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Rank & File Tjublings (15mm) Out Now! 
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Black Guard

Joined: Mon Nov 03, 2014 8:23 am
Posts: 270
The tall host of Zhurem-Zhalkazinulbar marched out with heavy steps, hate and greed writ upon their bearded faces and devotional mysticism evident in their dark voices as they sang their hymns and dirges and recited their mantras and mouthed their fervent prayers.

The omens had been good, and due sacrifice in blood had been offered up to the altar fires. The fickle gods were now all on their side, and this true knowledge made every man beam with haughty pride and cruel confidence. Their demeanour was that of conquerors, and they wore their hammers and axes, their shields and blunderbusses, as a race of born rulers. All did so, except for the shamed warriors of the death's mask. Pariahs and shunned outcasts, they were nought but slaves, and they made for a grim appearance on the battlefield as the great army deployed in deep formations.

On the other side stood the enemy, all filthy, lowly and inferior, a tribe of savages to be trampled underfoot. The warriors of the tall host knew this, for they relished in the slaughter to come.

And they raised their battlecry, with a roar alike thunder on high:

“Hat or die!”


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These 15mm models are out now! Order your Tjublings here: Also on Etsy and on Blogspot. Priced upon release at €2,5 per each kit of 4 Tjublings (or 3 command models), they are also available in a Maniple bundle of 20 rank and file plus 3 command models for €13. Sculpted by Tobias Torstensson (tjub) and spincast in metal by Hysterical Games. Sold unpainted and unassembled.

Remember that miniatures in smaller scales than 28mm are perfect material for adorning your luxurious monumental architecture.

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The Red Host of Nir-Kezhar. Miscellaneous Commercial Sculpts. Flayman Tutorial


Thu Nov 02, 2017 11:18 am
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Black Guard

Joined: Mon Nov 03, 2014 8:23 am
Posts: 270
"O great Overlord, the enemy host still defy our hats."

"Then kill it with fire!"


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These 15mm models are out now! Order your Tjublings here: Also on Etsy and on Blogspot. Fiery rank and file reinforcements have arrived to bolster the Tjubling forces with a hard core of elite regiments. Priced upon release at €2,5 per each kit of 4 Tjublings (or 2 command models), they are also available in a Maniple bundle of 20 rank and file plus 2 command models for €1,3. Likewise, Skull Mask Command (3 models) is out now for the rank and file, and is available as part of the usual Maniple deal. A couple of new Blunderbuss variants are also out. And last but not least, we're happy to present a flamethrower team for €2,8!

Sculpted by Tobias Torstensson (tjub) and spincast in metal by Hysterical Games. Sold unpainted and unassembled.

Remember that miniatures in smaller scales than 28mm are perfect material for adorning your luxurious monumental architecture.

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_________________
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The Red Host of Nir-Kezhar. Miscellaneous Commercial Sculpts. Flayman Tutorial


Thu Mar 29, 2018 6:16 pm
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Black Guard

Joined: Mon Nov 03, 2014 8:23 am
Posts: 270
The winds howled and whipped ashen clouds before them. Vultures flocked in the sky as the Third Great Army of Tjubba-Tjur deployed on a ridge to meet the onslaught of barbarian Orcs and Goblins. Such frothing maniacs and ravening hordes! That description was equally true for both sides in this conflict.

The leaders of Tjubba-Tjur watched haughtily as their infantry maniples deployed, shieldwalls and deadly blunderbusses promising steadfast resistance and shredding death to all comers. Their standard bearers and musicians signalled in ways too sophisticated for the dumb enemy brutes to fathom, and now yet deadlier forces marched up to take up position on the flanks.

Some of the youngest, yet most ambitious Tjubling leaders serving in the Temple Stud of the great city would take command of the combined arms at the flanks: Packs of whipped warhounds to halt foes and bog them down in a sea of fangs. Mobile Thunderhammer medium rocketry to blast apart enemy ranks and rattle their wits with the shriek of rockets whirling about, howling death. And the small but imposing squadrons of Tjubbutaurs, pride of the Temple Stud, fathers of thousands and bane of nations. For the Tjubbutaurs possessed power unrivalled in the eyes of devout Tjublings. Sacred creatures, they were. Their stampeding charge and ferocious swinging of great weapons would crush all under their cloven hooves.

