After having fended off the predations of the Duc d'Castlefells, Artorian must now find his way out of the high hills by any means possible...
Breathing heavily and thankful that the mournghoul was gone, Artorian sat himself down upon a nearby rock and offered up a prayer to Sigmar. He removed his helm for the first time in months and retrieved a healing potion from his belt, greedily slurping it all down and hoping that the pain in his side would soon subside. His armour was battered and pierced, but that was nothing new. So far from Azyr he could do little about it and simply made a mental note of a need to guard that side in future. He dared not to tarry, the creature would no doubt return soon enough to finish the job once it had healed itself. Artorian replaced his helm, hiding once more his pale and haggard features, then set off again across the fells.
However, instead of ominous whispers, Artorian heard new voices upon the wind. He heard the sound of women speaking and tittering at one another’s jokes. Though ordinarily he would avoid such strangeness, the knight-questor was feeling buoyed by his victory over the mournghoul and followed the sounds of laughter with his sword drawn. Eventually through the fog he saw lights and as he got closer he found himself in the middle of a picnic. Three ladies, all clad in scarlet and purple were enjoying a sumptuous feast of delicate pastries and raw meat, served with what could only be blood. Artorian raised his shield to the three vampires who upon noticing the warrior only continued to giggle
“Oh what have we here? A poor wounded knight, come to rescue some damsels is distress?" tittered the lead vampire as she dribbled gore down her chin. He cursed internally, instantly she had drawn attention to the gouge in his armour where the mournghoul has pierced his side. He had only just escaped the beast and the Stormcast knew he was in no position to face three vampires. Ones who were no doubt salivating over the smell of fresh blood soaking the robes beneath his armour.
"It has been a long time since a champion came to whisk me away... oh sir knight shall it be you?" said another, affecting a mock-swoon to the stifled laughter of her companions. Artorian gave no response except to tighten his grip upon his sword, which did not go unnoticed.
"Hark! The warrior approaches with his sword drawn, mayhaps there is a terrible monster afoot my sisters!"
"Or two!"
"Or three!" exclaimed the three vampiresses in turn before bursting into raucous laughter once more. Artorian expected them to pounce at any moment, but none of them did. Instead, the eldest simply raised her glass, allowing a spectral attendant to manifest from the fog and pour her another drink of crimson nectar.
"Oh poor little Stormcast, you needn't fear" said the leader of the three "We've glutted ourselves and have no desire to fight you, after all we saw how you dealt with the Duke of these lands. Quite the opposite in fact: we are rather curious as to why your here in the dreary Castlefells?"
"I might ask you the same" replied the Knight, keeping his shield raised and wary of attack.
"A fair enough reply" mused the youngest "We assure you it was not for sake for the Duke's hospitality, he seems to have gone quite feral in these past hundred years or so"
"Indeed" continued what appeared to the middle vampire in years "We simply though these hills a novel spot for our picnic, our time in Gravenport had grown awfully droll what with the Earl and that vermin Skisrik all up in arms" Though not a single muscle in Artorian's body reacted, his mind began to set ablaze with that last declaration. His quarry, whom he had tracked for years across the realm of death was indeed in Gravenport. He had to get there, and quick before the necromancer could escape again. First though, he had these three to deal with.
"Gravenport you say?" He responded "Twas my destination 'till the storm left me wrecked by these hills" for now he just had to stall, stall and think while the vampires were still feeling chatty rather than hungry.
"Oh it was a terrible storm" piped up the youngest again "The Earl was none too pleased as he'd been promised a shipment of fats for his subjects. He blamed the necromancer of course, then again everyone blames poor-old Skisrik for everything"
"Not without good reason, filthy second-rate necromancer that he is. I don't know why the King keeps him around" huffed the middle vampire as she popped a bloody pastry in her mouth "I know dear sisters that we aren't as religious as we ought be, but I still think a bishop would serve better as court wizard than that thing"
"Now now, we said we were having a picnic without politics ladies, and 'tis quite vulgar to speak of courtly affairs before a stranger. A stranger who hasn't even introduced himself" said the eldest vampire gesturing at Artorian who weighed his options carefully.
"I am known in these lands as Artorian, but a humble knight and pilgrim on the roads of Shyish"
"Ah, but you are more than just a wandering warrior are you not, Fellstrider?" the lead vampiress used his lesser-known moniker and twisted her smile into a viscous grin, dragging out each syllable as her sisters visibly tensed. Their nails seemed to lengthen and faces become more bestial, fangs bared and ready for blood. "We were told we might find you on these hills, and rest assured you will not find Skisrik Turncloak in Gravenport, he is long gone."
