Slowly but surely, I have begun to chip away at my significant pile of Star Wars miniatures for my Imperial Assault expansions. I decided to start with the first boxed expansion to the game, Twin Shadows, which included 10 new miniatures in the core box. In addition, I painted several ally and villain expansions that were released to coincide with the release of the box, because why give you everything in one box when they can charge you piece by piece?
First up, some Heavy Stormtroopers. You get four of these guys in the box, and they’re pretty nice miniatures.
Also pictured here is Kayn Somos; a special figure that came in a separate Villain Pack. Although it’s always nice to have a Stormtrooper boss, his pose is a bit meh.
Next: the four Tusken Raiders from the box and another Villain Pack: the Bantha Rider. I like these miniatures, but here’s the annoying story behind them.
My primer of choice is The Armory spray primer. Most people don’t like it. I love it. I prime 99% of my models black; but I had Armory Primer in Black, White and Grey. I rarely use grey. In fact, the can was no good any more; and to top things off my black can was almost out, too. I needed new primer! Sadly, the place I usually get it (the ONLY place I know that carries it) is out, and they don’t know when they will get any back (if ever). So I went on Amazon. Same deal. COVID has really fucked with a lot of things, including spray paint distribution.
Since I was pretty much following the painting tutorial by Mark Sorastro (which, like all his Imperial Assault tutorials, is spectacular), I needed to prime them grey. I looked online to see what other miniature enthusiasts use. I’m not paying 15 bucks a can for GW or Army Painter primer, so I decided on this:
Rustoleum primer is supposed to be pretty good and is used by lots of mini painters. After looking high and low for it in stores, I finally managed to snag a can. Like I said, spray paint is pretty scarce nowadays due to the pandemic. I went to three different Wal-Marts and saw only racks of empty space. I finally found a can of this at a Home Depot. It was the only can left. Score, right?
Wrong. I sprayed my Tusken Raiders and one half of the Bantha with this shit. Three days later, they were still tacky and I realized with horror that this primer was reacting poorly to the plastic (despite the “Also Bonds To PLASTIC!” assurance on the label). This was a disaster. I removed what I could with some non-acetone nail polish remover. What was I to do now?
For situations like these (like when I prime Reaper Bones), I use Vallejo brush-on surface primer. I have black and white. I needed grey. I briefly considered just mixing the two; but I decided to splurge for the grey as I have many more Imperial Assault miniatures to paint and I might need it. One Amazon order and 6 days later, I had a bottle. The bottle says grey, but it looks pretty fucking white. On top of that, it’s thin, like milk. It is noticeably different from the Vallejo black and white primers I have. I primed all the figures again, and then I got angry. I didn’t need to prime them grey. I could have saved a lot of time, aggravation and money if I had just used the black primer I have; because I can’t imagine using this shit for anything, ever. It sucks.
Anyway, I muddled through. Lesson learned. Next post will finish up the miniatures for this expansion: both the Heroes from the box and some extra (familiar) Allies and Villains (sold separately, of course).
Wondering where my September Character of the Month is? Well, she’s a bit late, but she’ll be along. That of course means I will have TWO Characters in October. The miniature is painted, but I haven’t had time to write up her back story. As everyone knows, I refuse to post things when they’re only half done.
So stay tuned for the second half of Twin Shadows (what?), coming soon!
Well, Dave Stone’s Season of Scenery has come and gone, and here’s what I have to show for it. Thanks as always to Dave for hosting this fun challenge!
I painted up the 20mm Gaslands scenery that I said I would. The tire stacks took me about half an hour in total to complete; whereas the barrel groups took WAY TOO FUCKING LONG. Those barrels were some tedious bastards, I can tell you that for nothing. Now that I have these done, I should play Gaslands at some point just to drive some cars into these explosive barrels.
I also painted these fuel and/or gas tanks (they’re actually milk and livestock feed tanks from model railroads). While most of them are in 20mm scale; as you can see they could be used equally as well in 28mm games. I weathered and rusted them up quite a bit using MIG rust pigments and Citadel Typhus Corrosion.
Up next, I have some 28mm 3D-printed scatter terrain I recently picked up with an Etsy coupon. These crate and barrel piles look nice, and I can always use more of them. I also took the opportunity to paint some extra barrels and bits I had lying around.
I also managed to get to these remnants of some 3D-printed SciFi crates I ordered. I painted them in the same white theme I used for the others. You can see them in my Star Trek battle reports.
Finally, the things I’m happiest about. These two Armorcast vending machines have been an incomplete project for years. I bought them at Gen Con in 2012; and I planned on using them for zombie games; but that didn’t happen. Then my intent was to use them in supers games; but that didn’t happen either. Then last year I took them out and put them on my desk because I wanted to get to them for Summer of Scenery 2020; but guess what didn’t happen? And there they have sat in all their annoying base-coated glory, just taking up space on my painting desk and not paying rent. Well, now they’re done, and I now NEED to use them in a game just to justify their existence.
Did I get to everything? No. But I don’t give a shit because it’s STAR WARS TIME, BAYBEEEEEEE!!!! I’m finally diving back into Imperial Assault, so watch for that soon!
For August’s Character of the Month, I chose to do a Paladin.
When Mother Helen, Preceptress of Cobbage, opened her schoolhouse door to find the abandoned infant on her step, she did not hesitate; for Helen had once served the Sisterhood of Calucia, Guardian of Lost Travelers. Though Helen was a sister no longer and the Sisterhood was no more, she took the child in and cared for her as her own daughter; for what was this poor child if not a lost soul? Helen named the child Mara, who grew to be beloved by all in the small village. She was kind, helpful, charitable and humble. She could also lift a bushel of apples at arms’ length by the age of nine; and by fourteen, she could fully drive a fencepost into hard-packed clay with one swing of her hammer.
Despite (or perhaps because of) her great strength, Mara did not lack suitors when she reached the traditional age of marriage two years later; but Mara had no interest in marrying anyone from the village. These were the same boys who were her playmates for the last sixteen years, and she could not see them now as men. Besides, she needed to care for Mother Helen, who had grown infirm with age, and to assume the duties of Preceptress in her stead; for Mara was easily as wise as she was strong, much wiser than a girl of sixteen years should be.
Towards the end of her life, Mother Helen told Mara her own story; how she left the Sisterhood and came to be Preceptress of the small village of Cobbage. Helen was once a novitiate at Glenstrae Abbey, seat of the Sisterhood of Calucia in far-off Dunlaig. The folk of Dunlaig were a superstitious lot who had no use for magic that was not divine, and the Abbess of Glenstrae, Gertrude, was no exception. One dark and moonless night, an elf maiden sought sanctuary at the Abbey. She was in flight from lawless men who wished her harm; yet the Abbess denied her safety. She was fey, after all; and the Abbess decreed that she would find no comfort among the Sisterhood. When they found her body the next morning on the very grounds of the Abbey itself, the Abbess was unmoved. She ordered the corpse buried in the garden, where “at least it would do some good as fertilizer.”
The sisters were in shock. They felt immediately the loss of their Guardian’s favor, for who was more wayward and in need of aid than the poor elf maiden who begged for help and received only scorn? Still, Gertrude was unrepentant and prideful. She would hear no dissent on the matter, though she felt the loss of communion with Calucia more strongly than most.
A fortnight later, the keening started. The elf maiden had risen as a bean sidhe; and she was not done with the Sisterhood of Calucia. Each night for a month she circled the Abbey, keening and wailing; a horrid sight to behold. The sisters pleaded with the Abbess to repent; but Gertrude remained defiant, poisoned by her deep-rooted hatred of all things fey. With no divine magic to hold it at bay, it was only a matter of time before Glenstrae Abbey’s protections failed and the bean sidhe was able to enter what was once consecrated ground. When she did, her unbridled wrath broke fully upon Gertrude most horribly, but left none alive among the Sisterhood.
None but Helen. Cornered by the bean sidhe among the white and silent corpses of her sisters, Helen closed her eyes and called out to Calucia for deliverance. When she opened them, she found the horrid visage of the undead elf mere inches away, staring at her with an expression the young sister couldn’t comprehend. She blinked, and the thing was gone. Mother Helen told Mara she did not know why the creature let her live, if not to tell the tale of what had become of the fallen Sisterhood and of the once-holy Abbey, now fallen to evil and ruin.
Helen died a few nights later. Mara saw to her burial. Over her grave, Mara vowed that she would do what Helen could not. She would atone for the Abbess’s transgressions. She would rebuild Glenstrae Abbey. She would redeem the Sisterhood of Calucia, or she would die in the attempt.
Mara made her intentions known to the village. The blacksmith provided her with armor and a sword; but Mara did not know how to wield a sword; rather, she knew how to swing a hammer. So the smith forged her a hammer instead, a true weapon of war, not a tool for driving fenceposts. Mara accepted it gratefully, and named it “Correction” in honor of the switch Mother Helen occasionally used to chastise pupils who misbehaved.
The road to Dunlaig was long, and Mara encountered many who needed her help along the way. She fixed wagon-wheels for the stranded; planted and plowed for the infirm; defended the weak and powerless; and clothed and fed the needy as best she could, often going without comfort herself. She did this without complaint or recompense as service to the Guardian Calucia in memory of Mother Helen, the woman who cared for her when no one else would.
When she finally reached Glenstrae Abbey, she found it to be a cursed and bleak ruin shunned by all. In the years since the Sisterhood’s destruction others had come here in search of adventure or to loot the valuables of the vaults. All of them perished when the heard the keening wail of the bean sidhe; for the undead creature spared no one foolish enough to willingly enter the Abbey grounds. Now, these cursed souls had risen and become evil things themselves. They surrounded Mara as she strode boldly up to the gates of the Abbey, whispering foul promises of eternal torment; but Mara was unafraid. She shouted her defiance and commanded the undead horde to leave the Abbey, that this would once again be sacred ground. She invoked the name of Calucia, and something wondrous happened.
The undead hordes shrieked in fear and pain. Many of them simply ceased to exist as the power of Mara’s prayer banished their evil forever. Those that remained quailed in fury and terror; but they soon rallied and leapt to the attack. Mara met them head-on with Correction. Within minutes, she was the only thing moving on the grounds of Glenstrae Abbey. The bean sidhe’s minions were utterly destroyed, shattered into oblivion by the holy power of her warhammer.
Mara knelt in prayer and waited. She did not wait long. The restless spirit of the elf maiden appeared, and let out a keening so horrible that Mara felt all of the rage, humiliation and pain of maiden’s death all at once. She could feel the unbridled evil of the scream as a chill upon her soul and knew that she survived only by Calucia’s grace; for it was more than anyone could bear, and Mara knew that all who had heard it before had died on the spot. In the span of one moment, the scream of the bean sidhe aged Mara a full score years; yet Mara, shaken to her core, still stood, somehow alive.
The undead thing rushed at her, furious. Mara did not raise her weapon in defense. She only watched as the hooked claws reached to tear her limb from limb, and she spoke only two words. “I’m sorry.”
The bean sidhe stopped. For a moment, the two women stared at each other; for the undead elf maiden looked then much as she did in life: beautiful and fey. Mara stepped forward and embraced her. The bean sidhe slumped and let out a sigh. Then it vanished.
Mara found herself Abbess of Glenstrae. She spent the next several years rebuilding the convent, doing much of the physical labor herself. She exhumed the bones of the elf maiden and reburied them in a place of honor alongside Mother Helen, whose remains she brought back from Cobbage to rest on Abbey grounds. Her good and charitable deeds regained the favor of Calucia, and the Abbey was soon home to novitiates once more. The Sisterhood of Calucia was born anew.
