay: Owen’s miniatures! This almost four-feet high stack of Plano boxes contains hundreds of classic Ral Partha and Grenadier miniatures, as well as a fair amount of other manufacturers. Several years ago (for those who don’t want to follow the link), my good friend Owen gave these to me; as he was done with painting and just wanted the space. I’ve been holding onto them ever since, hoping he would take them back. I even painted a few of them and posted them here to taunt him with his own miniatures.
It didn’t work. He really was done.
A couple of weeks ago, he asked if I still had them. Of course I did. He said that if I was ok with it, and if I still wanted to get rid of them, I could give them to his niece. She grew up watching her uncle play roleplaying games and paint miniatures. She’s in her 30’s now, running games of her own.
Of course I was ok with it. I’ve always said these were never my miniatures. They were Owen’s miniatures, I just held onto them for him. I told him that if I couldn’t give them back to him, then I would gladly pass them on to the next generation of Owen gamers, and I did.
Time for another entry in my Year of Pop Culture. The Outlaw Josey Wales is, of course, one of Clint Eastwood’s classic Westerns; one I have seen many times and one I return to often. It’s the story of a Confederate farmer whose family is murdered by Union troops, so he joins a militia to kill Northerners. Eventually, the militia is convinced to surrender. Josey refuses, of course, and his fellow militia men are all massacred after laying down their arms.
Josey becomes an outlaw; the target of bounty hunters and the duplicitous Union regiment known as the “Redlegs” that was responsible for the massacre of his men. He finds a woman, settles down on a ranch…but only for a little while. Eventually, the Redlegs arrive and lay siege to the ranch in a bloody climactic battle.
The Outlaw Josey Wales has some of the best lines in bad-ass movie history, from “You gonna pull those pistols, or just whistle Dixie?”, to the iconic “Dyin’ ain’t much of a livin’, boy.” It’s one of my favorite Westerns of all time, and if for some reason you haven’t seen it, you should.
Reaper does this “Jeb Lawson” miniature in their Chronoscope line, and it’s a pretty good likeness, almost as if they did that on purpose. It’s sculpted by James van Shaik.
Here’s my paint job.
And that’s one more for the Pop Culture theme of 2022.
I guess that’s a good thing, because I haven’t done shit on my Deep Space Nine model for the Season of Scenery yet…
Mr. Fantastic (MF): Hello there! Welcome. Thanks for coming in.
Crimson Hound (CH): Thanks. Glad to be here. I…uh…thought there were four of you.
MF: The Invisible Woman isn’t here at the moment.
Human Torch (HT): Or…IS SHE??? Ha ha ha!!!
MF: So…Crimson Hound. We’re looking for a fourth member, someone who can fill in for Ben here when he takes one of his sabbaticals.
HT: Like when he gets all whiny and leaves the group to sulk.
Thing (T): Whatever. It ain’t easy bein’ me.
HT: Or when he needs to go “find himself” on some alien planet.
T: That happened once. Sue me.
HT: Or when he wants to follow his dream and be a professional wrestler…
CH: Ha! You guys are cute together.
T: Whaddya mean, “together”?
HT: Yeah, what’s that supposed to mean?
CH: I only thought…
T: Think again, bozo!
HT: Yeah, think again!
CH: Look, there’s nothing wrong with–
T: Shuddup and get yer feet off the table! Ain’t ya got no manners?
CH: Oh. Sure. Sorry.
MF: Let’s focus on what’s important: Ben’s replacement.
T: REPLACEMENT?!
MF: Usually, we ask She-Hulk to step in, but…
T: She got too big fer us.
HT: Stopped answering her phone when she got a TV show.
CH: Huh. Right.
MF: So, assuming we get this vampire business cured, when can you start?
CH: Cured? You can cure me?!
MF: Undoubtedly. I’m pretty sure I have already figured out how. I am embarassingly intelligent.
CH: But the vampire thing is what gives me my powers!
MF: Oh. I see. Well, we can’t have you feeding on people’s blood. I own the patents on several dozen formulae for synthetic plasma, both terran and non-terran. I’m sure we can find something suitable.
T: Welcome to the team!
HT: Don’t touch my stuff.