"Then you know my purpose?"
"We cannot admit to know precisely, but the necromancer would not have confided in us the task of killing you if you did not have foul intentions for him"
"That is true" Artorian took a deep breath, he was ready to fight.
"Then, Stormcast..." and suddenly all three vampiresses relaxed upon their cushions, smiling manically at one another "We share a common goal.."
"It has been a long time since a champion came to whisk me away... oh sir knight shall it be you?" said another, affecting a mock-swoon to the stifled laughter of her companions. Artorian gave no response except to tighten his grip upon his sword, which did not go unnoticed.
"Hark! The warrior approaches with his sword drawn, mayhaps there is a terrible monster afoot my sisters!"
"Or two!"
"Or three!" exclaimed the three vampiresses in turn before bursting into raucous laughter once more. Artorian expected them to pounce at any moment, but none of them did. Instead, the eldest simply raised her glass, allowing a spectral attendant to manifest from the fog and pour her another drink of crimson nectar.
"Oh poor little Stormcast, you needn't fear" said the leader of the three "We've glutted ourselves and have no desire to fight you, after all we saw how you dealt with the Duke of these lands. Quite the opposite in fact: we are rather curious as to why your here in the dreary Castlefells?"
"I might ask you the same" replied the Knight, keeping his shield raised and wary of attack.
"A fair enough reply" mused the youngest "We assure you it was not for sake for the Duke's hospitality, he seems to have gone quite feral in these past hundred years or so"
"Indeed" continued what appeared to the middle vampire in years "We simply though these hills a novel spot for our picnic, our time in Gravenport had grown awfully droll what with the Earl and that vermin Skisrik all up in arms" Though not a single muscle in Artorian's body reacted, his mind began to set ablaze with that last declaration. His quarry, whom he had tracked for years across the realm of death was indeed in Gravenport. He had to get there, and quick before the necromancer could escape again. First though, he had these three to deal with.
"Gravenport you say?" He responded "Twas my destination 'till the storm left me wrecked by these hills" for now he just had to stall, stall and think while the vampires were still feeling chatty rather than hungry.
"Oh it was a terrible storm" piped up the youngest again "The Earl was none too pleased as he'd been promised a shipment of fats for his subjects. He blamed the necromancer of course, then again everyone blames poor-old Skisrik for everything"
"Not without good reason, filthy second-rate necromancer that he is. I don't know why the King keeps him around" huffed the middle vampire as she popped a bloody pastry in her mouth "I know dear sisters that we aren't as religious as we ought be, but I still think a bishop would serve better as court wizard than that thing"
"Now now, we said we were having a picnic without politics ladies, and 'tis quite vulgar to speak of courtly affairs before a stranger. A stranger who hasn't even introduced himself" said the eldest vampire gesturing at Artorian who weighed his options carefully.
"I am known in these lands as Artorian, but a humble knight and pilgrim on the roads of Shyish"
"Ah, but you are more than just a wandering warrior are you not, Fellstrider?" the lead vampiress used his lesser-known moniker and twisted her smile into a viscous grin, dragging out each syllable as her sisters visibly tensed. Their nails seemed to lengthen and faces become more bestial, fangs bared and ready for blood. "We were told we might find you on these hills, and rest assured you will not find Skisrik Turncloak in Gravenport, he is long gone."
"Then you know my purpose?"
"We cannot admit to know precisely, but the necromancer would not have confided in us the task of killing you if you did not have foul intentions for him"
"That is true" Artorian took a deep breath, he was ready to fight.
"Then, Stormcast..." and suddenly all three vampiresses relaxed upon their cushions, smiling manically at one another "We share a common goal.."
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| Princess Louisa and her Handmaidens |
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| The Coven Throne |
The Coven Throne is a miniature I have admired for years, and it was a real pleasure to finally add it to my collection. I remember when it was first released and the elegance of the model convinced me to start buying some Vampire Counts which eventually morphed into this project. Though it proved to be many years later until I actually got my hands on the miniature, I had as much of a blast painting it as I thought I would when I first saw leaked photos of this vampire trio. I painted the Coven Throne using many of the same techniques for the spirits and for bone as I used on Nagash as well as adding the reds and blues which the rest of my Flesh-Eaters will be painted with.
I imagine these three vampiresses as the Crown-Princess Louisa and her handmaidens, daughter of my ghoul king who has taken on her father's vampirism but not his curse of cannibalistic madness, not yet anyway... She will be accompanying Artorian for a ways on his journey, for they both share the same goal: the death of the mysterious necromancer Skisrik Turncloak.
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