Reverend Mother Mara is Reaper’s Mother Superior, sculpted by Werner Klocke. I was wondering what miniature I was going to use for a paladin. I seem to have picked up this one in a trade and forgot all about it, which only goes to show that (surprise) I have too many miniatures. She was fun to paint, if not particularly challenging.
Up next: My Season of Scenery submissions! Then on to STAR WARS!!!!!
With one month gone already in Dave Stone’s Season of Scenery, I am lagging a bit behind. I’ve decided to do a bunch of small pieces that have been sitting around for far too long. Hopefully I can get the majority of them done by the end of August; but if not, at least I’ll have made some progress. Much of it is either 3D-printed or resin cast stuff, some of which I’ve owned for almost a decade.
Pretty much everything that’s black up in that picture is 20mm Gaslands scenery: fuel tanks, fuel barrels and tire stacks. These should be very easy to paint and hopefully will go fast. The white stuff is some new 3D-printed cargo piles I picked up in 28mm scale. Again, not hard to do, just time-consuming. The gray stuff is what’s left over from a 3D-printed sci-fi crate order I got last year. I used the other crates in my Star Trek Forgotten Worlds scenarios, but since I didn’t need these large ones I didn’t bother to paint them. Then there’s the vending machines and the Victorian weird science dynamo, both from Armorcast, and both purchased so long ago I can’t remember when. (I don’t even think they make the dynamo anymore.) Those damn vending machines have been sitting on my desk in their respective basecoats for almost ten years. It’s time, man.
Finally, I have three resin barricades I’ve owned since 2003 or so. I bought them for Warhammer 40K, but I never really went back to playing 40K so I never needed them. Primed black on the left side of the picture is a ruined wall fortification, another 40K piece I never got to. While these are the oldest and largest pieces of scenery; they’re also the lowest priority. Still, it would be nice to get to them…maybe if time permits.
For July’s Character of the Month, I chose to do one of my least favorite character classes: the Druid.
Loan the Barkwarden first came upon the girl in a glade deep in the Rowanwood, a basket of mushrooms nearby and a dead fox cradled in her lap. He knew who she was, of course; her silvery-white hair and slightly pointed ears made that much obvious. She was Sarapen, the herbalist’s daughter. That explained the mushrooms; but not the fox. Nor did it explain why the girl was so deep in the wood. No young girl should venture this far into the wild, dark and ancient Rowanwood unaccompanied, for Loan knew of at least a dozen creatures and plants within a stone’s throw that could easily kill her as dead as the fox in her lap. It was unlikely she was lost, though; she seemed unconcerned and unafraid. In fact, she was humming softly.
Sarapen Moonsilver looked up as Loan strode out of the surrounding wood to tower above her. The Barkwarden was huge, a head taller than most men, with tangled brown hair and deep, cobalt blue eyes. His matted and filthy beard hung to his waist, home to all manner of woodland vermin. Various crystals, dried herbs and roots dangled from his tattered robes and from the crooked blackthorn staff he bore. His hands and nails were black with dirt and he stank of the forest. Most children would have screamed and cowered in terror of such a man, but Sarapen Moonsilver did not.
Loan the Barkwarden gazed upon her with blue eyes ablaze. She stared back. “That fox is dead,” he said. The girl nodded. “Did you kill her?”
“No. She was my friend,” said Sarapen Moonsilver. “She was dying and asked me to stay with her.” Gently, she lifted the fox from her lap and lay it down next to her on the grass. She smoothed her skirt, retrieved her basket, and stood.
She shrugged. “It was her time.” Loan watched her in silence. A strange girl to be sure, but nothing simple about her. Suddenly, she gave the Barkwarden a penetrating look. “Are you my father?”
Loan the Barkwarden would have laughed, but it had been so long he had forgotten how to do so. “No,” he said gruffly. “I am not your father, child. Your father was a vain elf stooge named Veril who cared nothing for your mother and cared even less about you, if he knew of you at all.”
If she was hurt by his brutal words, she gave no sign. “You know him?”
“Knew of him, yes. He’s dead now; and no great loss, that. He tried to kill a troll that was minding its own business, simply being a troll. It wanted no trouble, but Veril, pompous ass that he was, decided he would kill the troll, and was killed by it instead.”
“Oh,” said Sarapen Moonsilver.
Loan snorted in derision. “Another fool dead, and never has there been a race more riddled with fools than the elves. Elves live long, and they are the biggest fools of all, because they are fools who think they are wise. In truth, no elf has had a single original thought or come up with a new way of doing anything for thousands of years. What do they do instead? They sit around and sing. How much fucking singing can you do in a thousand years, child?”
Sarapen Moonsilver said she didn’t know.
“Yes, the elves are old,” continued Loan the Barkwarden. “That is why they fear humans, and that is why humans fear elves. And why humans and elves alike fear you.”
“Fear me?” asked Sarapen Moonsilver. “Why should anyone fear me?”
“Because you half-elven, and half-human. You are too much the human for the elves, and too much the elf for the humans. It is no accident you and your mother live apart from both; ignored by the elves while giving out stomach remedies, love potions and hedge-cures for the superstitious folk in the village. Your ears and hair mark you as elvish: fey, magical and exotic, everything humans hate. Your wide hips and strong arms mark you as human: impulsive, brash and new, everything elves despise. Both see in you what they fear the most in each other.”
He had not spoken so many words aloud since before she was born. Loan the Barkwarden turned and walked away into the woods. Sarapen Moonsilver watched him go.
Over the next few years he kept a watchful eye on her secretly, or so he thought at first. She always seemed to sense him, whether he wore his own form or that of a beast or tree of the Rowanwood. She grew to into a beautiful young woman and a fine herbalist in her own right; but it was obvious she was much more than a mere hedge-witch.
Unlike with the fox, Sarapen did weep when, several winters later, it was her mother’s time to die. Sarapen had not encountered Loan the Barkwarden since their first meeting in the clearing years ago; so she was surprised to find him at her mother’s cairn a week after her passing. He had swept the snow from the stone and there was a great number of her mother’s favorite summer flowers and blossoms surrounding the grave. Sarapen knew it was Loan’s magic that caused them to bloom out of season. She knew then, too that Loan the Barkwarden had known her mother well and cared for her in his own way, yet neither had ever spoken of the other.
She approached the old man in the company of her friend and protector, a great bear named Sharn. Loan knew this wise and fierce bear, and he nodded in satisfaction that these two had formed a bond. It meant she was farther along the path than he had realized. He reached out and absently scratched the bear’s muzzle, heedless of any danger; for no creature of the forest held any danger to the Barkwarden of Rowanwood.
“So,” said Loan the Barkwarden, “Your mother’s time of dying has come and gone. You are herbalist now.”
“I suppose that’s true, for now,” she answered. “But it will not soon be so. The trees have spoken to me.”
“What did the trees say, Sarapen Moonsilver?” Loan asked. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. Was she so skilled already?
“They told me that I will be Barkwarden one day,” she said.
“I am the Barkwarden of Rowanwood,” the old man said. “I have been such since many of these trees were saplings.”
“But you will not be forever. All things have their time of dying, Loan.” Sarapen Moonsilver turned from the grave and smiled up at the Grand Druid. “Even you.”
“Yes. Even me.” Loan the Barkwarden nodded, his own smile lost in his great beard.
He suddenly remembered how to laugh.
Sarapen Moonsilver is Reaper’s Juliana, Herbalist; a new sculpt by Bobby Jackson from the Reaper Bones Black line.
As soon as I looked at this miniature I knew I wanted to paint her hair white, so I thought that should be the most striking part of the model, not her clothing. I opted to paint her in subdued colors, in simple clothes that a woman who walks through the forest foraging for herbs and mushrooms would likely wear. Once again, I knew I was going to do a lot of base-work on this one, so I thought her plain clothing would also contrast well with all the color on the base.
I can’t resist using this Vallejo Water Effect stuff since Roger introduced me to it, so I sculpted a pool of water for her to kneel by. I used some railroad-scale flowering bushes to finish it off, and I think it looks pretty darn good.
Fun fact if you want to use this Vallejo stuff: it interacts poorly with super glue. I know this because I was applying drops to the base to affix the flowers, when I discovered there was a little bit of air in the glue nozzle. It spit a small glob of glue directly onto my perfect, shiny and pristine water effect that I had spent two days waiting to dry. Five minutes later, the water effect was clouded and the glue had encapsulated. I had to take it out with a pair of tweezers; but it continued to react to the water effect for about 10 minutes.
My name is The Angry Piper, so can probably guess how I reacted to this development. Afterwards, I applied another layer of the water effect. It seems to be ok now. As am I.
Coming soon, in no particular order: another Battle Report, this time for some Super Mission Force; but don’t worry. The Green Hornet and Kato will return soon…
Also, it’s the Season of Scenery over at Dave Stone’s place; and I ain’t done shit yet. I have a bunch of small pieces I want to get done this year. Things that have been sitting undone for far too long.
And finally, I’m almost done with my Aliens: Another Glorious Day in the Corps miniatures. Once they’re done I will, of course, post them here. Then it’s on to Imperial Assault; if for no reason than to justify my crazed purchases of that discontinued franchise.
The Green Hornet returned to consciousness, the back of his head throbbing. He tried to reach up to massage it only to find he was bound, his hands tied behind his back around a thick support column. The smells of exotic spices assailed him as he suddenly remembered where he was: The “Happy Pepper” Spice Company, a warehouse in Chinatown, the domain of ruthless gang boss “Wise Uncle” Wei. It all came rushing back. He had been attacked from behind; surprised. He was used to having Kato there to watch his back, but not tonight.
He was alone. He could feel the cold floor on the back of his legs. He had been here a while. His head was bare. He had lost his hat. He peered around in the dim light. There it was, a few feet away on the floor. Alarm gave way to relief as he realized his domino mask still concealed his features. A small comfort, but he’d take what he could get.
A soft scuffle, and Kato was suddenly there, flowing like ink out of the darkness. The Hornet breathed a sigh of relief as his friend began to work away at the knots that bound his hands. “I told you to stay in bed,” the Green Hornet said.
“Right. I can see you obviously had everything under control here,” said Kato.
“I did, and you’re terrible at following orders.”
“I don’t work for you,” said Kato.
“Yes, you do.”
“Not when the masks are on. What happened?”
“I got jumped from behind,” said the Hornet. “Big guy. Uncle Wei’s enforcer. What’s his name?”
“Why are you asking me?” asked Kato. “Because I’m Asian? We don’t all know each other, you know.”
The Green Hornet flushed scarlet. “I didn’t mean–” he stammered, then chuckled softly as he caught sight of Kato’s grin in the dim light. “OK, very funny. You got me.”
“Iron-Skin Liu,” Kato said, as the bonds fell free. “You’re lucky he didn’t take your head off.”
“Sure feels like he did,” said the Hornet, rubbing his wrists and standing up. He bent to retrieve his fedora as the lights suddenly blazed, illuminating the warehouse.
They were in an open, circular area, surrounded on all sides by stacks and pallets of shipping crates and containers filled with spicesand other imported goods.“Wise Uncle” Wei sat upon a small platform a few meters distant, flanked by his bodyguard, the massive, scowling “Iron-Skin” Liu; and his lieutenant, “Clean-Head” Chang. Several rough-looking Tong gangsters began to move from between the stacks of crates and barrels, surrounding the heroes on all sides.
“You see, Chang?” asked Wei. “It is as I predicted. Where there is one, the other cannot be far behind. It was only a matter of patience.”
“You are wise, Uncle Wei,” said “Clean-Head” Chang, smiling wickedly.