Bazarku, ancient Great One and most revered of Tjubbutaurs, snorted and galloped to the fore of the right flank force. He trotted before his multitude of progeny, all strong and blessed by the Bull God, and silenced the yapping of the hounds with a voice thundering from out of the pits of hell:

"Today we crush bones! Today we maim bodies! Today we bring all the foes you see before us to the pyres as screaming offerings to Tjubshut! Slay! Let not a single craven escape our fuming wrath! Make them fall like the hat of Kebaznutjubbuk! Rrrraaaagh!"

At this signal, the packmasters unleashed their dogs. The rocketeers opened fire. And Bazarku the Lord of Skulls charged ahead of his numerous offspring, rapidly clearing the distance between himself and the enemy hordes with a drawn-out bellowing roar which seemed to rise from the depths of the earth and shake the heart of everyone who heard it.

He struck the enemy line alone, and all hell broke loose.


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These miniatures are out now! Order your Tjublings here: Also on Etsy. Sculpted by Tobias Torstensson (tjub) and spincast in whitemetal by Hysterical Games. Sold unpainted and unassembled.


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The Red Host of Nir-Kezhar. Miscellaneous Commercial Sculpts. Flayman Tutorial


Fri Sep 28, 2018 9:23 am
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Black Guard

Joined: Mon Nov 03, 2014 8:23 am
Posts: 270
There is much, oh so much that the lesser races fear in this world.

They fear loss.

They fear death.

They fear pain.

They fear deprivation.

They fear tyranny.

They fear hell.

This is well, oh so well, for it allows us to forge all these fears into one potent symbol and strike it searing forever into the hearts of mortals.

For they will know true fear at last.

Fear of the big hat!


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These 15mm conversion bits are out now! Order your big hats on Etsy. Sculpted by Tobias Torstensson (tjub) and spincast in whitemetal by Hysterical Games. Sold unpainted and unassembled.

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The Red Host of Nir-Kezhar. Miscellaneous Commercial Sculpts. Flayman Tutorial


Sun Nov 04, 2018 10:26 pm
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Black Guard

Joined: Mon Nov 03, 2014 8:23 am
Posts: 270
Far away and yonder east, a wind lashed the foothills of titanic mountains. The wind came whistling through sparse trees, rustling bushes and swaying grass. It was a northerly wind, frigid by the touch of cruel spirits in the distant lands of frozen earth. The wind struck out across ridges and whipped down in the shallow valleys between foothills. It was a cold wind that had howled among reindeer and enigmatic Elves clad in fur and skins, whirling up snow as the sky children danced high above in the north heavens. The wind now hurled itself against the towering mountainside, clawing and reaching for purchase, yet the steep walls defied it.

The wind tugged at the horned felt cap of Dun-Khan, Lord of the Storm, as he and his picked Tjubgob warband lay low behind the crests of two foothills, awaiting the signal to strike from their scouts. On the other side of the hills marched a gathering of sturdy Humans from the mountain realm of Zhiptyak. The Tjubgob interlopers had been bold indeed to ride, wander and sneak this far east, to the very toes of the mountains. This close to that soaring range, they were deep inside enemy territory, for the Zhiptyak were warlike and had their own designs on the trade routes and walled settlements on the eastern steppe. iIn other words, the Humans had scarce reason for caution as they marched straight into an ambush.

The cue to attack came in the form of skillfully faked birdsong, mimicking the calls of the honeylark, and warlord Dun-Khan stood up on one knee, beckoning to his fickle shaman ally with the bloodthirsty mace, Stormbringer.

"Smoke 'em out! Fulfill your end of the deal, and you will have their raw thumb-muscles for stew, just as we agreed upon. Get on it!" Dun-Khan spat to the gnarled Volsnik Smokebreath, maverick shaman and erratic madman.

