While it wouldn’t be painting Warmaster without a few disasters this month I finally got the chariots painted that I had planned for in Month 1 with the Eagles as well as the General and Mage that I should have painted when I did my Spear elves. With this month down I have made significant progress towards catching up to my original plan, even with the use of my mulligan. While I’m still technically a month behind (I had initially planned to paint the Silver Helms and the Reaver Knights units in separate months) I’m feeling confident. Had I realized chariots were brought in units of three, not single stands, I think I might have planned to paint the two cavalry units together anyway. I did manage to keep the reigns attached to most of the charioteers, although I ended up breaking three of them just as I was approaching the finish line. One of the poor guys lost his entire hand. I thought I heard where it went on my messy painting table, maybe I’ll end up finding it. If not, I hope to do some surgery and attach some new reigns and the missing hand in the future. Naturally, I lost a few spear tips, and one poor charioteer lost his head and spear but I was able to glue them on easily enough. The mages steed lost it’s tail but I was able to find that and glue it back on like new!
The charioteers (along with the rest of the army!) were printed for me by a friend and there were three distinct ways they were printed. Some of them were printed flat, those I just attached to my popsicle sticks cloaks directly on the stick. These were risky to remove but all came off safe enough. Others had a ton of supports connecting the robes to a square of resin which was glued to the stick. These were the easiest to deal with as I was able to paint them and cut them away from the square without risk of damaging the model. The ones that were printed directly on the square of resin were the most difficult to deal with and led to the most broken models as I had to cut away the square and then shave it down flat to the robes. If you are going to print your own I suggest going with supports from the model to an attachment point for painting so you can cut it off the supports when done.
This month I painted 9 stands worth 550 points, my best effort yet! Of those 550 points 460 of them were part of the initial challenge, the other 90 points were for the hero riding his chariot which seemed like a good idea when I thought I was adding a 3rd chariot to the month, but not as good when it was the 7th! Still, I’m quite happy with him and glad I soldiered on!
Da Recruits Wot Shouldn’t Exist
Right then, gather ‘round, you fungus‑sniffin’ gitz. I’m Warleader Tuggug, and I got another tale about that walkin’ catastrophe, S’Mukkabelli.
After the Battle o’ the Gobbos—after he turned half the valley into a stew pot and the other half into leftovers—Wampgud tells him:
“Go get more ladz. Proper ladz. Big ladz. And NO MORE GOBBOS.” Simple order. Even a squig could follow it. But S’Mukkabelli? Oh no. He comes back with three new “recruits” that look like they crawled outta Gork’s armpit. Let me tell ya how it happened.
Grumptoof da Boulder‑Eater — The Giant
We hear the ground shakin’. Trees snappin’. Rocks flyin’. I think it’s an earthquake. Then over the ridge stomps a giant—massive, droolin’, belly painted with what I hope is mud.
Grobnak squints,“Boss… dat’s not a recruit. Dat’s a natural disaster.”
S’Mukkabelli waves like he’s greetin’ a long‑lost mate. “Boss! Dis is Grumptoof! He eats rocks! And sometimes da fings hidin’ under rocks!”
Turns out S’Mukkabelli found him sleepin’ in a canyon. How’d he wake a giant without gettin’ stomped?
He dropped the stew cannon on the giant’s foot. Grumptoof woke up, roared, grabbed S’Mukkabelli…and then sniffed him.
Apparently, stew‑soaked orc smells like “breakfast” to a giant. S’Mukkabelli promised him more stew if he joined the warhost and didn’t eat him.
That’s it. That’s the whole negotiation.
Krudskull da Unkillable — The Orc Hero
Next comes this hulkin’ brute covered in scars, trophies, and what might be dried gravy.
Krudskull’s the kind o’ lad who headbutts trolls for warm‑ups. I ask S’Mukkabelli:
“Where’d you find him?” S’Mukkabelli beams like a grot who found a shiny. “He was fightin’ a whole band o’ ogres! Alone! So I helped!” Now, “helped” is a strong word. What actually happened:
S’Mukkabelli tripped, rolled downhill, and crashed into the ogre chief’s knees, knockin’ him flat. Krudskull bashed the chief’s skull in. Krudskull took credit for the kill. S’Mukkabelli took credit for “tactical rollin’.” Krudskull decided any warband with idiots that lucky must be blessed by Gork. So he joined.
Zogwort da Smoke‑Sniffer — The Orc Shaman
Last one in is this wiry, twitchy shaman with eyes like boiled squig eggs. He’s mutterin’, twitchin’, sparks flyin’ off his fingers. I ask: “Why is he here? And why is he smokin’?”
S’Mukkabelli shrugs. “He was livin’ in a cave. Said da cave told him to follow me.”
Zogwort nods, eyes wide. “Da spirits whispered: Follow da idiot. He brings da boom.”
Apparently, the shaman had a vision—a big one—of a stew pot, a giant foot, and a wheel made of squigs. He took that as destiny. I took it as a sign we’re all doomed.
Tuggug’s Verdict
Wampgud looked at the three of ‘em, then at S’Mukkabelli, then at me. “Tuggug… why does dis keep happenin’?” And I says: “Boss… I fink Gork’s laughin’ at us.” But hey—a giant, a hero, and a shaman ain’t bad. Even if they joined us by accident, stupidity, or prophecy.
And that, ladz, is how S’Mukkabelli brought in reinforcements. We’s fightin’ the pretty boyz on the morrow so these guys better work out well.