“Thank you, Chang; but I know my own name, ” said Wei. Chang stopped smiling and looked confused. Wei continued. “Now, we have them both: the Green Hornet AND his sidekick.”
“Sidekick,” the Hornet said softly, smirking. “You hear that, old friend?”
“I heard it. Remind me to show you a “side kick” when we get out of this,” murmured Kato, watching as more gangsters surrounded them.
“Clean Head” Chang told me how you broke up the meeting last night at the storage yard,” said Wei. “No doubt you are seeking the mysterious man behind it all. Who could it be? What does he want? Well, you will not find him here. You might check the Waterfront District, if you survive. Donnelly seemed to be the only one interested in the mystery man’s proposal.”
“What proposal? Why are you telling us this, Wei?” asked the Green Hornet.“You’re being very helpful.”
“Why not? It matters nothing to me, my friend. In a short time you will both likely be dead; and if not, then you will come into conflict with another of my enemies, “Big Eddie” Donnelly, as you seek to thwart their alliance. Yes, an alliance is what they intend. Either way, I cannot lose.”
“Depends. You can lose a lot of men in the meantime,” said Kato, moving back-to-back with the Hornet and taking a ready stance. “All of them, maybe.” He flashed a wicked smile. The Tong shifted uneasily, looking to each other for reassurance.
“My men are expendable until they prove otherwise,” said “Wise Uncle” Wei. “None of these men have so proven themselves. Now, enough talk!”
The full scenario was detailed in the last post! Check it out if you missed it!
Turn 1: The first card drawn is a three, so two more Tong thugs come out to play and join their fellows on the perimeter of the circle. The Tong get initiative, and “Clean-Head” Chang wastes no time, knowing that his every move is being watched by “Wise Uncle” Wei. Waving his cleaver menacingly he rushes towards Kato, but doesn’t have enough movement to reach him. This does put himself within Kato’s range, however. With a loud Kiai, Kato leaps into combat, easily outclassing Chang, who falls beneath a flurry of blows from the black-masked vigilante! So much for Chang!
The remaining Tong rush into the circle; but, like Chang, they lack the movement necessary to reach the heroes. The Green Hornet counter-charges the closest Tong gangster; and with his patented one-two punch, he drops the goon like a sack of cement!
Turn 2: Another card is drawn…it’s a Two! Three more Tong surround the circle, ready to fight! The heroes seize the initiative this turn, though; and the Green Hornet moves swiftly to engage another opponent, knowing that letting up for an instant could mean that he and Kato will be overwhelmed! The gangster is no match for his emerald-clad fists, and falls just as another Tong charges the Hornet from behind. Once again, the Green Hornet prevails, punching the Tong so hard he leaves his feet! Kato takes one gangster out before he is mobbed by three more, who act in concert to try and bring him down. One manages to wound Kato! Finally, the remaining Tong thug charges the Green Hornet and meets the same fate as his friends. The Hornet now has made a small pile of three unconscious thugs; while Kato is surrounded by three very angry and very conscious opponents!
Turn 3: The card drawn is a Five: Look Out Below! A barrel of peanut oil shatters on the ground, turning the entire area into a slippery mess! Everyone scrambles to get out of the way. Kato and two of the goons he’s fighting manage to avoid it, but the barrel lands squarely on the remaining goon, knocking him unconscious. The Green Hornet is also hit. He takes a wound and is knocked prone, covered in peanut oil!
The villains gain initiative and immediately attack Kato, but even with two-to-one odds, they don’t stand a chance. Kato leaps into the air, lashing out with both legs in a corkscrew kick that sends them both flying, their senseless bodies sliding away on a sheen of oil. (Kato beat them on their turn, taking one out; then attacked on his own activation, taking out another.) The Green Hornet manages to stand up. Looking around, it seems that for the time being, at least, there are no Tong to threaten them!
Turn 4: The card drawn is a Nine. Nothing happens! With no events, no Tong to defend against and still no way out, this lull in the action seems like a good time for some dramatic dialogue, especially since…
Turn 5: The card drawn is the King!
“Wise Uncle” Wei clapped softly, gazing at Kato with undisguised admiration. “Your skill is quite impressive, ah…mmm…what IS your name? A thousand apologies, but I don’t seem to know.” Kato scowled. The Green Hornet tried and failed to cover a smile.
“You seem to be out of soldiers, Wei,” said the Green Hornet.
“There are always more soldiers,” Wei replied irritably, waving his hand in dismissal. He continued to address Kato. “You must know your talents are wasted with this green fool.”
“Hey!” protested the Green Hornet.” There’s no need for name-calling.”
“You should join me, instead,” Wei continued smoothly. “Such skill as you possess would be well-compensated in my organization.”
“No chance,” said Kato, “the green fool needs me.”
“Really?!” exclaimed the Hornet, “You, too? I’m standing right here!”
“As you wish, then,” said Wei. “I grow weary of this entertainment.” He stood up. “See to it they do not leave this warehouse alive, Liu.”
“Iron-Skin” Liu nodded, hopping down from the platform as more thugs entered the circle. The Green Hornet and Kato found themselves back-to-back again, waiting…
Turn 6: I drew the Ace. Three more Tong show up! I deployed these three as a squad rather than scattering them around the circle. They will move and act together, because this one-at-a-time crap isn’t working out for the Tong! Close up on the faces of the Tong, all scowls and menace; cut to the Green Hornet, brow furrowed in determination; quick zoom on Kato’s mask, where his eyes can be seen, narrowed; while the final shot shows a slow, evil grin spreading across the brutal visage of “Iron-Skin” Liu…
Greetings. I am “Wise Uncle” Wei. I cannot help but notice you admiring my Dragon Bell. An exquisite piece, wouldn’t you agree? It must have cost a fortune, you must think. But no, this is not so.