CH: Wow! Thanks! I really need this job…
MF: We’ll get your hiring bonus, health and dental package squared away and show you to your luxury penthouse quarters here in the Baxter Building. There’s just one more restriction.
CH:…what’s that?
MF: You cannot, under any circumstances, make any jokes, implications or double-entendres about my powers and how far I can stretch my…well, I’m sure you know. Understood?
CH: Wait…not ever?
MF: Never.
CH:…
CH:…
MF: Well?
CH: Nah. This isn’t gonna work. Thanks for your time.
Bruno still hasn’t posted any new Crimson Hound content. He deserves this.
Superman (S): Hello, come in. Please, sit down. The Crimson Hound, is it?
The Crimson Hound (CH): Yep, that’s me.
Wonder Woman (WW): Greetings. Thank you for coming in.
CH: No problem.
S: So, er…uh…Mr. Hound…you’re applying for League membership.
CH: That’s right.
Batman (B): Take your feet off the table.
CH: Oh. Sorry.
S: We’ve reviewed your resume, and we have a few questions.
CH: Shoot, Supes. I’m an open book.
WW: Well, it seems as though you haven’t been active in some time. You last superhero job was…well, almost a full year ago.
CH: Yeah. Well, there was that stuff around Christmas, but that wasn’t “official”. Anyway, I’ve been taking it easy. You know, having a nice long soak in the bubble bath that is me.
B:“…What?”
CH: Yeah. A vacation. I mean, everyone needs a break now and then, Bats. You can’t expect to be a force of vengeance and justice every day, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. You’d have to be batshit crazy–a really obsessive asshole– to do that. Am I right or what?
B: …
WW: Um…anyway, what do you think you bring to the team? How do you usually deal with evildoers?
S: We encounter a lot of evildoers, you know. It’s important we can work as a team.
CH: Yeah, I assumed. Well, I usually strike terror in their hearts, then I beat the living shit out of them.
S: Right…ummm…ok…well…that’s great, but…
WW: It’s just that…uh…
B: That’s what I do.That’s my thing.
CH: Oh. Sorry. I should have explained better. By “beat the shit out of them”, I mean I rip off their heads with my bare hands, then I drink their blood.
S: …
WW: …
B: …
CH: So, do I get the job?
It’s been a while since my buddy Bruno has published any new Crimson Hound content on YouTube. This is me, slapping him in the face with the metaphorical glove.
I have decided that 2022 is going to be the year of pop culture here at Dead Dick’s Tavern. Over time, I have accumulated many miniatures, both officially licensed and not, of characters from film, video games, comics, literature and cartoons. I had a dive through my pile of shame the other night and I pulled a bunch out, and this year I’m making them a priority.
First up: Matthew Quigley from one of my favorite Westerns: Quigley Down Under (1990). For those who haven’t seen it, here’s a quick synopsis sans any major spoilers: Matthew Quigley (Tom Selleck) is an American sharpshooter of some renown, and he is hired by Marston, a British land baron (Alan Rickman, who is simply awesome in this role) for some unspecified shootin’ work on his huge ranch in the Australian Outback. Quigley packs up his Sharps Big Fifty and makes the ocean voyage all the way to Australia only to discover that Marston wants him to hunt and kill Aborigines. This does not sit well with Quigley, and the two men have what’s charitably termed a “falling out.” If you want to know the rest, watch the movie. Or just look it up on Wikipedia.
Tom Selleck is one of those actors I rarely think about; but when I see him in something, especially in a Western, I find I like him a lot. He’s outstanding as Quigley. Alan Rickman plays Marston like a British Hans Gruber, menacing but with a bit of humor. The film also features Laura San Giacomo (also great) and a very young Ben Mendelsohn. It’s really good.
This is Reaper’s “Batt Ridgeley, Sharpshooter”; from their Chronoscope line. I would say the resemblance is a bit uncanny, wouldn’t you?
Perhaps. But it’s Batt Ridgeley. Not Matt Quigley. Ahem. Wink.
Here he is, all painted up by me. I kinda like how he came out.
This miniature has once again kindled my interest in Old West gaming. I have more than enough miniatures and scenery painted and ready to go, so I really have no excuse. Just have to decide on a set of rules.
A nice shot of the Sharps Big Fifty. If you haven’t seen this movie yet, it’s well worth tracking down.