Volsnik did not reply. Instead the shunned Tjubgob tie loose the string of a pouch tied to his hooked staff, and breathed in its powdered content in slow, deep gulps. These inhalations grew faster and frantic, as the shaman worked himself into a trance. Eventually, Volsnik Smokebreath turned from the open pouch and produced a squirming mountain vole from inside his tunic. Dun-Khan wondered to himself how the old crazybag had managed to snuck the rodent inside his garb without it escaping, and much less endured its panicked scratching on his skin.

The stinking mouth and running eyes of Volsnik were wide open as the shaman tilted his head backward and drew a deep breath. Then he bit the mountain vole in half, blood and guts hanging down his lower lip. After a disconcerting moment of dumb staring and drool dripping from his mouth, Volsnik hiccuped, then belched. Smokebreath proved true to his name, as thick, dark smoke billowed forth from his wide-open maw. It was an endless stream of smoke, pouring forth in great, dark clouds. The wind carried it quickly over the crest of the foothill, down into the little valley below.

"We strike. Leave none alive!" Dun-Khan roared, swinging Stormbringer. His hornblower stood up and let out a long bellow. Every single Tjubgob behind the two hills sprang into action, screaming a shrill warcry. Archers rushed forth, nocking arrows to recurved composite bows, and let loose, then drew arrows again. Spearmen and Tjubgobs armed with scimitars charged down the sides of the hills, right into the flanks of the surprised Zhiptyak Humans, while backstabbers ran hunched-over, taking a longer route in order to catch the Zhiptyak in the rear.

Blades flashed and banners waved as gleeful Tjubgobs charged downhill, their green faces split by sadistic grins. Volleys of arrows struck against the Human warriors, who were all stunned for the moment. And all around, the smoke spread and thickened, shrouding the ambushers.

Dun-Khan ran along and made sure to stay a little back from his underlings, to not risk himself at first impact. That was what lessers were for, after all. Filthy fodder for spears, yet nevertheless useful fodder who would feed his own soaring star. The warlord cackled like a possessed maniac and rushed into the combat, droplets of blood filling the air as he heaved with Stormbringer again and again, lightning crackling from his weapon. He revelled in the killing and maiming.

Everything smelled of blood, smoke and terror.

The true slaughter began.

And the wind swallowed the shrieks.


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15mm Tjubgob infantry out now! Sculpted by Tobias "Tjub" Torstensson.

Size comparison:

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The Red Host of Nir-Kezhar. Miscellaneous Commercial Sculpts. Flayman Tutorial


Mon Mar 16, 2020 12:55 pm
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Black Guard

Joined: Mon Nov 03, 2014 8:23 am
Posts: 270
A cacophony of sound rolled across the ashen plains and the rocky hills. Guffaws and shouting was heard across a landscape studded with stacked brickwork ruins; where centuries upon centuries worth of habitation had formed layers of foundations and rubble from destruction, built over again and again until settlement eventually ceased and the exposed outer bricks eroded to dust. The loss of ancient towns were of no matter, for the dwellers of cities ever founded new urban homes and outlying villages in good times.

A din of rowdy crowds and thundering hooves rolled across the dreary rivulets and tar lakes. Frantic screaming from many tusked mouths was heard over the branching irrigation canals and swaying fields of barley and rye; all property of the estates of the Temple-Stables of Tjubba-Tjur. Long ago these lands had been covered with lush wheat fields that produced bushels of golden grain to feed uncounted legions, yet the soil had turned white and grown a salty crust in places, and starvation had ravaged the people. The loss of ancient wheat produce was of no matter, for the tillers of the earth ever switched crops when fertility faltered, and barley could stand the salt well enough.

A throaty noise of drunken communal singing rolled across the groves of date palms and reedy marshes. Bacchanalic hymns were heard among the clusters of hardy greenery; all as much a part of the Temple-Stables' harvest dues as were the barley of the fields and bitumen of the lakes. Reeds were cut with sickles of metal or burnt clay, and bound into huts and mats and boats and siege shields. You could live on the sweet dates alone, although you would outlive your teeth in the attempt. Many years saw the palms cut down by ravaging enemies from rival cities or savage tribes. The loss of date groves were of no matter, for the trees would spring up from hidden roots again and again.

In fact, few worldly troubles mattered at all during the tri-annual Feast of the Rampaging Bull, when the proud Tjublings of Tjubba-Tjur celebrated the virility and raw power of their sacred animal. Theirs was a city given over to the stabling and worship of bulls of all kinds. Theirs was a city dedicated to exalt, feed and serve these noble bovines, whether they were but mere beasts, mystic Tjubbutaurs or winged creatures of terrible mythic ancestry. Theirs was a city obsessed with the muscled body and cloven hooves of such strong beings, and the thundering hosts of Tjubba-Tjur sported the finest heavy cavalry and chariotry in all the lands between the mountains.

Vast herds of branded she-cattle grazed the ashen plains, stirred into running or lowing as groups of snorting bulls rushed past. Bulls gored each other, rammed heads and rumbled with dark voices. Bulls fought, rampaged through rickety fences and mounted cows in a frenzy, all the while cheered on by tens of thousands of intoxicated Tjublings from Tjubba-Tjur. It was a grand celebration of the might of all bull-kin, and the thick beer of many tankards were tipped out on the ground when the people witnessed firsthand the bouts of headbutting and rutting of the sacred Tjubbutaurs. Half-Bull, Half-Tjubling they were, and they were revered and tended to as the offspring of the gods by all righteous folk across all the lands between the mountains.

The drunken feast saw obscene amounts of strong brews swilled by thirsty Tjublings and Tjubbutaurs alike, and hundreds of Tjublings had already passed out across the fields on this, the second day of the festival. They were left lying where they fell, for it was up to the gods on high to decide whether fainted folk were to be left untouched by bovines, or crushed underhoof by the cavorting herds. No Tjubbutaur had yet passed out drunk, of course. They were made of sturdier stock, and no one had ever heard of a Tjubbutaur blacking out before the fourth day.

A traditional sideshow of alchemical and sorcerous showmanship took place a rather safe distance away from the main din and press. As per the ancient pact, Tjubgobs of the Crooked Knife tribe attended the Feast of the Rampaging Bull off to the side. The Crooked Knife had long been a favoured Tjubgob ally of Tjubba-Tjur, for they patrolled those parts of the vast Smoglands which bordered on the great city, fending off raiders and alerting the Tjubling overlords to signs of danger. As such thousands of Crooked Knife Tjubgobs had amassed in a tent-strewn camp, and were swilling far less potent brews than their allies did. Intoxication and lunacy would instead be achieved by powdered roots, herbs and mushrooms mixed into the drinks.

The Tjubgob sideshow consisted of a contest with a score picked young sorcerors and alchemists from Tjubba-Tjur, and the shamans of the tribe sported with the magicians of the city in the arts of spirit conjuration and illusions. The eldest member of the picked sorcerors rose into thin air, borne aloft on a smoke cloud, while a haggard old Tjubgob witch breathed out Storm Demons of roiling shadow and flinging fists.

The displays of trickery and magic drew a large crowd of Tjubgobs and Tjublings alike, and the number of passed-out feast attendees was particularly high among the spectators. Stinking vomit littered the grass, and parasitic Snotgobs darted in and out among the rowdy crowds, grabbing at any leftovers and spilled gut contets for a chance at filthy nourishment. If they got too close and got noticed, then these annoying mites found themselves chased off by those sober or bothered enough to make an effort. Occassionally bands of sadistic Tjubgob younglings would hound swarms of Snotgobs far away from the festivities, into a hillside of broken statues infested with a mother and litter of predatory Grubbs. There, the leering Tjubgob children would throw stones and scare the dumber Snotgobs into fleeing among the broken statuary, scrabbling uphill in panic before being gulped down whole by hungry Grubbs.

And so all found merriment and joy during the Feast of the Rampaging Bull, from the highest priests to the lowliest of bastards, and all the people still conscious rejoiced in the displays of muscular energy, cruelty and lifegiving which took place all around them.

And thus all was well among the people of Tjubba-Tjur, the red-blooded City of the Bull.


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New 15mm miniatures are out now! Sculpted by Tobias "Tjub" Torstensson.

Size comparisons:

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_________________
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The Red Host of Nir-Kezhar. Miscellaneous Commercial Sculpts. Flayman Tutorial


Thu Apr 09, 2020 4:28 am
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