You may ask, why am I called wise? The answer is simple. It is because I get all my Dragon Bells at Wargames Terrain Workshop. After all, I may be the head of a very lucrative criminal enterprise; but just because I can afford expensive bell decor doesn’t mean I frivolously throw money away. That would be foolish, and I am not known as “Foolish Uncle” Wei.
This is my associate, “Iron-Skin” Liu. He is a man of few words; but when he does speak, it is often of Wargames Terrain Workshop, and of the unparalleled product quality and customer service they offer. Liu suggests most strongly that you shop there. If you do not, then “Iron-Skin” Liu will become unsettled, and that would be most unfortunate.
Turn 6, Continued: The heroes gain initiative. Seeing the group of thugs and “Iron-Skin” Liu about to close on Kato, The Hornet charges the group of thugs, hoping to cut them off. With a quick haymaker he drops one of the Tong; while “Iron-Skin’ Liu, bellowing in challenge, charges Kato and knocks him clear off his feet! Kato is wounded again and knocked back a full 3”! Liu isn’t far behind and immediately closes the gap; but he’s a bit overzealous and underestimates his opponent. With a natural 10, Kato slugs Liu right in the breadbasket, knocking the wind out of the giant and stopping him in his tracks! “Iron-Skin” Liu is wounded and staggered! The remaining two thugs attack the Green Hornet, hoping to overpower him, but the Emerald Avenger easily puts them both down in the dirt with two well-placed socks in the jaw!
Turn 7: A Ten is drawn. Nothing happens! Initiative goes to the heroes. Kato fends Liu off with a lightning-fast flurry of strikes to Liu’s face, but he’s not called “Iron-Skin” Liu for nothing! Liu smiles at Kato, completely unhurt! Kato looks at his fists in disbelief and betrayal as the Green Hornet barrels into Liu from behind! He bounces off the giant’s back, but doesn’t get too far before Liu lashes out in a mighty sweeping attack that barely misses Kato but swats the Hornet down like his namesake! The Green Hornet is knocked flying and is KO’ed!
Turn 8: A Seven is drawn. Back off! Kato grabs a rope and pulley from the ground and swings it around, clearing some space. “Iron-Skin” Liu retreats warily as the Green Hornet makes his roll to recover. He stands up slowly, shaking his head, trying to remember if he’s ever been hit that hard before. Initiative goes to the heroes again. Kato charges at Liu, but rolls poorly and Liu gets the better of him; grabbing Kato by the back of the neck and slamming his elbow into the hero’s face! Kato staggers back 3″ and collapses, unconscious!
Liu lunges at the Green Hornet next, but once again, he underestimates his opponent. The Green Hornet meets his charge with green-gloved fists of fury, striking Liu twice hard enough to hurt. Hard enough, in fact, to drop the giant in his tracks! “Iron-Skin” Liu is KO’ed!
Turn 9: A Queen is drawn! The Green Hornet spies an opening as Kato makes his Will roll to recover. Bloodied and exhausted, both heroes beat feet to escape before more goons show up!
Turn 10: Success! Victory for the Heroes!
The Green Hornet and Kato staggered back to the Black Beauty, secreted about a block distant from the Happy Pepper Warehouse. Both men were seriously injured, but they would recover. Kato slid behind the wheel while the Hornet climbed in the back, wincing in pain.
In the rear-view mirror, the two men stared at each other in silence.“So,” said the Hornet, finally, “Looks like “Big Eddie” Donnelly’s getting a visit from the Green Hornet next.”
“Sure, Kato replied. “But maybe tomorrow. Or the day after.”
“Kato…thanks. Thanks for coming after me.”
“Of course.” Kato grinned. “Green fool.”
The two men laughed as the Black Beauty roared off into the night.
Visitors to Dead Dick’s Tavern may recall me lamenting the fact that I don’t get to play many games any more, especially roleplaying games. Since I opened an Instagram account about a year ago, I’ve met some pretty cool hobbyists and gamers, many of whom live much too far away from me for us to ever be able to sit around the same table. Because of remote play during the COVID pandemic, that hasn’t been as much of an obstacle, and I’ve been able to get some gaming in with some very cool people.
One of them, my friend Bruno, has a YouTube channel called The Chronicles of the Crimson Hound, and through this, he has come up with something truly ingenious that all but guarantees he gets to play a ton of games. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy the guy.
Bruno created a character: the Crimson Hound, a vampiric vigilante super hero in a cyberpunk-style city. Bruno’s brilliance is that he gets other people to GM games for the Crimson Hound, using whatever rules system and running whatever story they like; then he puts the game sessions up on YouTube. So far, the folks running the games have mostly been gamers who have websites and podcasts of their own; so viewers get to see a variety of game mastering styles and get a feel for diverse methods of storytelling and gaming. The serials are broken down into sessions of about 15 minutes each, so they’re great to listen to while you’re…oh, say, cooking dinner or painting miniatures. Check them out!
Anyway, Bruno asked me to GM a game for the Crimson Hound, which made me feel immensely flattered. Run a game for a vampiric vigilante in a pulp/cyberpunk setting? Yes, please! On YouTube? No, thank you. Some folks, like Bruno, are handsome and charismatic enough to be on YouTube. Others, like me, are far too handsome for YouTube but lack any charisma whatsoever. Sad, but true.
Still, I felt bad because Bruno was kind enough to playtest one of my Call of Cthulhu adventures that I am planning to submit to the Miskatonic Repository. In other words, when I asked, he said yes; while when he asked, I declined. Kind of a dick move on my part. (See? No charisma.)
So, as a way to say thanks, I decided to immortalize Bruno’s creation, The Crimson Hound, for Forgotten Heroes. The Crimson Hound isn’t “forgotten”, of course; his legend is only just beginning! But this challenge gave me all the excuse I needed to practice my green stuff kung-fu. (Special thanks to Dave from Wargames Terrain Workshop for the quick assist in answering my noob sculptor questions.) Besides, Carrion Crow is usually pretty lenient when it comes to enforcing the rules.
The base miniature was Captain Griffon, by Reaper, from their Chronoscope line. (If I remember right, Bruno wanted to use this miniature himself for the Hound, once upon a time.) I couldn’t find anything better in my rather extensive pile of Heroclix. I had considered using a Robin miniature as a base, but I picture the Hound is bigger (and cooler) than Robin.
In his single-minded pursuit of vigilante justice, the Crimson Hound has used stun batons, handguns and even an enchanted short sword. I considered giving him one or more of these, but in the end I decided just to stick with his bare hands. The Hound is a brute, after all. He’s not too subtle when it comes to kicking ass.
I added some green stuff to bulk out his shoulders and his collar, and sculpted his mask and his knee pads. Then I let him dry and sanded him down with an emery board, because Dave said to.
Of course, unbeknownst to Bruno, while I was IN THE MIDDLE OF sculpting and painting the Crimson Hound, Bruno put up a new Instagram post, showing the Hound’s upcoming NEW COSTUME. In other words, not this one anymore.
Here he is, all painted up. I tried to be as faithful to the top picture as I could, but there was no way in hell I was going to even attempt that belt. It’s way beyond my green stuff skillz. As it is, looks like I could have done a better job sanding him down. Hope you like him, Bruno!
Here’s a funny little anecdote: for my final touch, I decided to give the red parts of the costume a light wash of Citadel’s Bloodletter glaze, which really does a good job of highlighting and tying together the different shades of red. It was supposed to be the very last thing I did, but shortly after the application, I noticed a bunch of mysterious white spots all over the model, wherever I put the Bloodletter. Seems my glaze went bad somehow, and I had to redo all the red. Isn’t that funny? Ha ha ha.
That’s probably it for my Forgotten Heroes submissions this year, although I could still pull something out last minute. Stranger things have happened. In the meantime, I will continue to watch the other participants with great interest!
Back in 1986, a small comics company called Silver Wolf Comics put out a handful of black and white titles. The company was owned by Kris Silver, who also created and wrote most of the comics. One of those comics was Grips.
Grips is a “hero” who kills criminals because he’s a psycho himself. He gets off on giving and receiving pain and can will himself into a murderous rage. When he’s not doing the psychotic murderous vigilante thing, Grips likes long walks on the beach and candlelit dinners. He’s also a comic book artist; the artist of Fat Ninja, which was another Silver Wolf comic of the time. But mostly he’s all about killing and maiming bad guys in bloody and vicious ways.
He has long blades that slide out of his forearms that he uses to eviscerate people, like so:
He also shoots little projectile spiky things out of his gloves, like so:
And he uses a pair of spring-loaded tonfa when he feels like beating people’s brains in instead of gutting them, like so:
And he fucking LOVES IT.
When I was in high school, I thought this shit was AWESOME. Looking at it now (something I haven’t done since high school), I realize it is not awesome.
The first Grips comic lasted only 4 issues (I have 1-3). While researching this, I was surprised to find it came back for a second series a few years later, but that one only lasted 5 issues. Sprinkle in a very few appearances in other titles, and that’s about it. Grips would pretty much define the term “Forgotten Hero”, if he wasn’t notable because his book featured art by Tim Vigil. Vigil would later go on to draw Faust (the comic that he is most famous for), which showcases truly shocking levels of violence and hardcore pornography. If I recall correctly, Faust shows lots of graphic sex (consensual and not-so-consensual) with demons, and orgies with lots of blood and other bodily fluids. Not my cup of tea, but YMMV.
Anyway, this is the miniature I used for Grips. He’s Zenith, Superhero; from Reaper’s Chronoscope line. He’s meant to be a speedster, methinks.
First thing I’d need is some blades. I thought of using tines from a plastic fork, but these proved too thick. I ended up cutting them out of some plasticard (actually my expired health insurance card) instead.
Next I used some green stuff to fashion his gauntlets, epaulets, belt and mask. I made sure to include the capsules for his spring-loaded tonfa on his belt.
Then I painted him. I painted the brown parts of his costume GW’s Doombull Brown, then gave them a generous wash of Nuln Oil and highlighted with Coat D’Arms Rat Brown. The black was painted black (surprise!), then highlighted with Vallejo Heavy Charcoal. The belt and gauntlets were painted GW Gehenna Gold and highlighted with Vallejo Gold, while the blades were GW Canoptek Alloy, highlighted with GW Mithril Silver.
I actually kind of like the way he looks. Maybe I’ll use him in a game of Super Mission Force. It’s been too long.
I will have one more Forgotten Heroes submission between now and July. Until then, I’ll be watching to see what everyone else does!
Back in 2015, I started painting the miniatures that came with the Imperial Assault core rules. I was proud of myself when I finally got them all done and ready for the table a year later. Then I managed to play a total of TWO games with my friends, who can’t commit to a fucking ham sandwich without 8 weeks notice and an escape clause; so my Star Wars gaming came to an abrupt end and the miniatures have pretty much languished unused since then.
Last year, after six big box expansions and forty miniature expansions to the Core Set, Fantasy Flight Games ceased production of Imperial Assault; choosing to focus on Star Wars Legion instead (a game I don’t play). Now, if you want IA, you’re forced to find existing product; because ain’t no more being made by Fantasy Flight. You would think that because I only managed to play two games, I wouldn’t consider putting my money into this game any more. After all, I have a fully-painted Core Set and all the Wave One miniature expansions, which is enough to play plenty of games, especially at my current rate of gameplay.
You’d be wrong. Recently, for reasons I truly cannot articulate, I went ALL THE WAY IN on Imperial Assault. Well, almost. The later “expanded universe” expansions don’t really interest me all that much. (Although it would be cool to have a Thrawn miniature, especially since his name was dropped in The Mandalorian last season, I don’t need it. But I might pick it up anyway, for the right price.)
