grassy gnoll posted:

Somebody in one of the other threads said something about new Skaven types coming out. Is that a thing, or can I remain true to Never Giving GW Money?

Preem Palver posted:

Don't play AoS, but saw some of the new box set models that were very subtly set on the painting table at the local GW to drum up interest for preorders. There was a dope-rear end ghost riding a skeleton horse with amazing detail on the model, like a thin cloak (or flayed skin?) lying over the horse's ribcage, drooping between the individual ribs while the ribs themselves were still fully detailed and visible from the other side of the model.

Black_Nexus posted:

The Cogs and the Prismatic Palisade are my two favorites.

The Palisade blocks LOS and the Cogs make you move and charge further

MonsterEnvy posted:

To be exact on what people are saying. He is dead, but his Iron Heart endures. And as a cyclical being he can come back to life if his worship gains enough traction. The issue is that the Holder of his Heart Morathi is tricking his followers and stealing the power his worship gives for himself. And while she is leeching it, he can't come back. Also the thing about finding his other shards is just bullshit that Morathi made up as I recall they don't exist.

LordAba posted:

Saw them in person at the store today. That starter set is pretty neat! The ghost are smaller than I thought they would, for some strange reason.

LordAba posted:

Excuse me sir, I play Daughters of Khaine for the snake boobs.

MonsterEnvy posted:

They don't really need a Battletome. Something like Legion of Shadows would work better in my opinion.

LordAba posted:

I'm surprised Tzeentch and Nurgle don't try ganging up on the ghosts. I know they hate each other, but I would assume they would hate an unchanging realm of the dead even more.

LordAba posted:

Interesting. I would think they split them up a bit. Khorne and Slaanesh in the SHADOW REALM (cause slaanesh, and that the daughters are hogging all the blood). Nurgle and Tzeetch in the dead realm (cause dead are boring). Mortal enemies forced to work together!

Khorne posted:

Up stretched the throne of skulls, up and up again, an impossible mountain of heads claimed in the Blood God’s name. At its peak, far beyond such notions as sanity and cosmic law, was a monolithic and ornate throne of brass, and atop this structure sat the being that men call Khorne. He brooded, his loathing so intense it crackled around him to blacken the air.

There was sorcery on the wind. He could smell its foul stench over the familiar scents of boiling blood, scorched bone and red-hot metal. Sorcery – the last refuge of cowards, cheats and weaklings. Khorne’s cavernous nostrils flared once more in his bloodstained snout. Yes, the stink was becoming stronger. Khorne bit into his own claw, a fang like an iceberg drawing divine blood. He rubbed the liquid between his calloused fingers with a sound like a distant earthquake, and drank in the scent once more. His mind was filled with pleasing visions of skulls, more numerous than ever before, stretching far out into the distance. Skulls twice-reaped, thrice even – all buried, exhumed and claimed again in his name.

But no blood.

In this vision, even the brackish, clotted blood of the risen corpse dried out and turned to dust. Endless ranks of skeletal forms marched, some headless, some armoured, some monstrous, yet all acting in perfect synchronicity as they fought one another with clockwork, emotionless movements. There was no fury here, no righteous anger. None of the red vital fluid that flowed in rivers to please him, to invigorate him, to allay his unquenchable thirst. Only magic. Khorne snarled, taking up a vast brazen skull from the foot of his throne and crushing it into a billion splinters with his fist before hurling them out into reality, where they would lodge into the minds of mortals and ensure this vision would not come to pass. There would be a great deal of blood spilt every day in his name. Oceans of it.

Tzeentch posted:

The Great Architect’s fractal mind span and whirled as his countless consciousnesses warred, riddled, made pacts with and betrayed each other. Like some cosmic kaleidoscope it refracted reality over and over as it contorted and folded in mind-boggling profusion. Along the crystal strands of thought the many minds roamed, ensuring victory here, undermining themselves there. Tzeentch’s needling mind-fingers plucked at the skeins like the legs of a demented arachnid, expertly changing the state of a thousand realities with every passing second.

It happened slowly at first, but unmistakeably. Though some of those threads sung with fresh arcane possibilities under his multitudinous gaze, many of the strands that made up the tapestry of the future had become brittle. Some broke even as he observed them, and turned to dust. Unchanging and inert.
Almost all of Tzeentch’s minds felt a backlash of intense antipathy at the sight. They led to a future, vast and growing ever more so, that consisted of order, predictability and stasis. That appalling dystopia was far off, and yet undeniable in its potential. A great will was driving parts of the tapestry towards it, strand by dusty strand.

Keening in a hundred thousand mortal languages at once, Tzeentch reached out the needle talons of his mind and set to work.

Nurgle posted:

Nurgle hummed softly to himself in the basement of his manse, stirring his cauldron with a ladle that could hold seven seas at once. He breathed in deeply, blighted lungs flapping within his long-rotten chest, and sighed in contentment. The bouquet of stenches rising from within was so strong it would kill a godbeast. But then…Brows like mountain ranges furrowed, their hillock pimples squirting pus into the multicoloured broth below. Something was just not right. The Plague God raised the ladle to his ravaged, rubbery lips, and stuck the tip of his long black tongue in the liquid. So very, wonderfully foul. Yet true enough, there was something wrong with it. The bland taste of ashes filled his mouth. Ashes and lifeless dust.

Below, the cauldron’s broth began to turn grey, the steam rising from it thinning as it grew cold and congealed. Nurgle began to feel something akin to revulsion as he saw his cauldron’s surface as a landscape of dunes. Skeletal corpses marched across them in long columns. They were not properly alive, nor fertile ground enough to host smaller forms of life. Indeed, they boasted nary a maggot between them. Through the magic of another, they had been cut from the glorious cycle of life and death, claimed by a force of horrible stasis that had no respect for entropy, nor true rebirth.

