The common-folk have many names for this wandering slayer of the Wytch-kind... And many have stories they spin, beside the firelight, on the darkest nights...
“Yon is nay Sigmarite... But a follower of older Gods yet. Nay not the Dark Ones mind, but v'ry old...
Doth thou see those Ta'alismans he bears? I has't knowledge of these. The argent stag upon his shoulder marks him foremost 'mongst hunters. The Wint'r Wolf about his neck, makes claim of one who is't oathsworn to take the path of war and vengeance.
Howbeit that cannot be possible... The folk who once hath followed those ways art long since passed. Mine own grandfather's father told me these tales when I was but a childe... ”
- Godwynne Vaulk, Sigmarite Priest
“Aye I hath seen that one once before upon mine own travels. And yond wast a dark occurrence I refuse to repeat aloud. But thee can take from me, if 't be true that man be here; th're art bound to be the dark'st of beasts, wyches and oth'r unnatural things abroad...
I bethink I shalt be staying in this town awhile afore I brave the roads again. ”
- Philius Chapmanne, Travelling merchant/trader
“He fights the Dark Ones f'r all living things thee know... And they f'r him in return... ”
“I wast gath'ring firewood whereupon I did lay eye upon him, fright'd me almighty that one didst! He paced as silent as an apparition, thee wouldn't reckon it if'n you saw his brawn! I afirst took his trade as ranger or trapper by the cloth and tools he bore. I almost return'd to mine own work wh'reupon I did see something strange...
Upon his heel, walking in step, all mann'r of woodland creature, large and small, predator and prey. More gath'r'd and hath fallen in as yond gent near'd the edge of the wood. I wast stricken by the sight! But I hadst to follow and pay witness...
Yond gent hath said not a w'rd leaving the cov'r of the trees to head ov'r the till'd earth toward mine own village. Yet the animals ceased beside the treeline wh're the lands of the wild end'd and did mark his progress across the land of men. They did hold vigil until he returned and hath passed through their throng. Again not a w'rd wast spoken as those creatures hath fallen in with him anon. And but soft disp'rs'd, the deep'r that man walked into the wood.
'T wasn't natural I bid thee!”
- Johan Forrester, woodsman
“Mine lord hadst bade us go into the heart of the forest to gath'r stout wood from the ancient trees yond hath grown th're. We dids't offend the f'rest, demons didst fall upon us in the form of terrible arboreal women, keening and wailing they slew many of our number, serfs and house guard all. The demons combated with cel'rity we couldst not match.
I has't nay pride in telling thee, we surviv'rs hadst clamb'r'd into a wagon to make valorous our escape, anon the demons ceased...
Pos'd upon a nearby mound we spied a hood'd figure, that gent did exchange an eye with what I took to be the leader of the demon kin. It issued forth a long shrillness and made haste to set upon the figure, but a bolt suddenly did sprout from its brow and toppl'd to the earth.
“Enough!” the figure did cry.
And as one the demons stalk'd back into the und'rgrowth looking ov'r their shoulder at him thus spiriting hence.
I made to speak thanks, alas the hood'd sir spake loud. “Begone, thee has't caused enough harm h're, nev'r return!”
We made haste in our leaving, forsaking our dead and hath not return'd t yond f'rest...”
- Robann Karlson, House Guard
“A time whence I wast a young girl, a t'rrible curse did befall mine own village. Animals and women, most w're barren, those yond b're issue gave birth to twist'd things yond couldst not be left to live. We knew in our hearts, 't wast Wyche w'rk, but afraid to give it voice.
One morn a wand'r'r arrived, hood'd and dark. That gent spake little of particular and left again. We bethought nothing of the travell'r but welcomed the coin he left. The next morn he return'd and carrying a grisly item, a head with the bloody stump of neck that he hadst parted with his axe!
He held the head high in the village square. By mine own heart 't wast old Mammy Carter who hath lived out by the edge of the wood for long years, but t'rrible the lady did look, twisted, black eyes and sharp teeth. Without a w'rd the strang'r hath left, taking his trophy. The Wytche Curse did lift... I am a grandmoth'r anon and we still honour that man to this day“
- Anya Vansen, Village elderwoman
“We w're dead to a one. The Beasts who walk as Men hadst invad'd our village and we w're hiding in the stone church. T'wouldn't be ere long bef're they broke down the doors and did lay their vile hands upon us.
Their brays of triumph a count'r note to the whimp'rs and wails of the women and children hiding 'mongst the pews. We did pray, those of us yond still hadst wit about us at any rate, to Sigmar, f'r his thund'rous warri'rs to fall from the heavens and deliv'r us...
The bleating and drumming at the door ceased with a loud thud and the splint'r of wood. We though t'was ov'r f'r us, cries raised outside. but the note hath changed... Alarm'd... The sounds came now distant from the church, we couldst not fathom what wast happening, the door t'was silent.
A few with heart 'mongst us brav'd to behold beyond the p'rtal, moving the barricade. We did cry out when we did see a beast at the door, but t'was still. A bolt through the back of the head did hold it fixed to the door. We peer'd outside into the village square wh're we couldst hear the clamour of battle.
We didst not see the gleam of gild'd armour, but one man hood'd. The ground litt'r'd with the beasts and we did witness him make such w'rk of the rest surrounding, cutting through them like saplings with his speeding axe, he did slay a score or more in only a few heartbeats... He didst not bethink it too many...
Thus the slaught'r wast done, he took the bite of his axe and slic'd the head from the ruined corpse of the Beast wytch-work'r... And hath left... Without a w'rd spake...
It took us a time to return to the church to announce we hadst been deliv'r'd... Joyous cries did ring out... But we yond did look upon said deliv'rence has't not the heart to say we bethought Sigmar hadst not sent it... ”
- Tobin Smitt, Village Militia
“Out in the deep woods thee may come across a cairn of skulls, each with a mark laid upon't... Be ye sure to leave a token of gratitude... ”
- Brannon, Hunter/Trapper
This is my entry into the awesome The Eclipse: an AoS28 Competition which was created by Bruticus over on the EX Profundis blog with people taking part on their various blogs, Facebook, Instagram and probably many other places...
Well I didn't start it until a couple of days before the deadline and it's a week later than that deadline now, even though we were given a few more days to finish I think I'm pushing it this late. I had a lot of trouble being able to get on with this due to my back injury, I even dropped him and broke him when I'd nearly completed him a couple of days ago and had to make some repairs. But even if it doesn't make the cut for entry, I like the character I made:
I really enjoyed this build and forced myself to push my painting to a more limited and weathered style than I normally do.
The narrative pieces were fun to do, I wrote them, used the Shakespearean English translator online and then edited them again with some more modern English to polish them off.
Well until next time, take care