Da Day We Krumped Da Pointy‑Ears (By Accident)
Right, ladz. Sit down, shut up, and stop feedin’ mushrooms to da squigs. I’m gonna tell ya how we, the proud warhost of Wampgud, smashed a High Elf army so shiny it hurt to look at—using three inventions dat didn’t work, and three recruits dat shouldn’t exist.
It all started at dawn, when the pointy‑ears lined up in their fancy armor, banners flutterin’, horses prancin’, magic glowin’ like they swallowed a lantern. Wampgud looks at me and says: “Tuggug, break ‘em.” And I says: “Boss… with what? Half our stuff explodes when sneezed at.” He grins. “Den don’t sneeze.”
Da Gobbo Stew Cannon
S’Mukkabelli rolls his pride and joy to the front line: a giant iron pot on wheels, pipes stickin’ out like a drunk spider, squig fire belchin’ underneath. He yanks the lever.
Nothing. He kicks it. Still nothing. He headbutts it. Bang!
The cannon erupts straight upward, firing a geyser of boiling broth, carrots, onions, and one very surprised goblin into the sky. The pot flips, rolls downhill, and crashes into our own boyz, coverin’ half our our front line and the Elves in stew.
The High Elves laugh. Actually laugh. Like bells tinklin’ in the wind.
Then their Lord—tall, shiny, smug as a polished spear—leans forward on his fancy horse and says: “Pathetic. They can’t even aim their own contraptions.”
Then Grumptoof smells stew. The giant roars, charges forward, and starts scoopin’ up ladz, rocks, and battlefield stew like he’s at an all‑you‑can‑eat buffet.
The High Elf Lord blinks. “…Is he … eating … the battlefield?” Grumptoof barrels into the spear line, slips on spilled carrots, and belly‑flops into the elves so hard it sends them flyin’ like leaves in a storm. The High Elf Lord’s horse rears, nearly tossin’ him. “Hold the line! HOLD—oh, by Asuryan’s robes, he’s still eating!” The elves panic.
Da Squig Wheel
The squigs bite each other. The wheel spins in place. Then sideways. Then backwards. Then it breaks free and rolls straight toward us. I shout, “EVERYONE MOVE!” Krudskull doesn’t move. He just grins and roars, “HA! Finally, a challenge!” I shout, “Dat’s not a challenge, dat’s a mistake!” “Same fing!” he shouts back. The wheel hits him—and he grabs it. Both of his hand grasp on to the right side and he holds on. He spins with it, roarin’, and hurls the whole contraption downhill like a giant, angry discus. It smashes into the High Elf cavalry, explodin’ into squigs, horses, men, teeth, and tangled chains. The High Elf Lord watches his knights scatter like kicked mushrooms. “That… that was not a tactical maneuver. That was lunacy.” A squig lands in his lap. He screams like a goblin. “GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME!” His attendants poke at it with spears. The squig bites one and hops away.
Da Squig‑Wolf Chariot
One wolf. One squig. One chariot. A partnership forged in hatred. The wolf sprints left. The squig bounces right. The chariot tears itself apart instantly. The High Elf Lord sighs in relief. “Finally. Something that simply fails.” Then Zogwort starts chantin’. Sparks fly. The wolf‑squig wreckage zigzags across the field like a drunk goblin on stilts.
The High Elf archers loose a volley—but Zogwort’s magic misfires, explodin’ in a cloud of green smoke. The arrows turn into frogs. Actual frogs. High Elf Archer: “My lord! My arrows have become… amphibians!” High Elf Lord, pinching the bridge of his nose: “Of course they have.” Then the wolf‑squig wreckin’ ball plows through the archers, scatterin’ them like mushrooms in a storm. The High Elf Lord’s horse bolts. He clings to the saddle like a sack of laundry. “RETREAT! RETREAT! THESE CREATURES DEFY ALL LOGIC!”
How It All Came Together
Let’s tally this: Stew Cannon: failed upward, summonin’ a giant rampage. Squig Wheel: failed sideways, creatin’ a cavalry‑crushin’ projectile. Squig‑Wolf Chariot: failed diagonally, unleashin’ chaos and amphibians. And our new recruits? Grumptoof flattened the spear line. Krudskull weaponized the Squig Wheel. Zogwort turned arrows into frogs and fear into panic. The High Elves—proud, perfect, prissy—broke. They ran. They tripped.
They screamed. They fled the field in a glitterin’ wave of terror.
Wampgud lands beside me, mounted on his trusty Wyvern, Grumpy. The beast’s wings kickin’ dust in me eyes. “Tuggug… did you plan dis?” And I says, wipin’ a tear from me eye: “Boss… nobody could plan dis.” S’Mukkabelli staggers up, helmet crooked, grinnin’ like a squig with a secret. He’s a bit unsteady after bashin’ hes hed on the cannon.
“See? Tactical genius!” I didn’t have the heart to bash him. Not after he accidentally won us the greatest victory we ever had.
Hoomie scribe with this month’s total: Grumptoof, a giant (135 points); Krudskull the Unkillable, orc hero (80 points); and Zogwort, orc shaman (45 points). This month’s total is 3 stands and 260 points.
Wachtmeister: Next month I need to keep Todd away from the AI storytelling and have his boss deny him PTO, I’m afraid he really is becoming an Orc! I am thrilled to have finally painted more than he did, this will not happen again! Together we painted 12 stands worth 810 points!
I look forward to seeing this project wrapped up next month and to finally get in a game. I sure hope I end up liking it, I’m already considering painting another 1,000 points to enter the Adepticon Warmaster Revolution Tournament!
-Wachtmeister
The Wachtmeister's Patrol 