Normally, I take opportunities like this to blame Roger for my own shortcomings (and I encourage you all to do the same); but in this case, the blame falls squarely upon the brawny shoulders of Dave from Wargames Terrain Workshop; who has been on a Star Wars project streak for what seems like forever, sculpting, building and painting some truly inspiring stuff. Because of Dave, I have now resolved to watch all things Star Wars in chronological order. Some will be re-watches, of course; but some I’ll be watching for the first time. (I seem to have missed out entirely on The Clone Wars and Rebels, for example.)
I’ve decided to get cracking on more Imperial Assault miniatures in between my other projects. I’m not going to commit to anything specific, but I will paint them according to expansion release. That way if I get bored or annoyed I can sell them off as complete lots. (It could happen.) I’ve said it before but it bears repeating: Mark Sorastro’s YouTube Channel is spectacular. I followed his tutorials for many of the Core Imperial Assault miniatures; I expect I’ll be doing the same going forward.
I’ll post my progress periodically. First up: The Twin Shadows expansion, which introduces the “OG” Mandalorian, Boba Fett, to Imperial Assault.
For June’s Character of the Month, I decided to do a Barbarian.
From the night Berjotr Skaldisson was born, it was assumed he would follow in the footsteps of his father Gilvi and become a skald; but by the time he reached his tenth winter, it became apparent that Berjotr had no skill for it. He could not sing, nor could he compose poetry. He could not remember the lineage of his own Jarl, never mind the lines of the Kings of Old. Berjotr could not so much as keep time with a drum while his father sang. He was a disappointment, that was certain; the son of a skald who had none of his father’s skill. But before long, Berjotr Skaldisson discovered where his true skills lay: he was very strong, and he was very good at killing things.
The Winter of Despair is remembered well by the people of Thord. Many died that year, not as warriors, but of starvation; for the summer raiding parties had not returned with plunder enough to last beyond the first snows. To make matters worse, that was the winter of Vargyr, the Great Bear; who devoured livestock and men equally and had no fear of Jarl Hranulf’s warriors.
One night, one of Hranulf’s thanes burst into the hall, bloodied and raving. He told of how Vargyr the Great Bear had devoured his family, after first crashing through the heavy oak door of his house. The warrior had no chance to even fetch his sword before the bear was upon them. He was lucky to escape at all. While the Jarl’s men listened to the thane’s tale in fear and awe, young Berjotr took up a greataxe and quietly left the mead hall. He set out into the cold darkness, pausing only long enough to retrieve two things from a nearby hut: a shovel and a young pig. When he judged himself far enough away from Hranulf’s hall, Berjotr used the shovel to dig a shallow ditch in the frozen ground, big enough for him to lie in. Then he used his greataxe to kill the pig, splitting its body in twain. He pulled the bloody corpse of the pig over him as he lay in the ditch and waited. Vargyr scented the kill and came before the pig’s blood had time to freeze. As the beast began to drag the pig’s corpse away, Berjotr sprang up and–in the time it takes for a man to draw a single breath–killed Vargyr, the Great Bear. The beast didn’t even have time to bellow in pain.
Thus Berjotr, son of Gilvi, decided that if he could not sing the songs of the skalds, he would instead give them songs to sing.
In his twelfth winter, already bigger and stronger than any of Hranulf’s warriors, Berjotr hunted and killed a pair of mated Thunderwyrms. The year after, he killed a snow spider that had built a nest too close to the settlement. Jarl Hranulf began to worry for his throne as Berjotr Skaldisson’s legend began to grow, so Hranulf sent the boy south with raiding parties for the next three years in the hopes he would not come back. Always Berjotr returned.
Unlike the others, Berjotr did not enjoy raiding. He felt always apart from his fellows and though he fought beside them, he called no man friend. He cared nothing for loot. He killed men easily enough, but his heart wasn’t in it. After three years of raiding, he decided he would go no more. He craved more of a challenge than plundering villages could provide, and besides, the longboats made him seasick.
The raiding party returned to Thord to find Hranulf’s mead hall destroyed, the Jarl dead, and most of the villagers gone; taken by trolls several weeks earlier. Berjotr followed the trolls’ trail into the mountains, entered their cave lair, rescued what remained of the villagers, and killed every male, female and young troll he found. Over several more years, he killed countless ogres, serpents, wolves, draugr, tree-men, cold ones, ice toads, and of course, men; for Berjotr Skaldisson’s legend had grown, and always there were those foolish enough to believe the legends untrue. There seemed to be nothing and no one Berjotr Skaldisson could not kill.
Berjotr was known throughout Thord by the time songs of his deeds finally reached the ears of the ice giant Brynnga, who flew to the settlement on his great frost dragon, Orl. From high above the mead hall, the enraged Brynnga bellowed his challenge to Berjotr Skaldisson: meet him in battle or he would lay waste to the hall and slay all the people within. So, Berjotr took up his greataxe once again and strode out to meet the giant, wearing the skin of Vargyr, the Great Bear he killed in the Winter of Despair.
Striding fearlessly into the plumes of Orl’s icy breath, Berjotr killed the dragon. Then, one arm frozen to his side and half his face burned black with frostbite, he killed the giant.
The people of Thord wanted Berjotr to be Jarl, but Berjotr had no interest in sitting in a mead hall while his warriors brought him treasure. Likewise he had no interest settling down and taking a wife. Although he swore he was finished with raiding, he did embark on a longboat once again, this time for lands unknown; for by the age of twenty-one, Berjotr Skaldisson had killed everything he could kill in Thord, and the skalds were hoarse from singing the songs of his deeds. It was time for him to move on.
Berjotr Skaldisson is Reaper’s “Barbarian Axeman of Icingstead” (14620), from their Warlord line. While the backstory is different and the miniature no doubt looks nothing like what he imagines, this Character of the Month is based loosely on my friend’s character in our current D&D 5E game.