Grimm.

Alrighty WarriorFish! Good start, good luck.

OH MY EYES!! What is seen cannot be unseen.

I must say that the longevity of this thread gives me great joy every time it floats back to the top.

SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!!! GNNRRRGHHH.....

Flint, that Aldanath fella sounds like he'd fit in a grim dark jackass sequel. .. Edit: Flint those guys look the business.

We should organise a big meet at Nottingham. A real world meet up would be cool.

Forte, man, your creations have been an inspiration. I thank you for blazing the trail.

Quote: "@ plague of sedition: Welcome to the slaughter! I've said it before and I've said it again: That is a seriously sweet looking Khornate warlord! As for being the true heir to Angron's broken crown, though: You wish Anyway, here's your badge, mate: " @ Krau Sci: Oh but I am but a lowly scribe, Lord Styrian has me at pain of death to declare his stance. (even admitting this is treading upon dangerous ground!) @Augustus: I wish I could help but I am yet to get an airbrush, truth told I wouldn't know how to use one. I still use glazes and washes and even still drybrushing..

"I am Styrian Blood Hand, I need no story told to display my right to honour Khorne with all of your worthless skulls! When this day has done and the skies have bled dry and your mouths are filled to the brim, I will liberate your heads from your bodies! So fight well but know you this; you will die!!" May I, Plague of Sedition, humbly present my lord and master; Styrian Bloodhand, Devourer of worlds and rightful heir to the broken crown of Angron: Information about Styrian is hard to come by as those who get close enough to find anything out usually end up with their head flying from their shoulders.. Suffice to say what information has been ascertained is that he leads a mean bunch of blood thirsty mongrels known as "The Blood Reavers", a warband scraped together to honour Khorne with as many skulls as they can get. KILL! MAIM! BURN! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!

“Slyvain slowly turned, surveying the scene. He wanted to drink it all in, revel in the sights and sounds, take his time to relish the abasement of flesh his brothers were rejoicing in. The offerings this day were sufficient to satiate the demands of Slaanesh, momentarily. Though, these days the momentum of war had built up a pace that threatened to consume them all. Powerful combat stimulants coursing through their veins pushed the brotherhood of the Aggressive Perfectors to ever greater levels of excess. No longer was it enough to kill, the kill had to be executed with the graceful precision of a dancer. The art of execution, the pinnacle of achievement with the blade was what every brother aspired to. Slyvain had worked tirelessly to hone his precision and all the while bring the kiss of Slaanesh to the unbelievers at the edge of his blade. This craft, his masterpiece was still a work in progress; it had taken more than what most mortals would consider a lifetime. Though, to Slyvain it was almost a blink of an eye, fuelled as it was by centuries of debauchery, drugs, excess. A never ending party of Hell flayed abomination. This was a party that had been going on since before the siege on Terra. Ah the siege, glorious times, bringing the fury of rejected sons home to roost. He would well remember the battle, the torments visited upon Terra. As a member of Fulgrim’s host he too had taken part in the beat of Terra when the siege upon the Emperor’s palace had become nothing more than a boring task to be accomplished. Fulgrim’s decision to lead his children on an orgiastic rampage across Terra had not been something that pleased Horus, focused as he was on the palace. That mattered not for the children had grown bored. Boredom, what a disease that was; no sensation ever seemed enough anymore, except when embroiled in the midst of killing or otherwise taking foes apart. Slyvain needed more, his brothers needed more, just more. Enough was never enough. The highest and lowest notes the most extreme pain and pleasure. This Symphony was but a note away from perfection and it would always be so.” May I introduce Slyvain the Perfect, The Skin Flenser, Prince of Debasement, Ravager of the Eastern Fringe. Slyvain was once an Apothecary in the service of the III legion. He watched Fabius carefully and knew he could do better. He just knew it. After the legion embraced Slaanesh this once ignored apothecary decided to carve a name for himself in the flesh of the Imperium. As his campaign of ravishment built to its crescendo his latent psychic ability began to make itself apparent. As if each perfect kill he made tuned him closer in to the warp energy of Slaanesh. As if every ship and world that felt the kiss of She Who Thirsts added its dying aura to the power of the psyker he was becoming. Slyvain, as a psyker and in conjunction with his skills honed in the apothecarion, has begun to gather a force around him. And when his followers have been; let us say, less than willing, he has “worked” on them. Slyvain and his Nameless abominations; counts as Mutilators: Slyvain's Flesh crafting rendered in Brutal clarity: Slyvain's lieutenant; Ar'vax the Vain: With this post I brazenly claim the right of heir to the glory of III legion with the warband of The Aggressive Perfectors. PoS

Drunken fist fights with the lights off... sounds like after hours at my old local down the country. .. And yes I'm also from Ireland. . But a quarter Dutch...