The edge of the cauldron, fashioned in the guise of a snake consuming its own tail, started to shudder and writhe. The serpent choked, coughing up its cannibal’s feast, and the cauldron began to spill Nurgle’s concoction all over the floor of his mansion. Panicking, the Plaguefather put his vast, flabby hands on the edge of the cauldron, flesh sizzling as he tried to scoop the burning-hot liquid back in place. Pushing his mountainous gut against the rim, eyes stinging with disbelief and confusion, he managed to stuff the cauldron-snake’s tail back in its maw, and seal the rim back together with a great gobbet of his own sputum. He stood back, gasping after his sudden and unexpected exertions. Soon his anguish turned to fury – the fury of a patriarch who sees his dynasty threatened by something that would take his children away forever.

‘No,’ said Grandfather Nurgle, the word booming across the cosmos to unsettle stomachs and trouble bowels in every realm. Outside, in the garden, threatening storm clouds gathered.

Slaanesh posted:

Slaanesh gave a moan like the music of the spheres, caught somewhere between crippling agony and blinding ecstasy as the tiniest wisp of energy was drawn from within his essence. At the height of the spasming torture, at the zenith of sensation, he saw a flash of potential futures. A realm of dust, of bone, of lifeless nations remade and re-ordered to please one single soul. That ancient spirit was steeped in excess. Slaanesh could feel its need, its megalomania, drawn towards obsessions that it could never escape. Something like a smile tugged at Slaanesh’s chain-pierced lips, but it soon faded. Where were the bacchanals in his name? Where were the pleasures of the flesh? The manic dancing, the false joy, the frenzied, desperate hunger? What victory could be called complete without riotous, extravagant celebration? To have reality brought in thrall to one singular, overwhelming desire was not enough. It would…Slaanesh could barely bring himself to conceive of the horror, thrashing in mad, bellowing panic against his penumbral chains.

It would be… dull.

The Horned Rate posted:

The Great Horned Rat crawled between the hidden places of the void, his thirteen sky-scratching whiskers twitching as he stared down at the teeming multitudes of Blight City. Their endeavours were pleasing to him, as they had always been. So many, now, it was hard for even him to keep track. Let the Four take the brunt of the God-King’s resurgence. The myriad swarm would continue to grow more powerful in the corners of each realm, burrowing through time and space to make ready for the great upheaval even as his fellow Dark Gods and the Pantheon of Order expended their strength. When the time was right, he would turn the Mortal Realms to blighted wastelands fit only for glorious vermin, thereby rising through the Chaos pantheon to make the other Dark Gods kneel before him. It was a solid plan, and the Great Horned Rat was in no mind to change it.

His whiskers twitched again, sending rippling auroras of green-black energy cascading across the skies of the Mortal Realms. There was something coming; its rippling in the smog-ridden miasma of Blight City was unmistakeable. It was the touch of death – or rather undeath – laced through with the arid tang of the desert tomb. Something that sought to contend for the same power he himself would rightfully claim.

A rival.

The Great Horned Rat curled his lip, the glow of warpfire and infernal industry glinting from colossal chisel-like teeth that could sever realities. No rival would take his place on the ladder. No would-be godling would disrupt his ascension. He was the lord of pestilence, of vermin and of endless, starving wastelands, and he had already suffered the sneers of the Four for far too long.

If the cosmos was to turn to utter ruin, it would be him and him alone that would ensure it.

GreenMarine posted:

Horned Rat is more a chaos god of deception and cunning than disease, so I don't really see him competing with the other gods.

SteelMentor posted:

Ruin is the best way to put it imo. Ruin from pestilence, from mutation, from industry, from treachery.

SteelMentor posted:

Call it Entropy then, as Nurgle wants to regrow from the ruin, while Ol' Horny just wants everything to wither away so he can piss on the remains.

Beerdeer posted:

What happens to good souls? Mildly evil ones go to become the Nighthaunt line troops, chaos worshippers go to their gods, Sigmar recycles, but what about Joe Empire who just tries to make it through the day and maybe goes to temple twice a year?

The Deleter posted:

I can''t believe the Skaven saved the day. Maybe. It's hard to tell through the massive boner for Nagash the writers are slapping everywhere.

Floppychop posted:

I hope Nagash's battletome is a good sign as a precedent for a skaven battletome.

A general skaven alliance, then alliances for each clan.

Lord_Hambrose posted:

Shout out the the Chaos Dwarf Fortress in the Death Dimension. I am really surprised how much I am liking the lore now they are bothering to actually have a setting.

The Deleter posted:

New starter sets to replace the old stuff. We have;

• a new getting started magazine with a unique Knight Incantor, which seems like a real easy way to get a wizard into a Stormcast army.
  
• Storm Strike, replacing the Storm of Sigmar mini-set with a collection of the push-fit models and a gaming mat. Available for £25, so probably around $35.
  
• Tempest of Souls replaces Thunder and Blood and is about the same setup (all models minus some stuff) and price.
  

On top of that, the old Age of Sigmar 1st Edition box set is being split into two new Start Collecting sets. Not sure if these replace the old ones - I hope not as no special weapons is a real killer - but it's a way of getting a Korgorath or a Lord-Relictor still.

Hencoe posted:

What are some good alternate models to Chaos Chosen? Them being all finecast kinda kills it for me.

Thundercloud posted:

He already lost the case and is back to selling recasts on ebay while pretending to be a woman.

He's American levels of crazy.

The Deleter posted:

That's boring as gently caress, though.

LordAba posted:

I always thought that they beastmen were some of the best plastics they've made in the old edition. Though I know the bullgors weren't loved by all.

Cooked Auto posted:

Safety Factor posted: