The Zomb

Bug: ‘Why have we been away so long?’

Heinrich: ‘Sometimes life gets in the way’

Bug: ‘But we are dead’

Heinrich: ‘Yes, sometimes death gets in the way as well, for those of us that are dead…’

Bug: ‘It can be a disadvantage can’t it?’

Heinrich: ‘I wouldn’t know I’m a Soldier in The Kings Guard, hence the yellow pantaloons and being very much alive’

Bug: ‘Ahem…Well anyway – we are back now and I’ve heard rumours that we are going “Grimdark”‘

Heinrich: ‘I beg your pardon?’

Bug: ‘The god of undeath and the netherworld 3ldritchy decrees it. All must be sepia…I think its a quicker way of finishing zombies, if I’m honest. Not by any means a definitive life choice’

Heinrich: ‘I think it will make a soldier of The Kings Guard look like he has soiled his britches!’

Bug: ‘Well on that (brown) note, lets get 2024 on the way Heinrich’

Heinrich: ‘Yes, yes…lets hope we actually see battle this year!’

‘Ah, a gleaming paragon of a noble knight you are sir…’ cooed Heinrich.

‘Wish thee join my band of merry pilgrim crusaders?’ nothing.

‘I see – a vow of silence…how noble, how pure, your piety lifts the troops to the heavens themselves!!’

Tepes twirled his moustache in gauntleted fingers and frowned ‘Whose zombie is this?’ eyes never leaving Heinrich. No answer.

‘Which one of you shitromancers raised this bloody zombie?’

‘Shitromancers…nice one’ the nearest necromancer rolled his eyes.

‘That looks like one of Stevens’ the Shi…Necromancer said before nonchalantly wandering off.

Tepes cupped his fang filled maw ‘Steve!’ nothing…

‘Steve!’ still nothing…

‘Steeeeeeeven!!!’. Tepes scowled and cocked his head, as Steven risked a glance over from across the fen.

‘I see you notice me Steven! You need to teach your maggot puppets about personal space!’

‘Pardon Steven? “Tampin Tepes” – what does that even mean?’

‘Oh, real mature Steven, that’s highly insensitive!’

‘Shitromancer is a term of endearment, you c***!!’

‘Still endearment Steven…’

The carriage jolted unnaturally still outside the inn – The pair of horses drawing the carriage stamped their hooves, huffing and rumbling, inexplicably enraged. “Evenin squire, will your…eh…horses need stablin tonight?” the stable hand gasped and recoiled as a horse made a lunge for him.

The collar came down revealing a pallid white face, with the sharpest geometry the stable hand had ever seen, topped off with that deadly pout. There was an expectant pause… “STAY-BA-LIN?” stated the stable-hand a little louder.

The man’s pout unfurled “I am Count Broker of Transveria” the Count accompanied this declaration with a flurry of hand gestures, culminating in powerful pose, with his chest thrust out.

“Who?” exclaimed the stable hand.

The Counts shoulders slumped “I am famous in Transveria and beyond…” The Count sliced his hand through the air, pointing to the great beyond, across the mountains that circled the city – The stable hands eyes followed the gesture and the count noticed, that his new acquaintances face was disturbingly close his hand and going cross eyed.

“Don’t follow squire” the stable hand shrugged.

“Like a nobleman from these lands” sighed The Count

“oooooooh a nob – fancy” cooed the stable-hand.

“Why are you driving your own carriage then?” the stable hand announced, a little too loudly for the Counts taste.

If The Count could have blushed, he would have “As you say – Cutbacks” he sighed.

“Ah yes, the cost of wood has sky-trebucketed and I’m almost embarrassed to tell you the cost of our hay, since the Tsar’s war on the corrupt autocracies of his neighbouring kingdoms. It is amazing that a Warlord finds time out of his busy schedule of maiming, expansionism and being autocratic, to help free neighbouring kingdoms of their tyrannical rulers. Woe the age of the lumber wars”. The stable hand wiggled his stubby fingers as his arms flailed overhead.

“Yes.” the count looked slightly concerned, as he looked around.

“Why don’t you raise a grotesque, undead monstrosity or flesh golem if you will, to do your bidding and drive your coach?” silent tension lingered, as both men contemplated each other carefully…well one carefully, the other with a silly grin on his face like a content puppy.

“Ah ah ah” The Count bellowed, joined by the stable-hands facial cacophony…he probably found it too funny if anything. His face distorted, as he snorted loudly.

“Very good, very droll, if slightly culturally insensitive” murmured The Count

“But the undead are merely fairy tales, folk traditions handed down in Transveria” The count flapped his sanguine cloak and pouted HARD.

“Any who m’lord, welcome to The Cockathrice! As trice as a Cockatrice but three times the eh…speed… Wilf at your service m’lord”. Wilf curtsied.

“Ah ah ah, Wilf my good man, a room for the night”. The Count gestured wildly to the Inn, now a little happier that he was being addressed properly.

The Cockathrice was a wonky old thing, that is for sure, its timber frames sodden and rotting and there was a pungent smell of human secretions, which might have been a nice change from the smell of excrement in the city, but it wasn’t. The Count put a silky hand to his mouth in disgust “Lead the way my good man” he gagged

“Will m’lord be requiring any food for the horses and what of yourself?”

“Let’s just say I will make my own plans for dinner…ah ah ah and my horses have recently eaten in the local farm stead on the outskirts of the city”. The Counts eyes flashed.

“Oh, the Evans family are good friends m’lord, more like family really – you will never meet a stouter hearted, welcoming people, they are like a second family to me, I do not know what I would do without them, I would likely poke out my eyes, cover myself with jam and cartwheel through Ghoul quarters, screaming” the stable hands face contorted in jest.

“Did they offer you food?” Wilf enquired

“My horses ate…” The count had suddenly become very intrigued with the cobblestone pathing, as he kicked it gently with his velvet boot.

“I’ll give them your best, when I visit them tomorrow” smiled Wilf

“Ah yes – yes please do…ahem” The Count made for the inn door.

“I’ll leave you be m’lord, enjoy your stay at the Cockathrice – oh and the Monster Hunters Guild is in tonight, they are a lovely bunch…bit rowdy mind”.

The count looked at the door, he could hear the ruckus of laughter within. He contemplated Wilf’s words. “Monster Hunters Guild” he whispered.

See Gustovsson, our ranks swell like some vast horde of holy justice….To Pisleton!!

‘Well Gustovson, what a journey!’ Heinrich looked to the horizon wobbling on a patch of moist grass.

Gustovson didn’t even twitch his nose, he hadn’t been himself recently. ‘Look you sausage – you will have to speak to me at some point’ pleaded Heinrich, who was as eager as ever to dance, prance and sing high cockalorum with his rogue companion.

‘Is it because I nibbled you a bit?’ Heinrich said exasperated at the situation.

‘That’s unreasonable Gustovson, we have been over this and its not my fault you ate your mischief (family) either, that was all on you bucko!’

‘Don’t walk away from me young man!’. Gustovson shambled into some nearby reeds.

Heinrich sighed ‘I cant stay mad at you Gustovson’.

The smell of sulphur scolded her nostrils and she convulsed, as she was consumed by the malevolent, red eyed rats. These rats were like their city dwelling brethren in every way, but more voracious and partial to warm, dying flesh.

Sir Heinrich of Twislton, happened upon the scene of carnage – observed, and nodded in appreciation. “Well met my friends, well met indeed – who amongst you leads this band of merry companions?”.

The rats stopped dead, eyes darting about the interloper, deciding whether to run away into the myriad of tunnels beneath or swarm over him in a whirlwind of incisors.

“Who shall I parlay with?” Heinrich pressed.

There was a flourish amongst the mass of rats, as they synchronised a wave of miniature rat arms, before falling, bowed to the soggy ground. Some rats jigged and spun, some leapt with intricate footwork, as the performance reached its climax.

“It is I – Gustovson, who leads this party”.

Stood before him was a portly rat, on his hind legs, hands on hips, looking thoughtfully into the middle distance. Chin high, chest puffed in triumph.

“A pleasure to meet your acquaintance good and brave sir!” Heinrich bowed low.

“I make my way to the kingdom of Swivlton, drawing a mercenary army to me, on behalf of my liege, King Chicken Caesar II. We shall then march upon the evil powers of the dark swamp…will you join me in my quest?” Heinrich offered his hand.

Gustovson, was visually moved by this – eyes glazed and sparkling like pools of stagnant water.

“We will follow you in your quest brave knight and die by your side if we must” Heinrich welled with emotion, as Gustovson grasped his hand and pulled him close in a warriors embrace.

Gustovson turned to his troops “we march for Chicken Caesar and Sir Heinrich!!!” a shrill cry filled the humid air and Heinrich swelled with pride.

“A jolly ditty, if you please Mr Gustovson!!” Heinrich bowed once more.

Gustovson leapt to the fore of the company with a pipe, blasting an upbeat number, skilfully prancing to and fro.

The battle was hard fought – many lay still, waterlogged in The Deathless Marshes, which was aptly named for the cannibalistic people, who lived there and had a penchant for necromantic cults. Well -maybe not aptly named…they died like everyone else. Heinrich was the last of that ill-fated expedition, a swordsman of the King’s Guard, he wore his yellow pantaloons and blue sash with pride (when he wasn’t stumbling through a feted swamp…). He pirouetted through the marsh in a haze, as fever took him. This was no surprise to Heinrich, he had sustained a minor wound to his sword arm and an enemy had cleaved his shield, grazing his left shoulder in the process. This was sufficient for evil spirits to enter the body and bring on illness, he knew, as an educated man. He would have to get an exorcism when he returned. Oh, and one of the brutes had bitten him! ‘Blast my eyes, I seem to have a case of the pink eye!’ Heinrich moaned, as he made for home…

Flesh: White base, Flesh wash, Druchi Violet, white highlights, black oil wash, removal from the highlights, white highlights (Again!). nurgle rot and blood for the blood god.