And that makes the set!

The three previous games group models were done by May last year. The fourth guy insisted on holding out on me.

However, it was his 40th in February, and I proposed to the rest of the group that I make him his character for a birthday present. The guy for whom I painted the elf with the staff (with the big knob on the end) agreed with this and agreed to fund the project.

And so, I present Vil. It's not perfectly his character, but everyone said it was great and it's a lot better than the previous "pre-painted" model that he had been using!

On the "intelligence" of men

As I have previously mentioned through Failbook, here is the story of last Mondays vampire session...

The group are investgating into a series of brutal and masquerade-breaching murders in Venice, 1536. They are heading around the murder sites to get clues. They go to one and they hear a shutter bang shut (it's a dodgy area of town, a group of five are standing outside looking not at all like the city watch). French Resistance - not the smartest character but by no means the dumbest - decides to ask the occupants questions.

Oddly enough, they are not prepared to open their door to a strange man at 2am. In annoyance he knocks the door off its hinges thereby flattening the frail old man behind it and killing him. His wife starts screaming, and in the distance the group hear the sound of bells as the watch come running. Meanwhile, Hubbys and Pixie's characters (posh and beautiful people, Toreador and Tremere respectively) saunter off arm in arm, The Furher (burly Gangrel) picks up a convenient small barrel, slings it over his shoulder and strides off towards the docks. Captain Barbeque (Lasombra antitribue) decides to hide in the shadows. French Resistance first attempts to climb a wall (succeeding only in ripping off lumps of damp plaster) then runs off, then turns round and goes back. Goes. Back...

He goes back to the scene of the crime he has caused. The sarge is inside talking to the slightly hysterical woman who has seen her husband of many years squashed before her eyes as a locked and securely barred door landed on him. Three watchmen are outside. The woman inside screams "THAT'S HIM!!" and the three watchmen jump him. Two grab an arm each and the third punches him in the nose to no effect. He then smashes the two on him together, making them all stagger back. They draw their swords, two manage to stick him in the gut and he decides to frenzy...

Punching the three in turn, he cracks ribs, knocks one guy to the ground and punches him in the head. Through the face. Cracking the flag beneath and ending up with gore spread up his arm (sigh). He dispatches the other two as the Sarge comes out of the house, takes one look and legs it. Frenchie then wanders off back to his haven happily licking his arm.

Meanwhile, Captain Barbeque is watching from the shadows with an utterly incredulous look on his face, and the rest of the player group are screaming with laughter and going into convulsions of hysteria at the table.

Frenchie is gonna have a LOT of explaining to do next Monday...

Pah!

I really need to update this blog more often.

I appear to have gained a stalker. This is a guy who is/was a friend, but he fell for me in a big way, and now I want to get rid of him. It's a shame really - he's a nice guy, but he's also an emo whiney bitch with all the emotional maturity of a 13-year old, and I refuse to be his prop any more. Over the weekend I was quite busy, and didn't reply to his texts (many) asking how I was because - frankly - it wasn't any of his damn business (I was fine, by the way, but I have initiated a new policy of no-contact cold-turkey for him). Drew and I both agree -he will either get the message and come out of this having grown a little bit into a man who actually has a pair of balls instead of being a great flapping pussy bitch-boy, or I will get nasty at the end and actually tell him what I think and he will lose any vesigial friendship that I have left.

The level of texting he does is, quite frankly, inappropriate. I'll be curled up on the sofa with Battlestar Galactica, my dinner, a blanket and my husband and he'll want a conversation. Or randomly text me something like "DnD gnomes just ate my face!!!". I don't care, and I don't want to know. I want to watch TV without interuptions and I want to be able to go out to see my friends without him wanting to know what I'm doing.

So I've cut him off for the week. I've had three pitiful texts and he blogged it. He was getting better and now he's got worse again.

Sad little man. I see an argument in the offing.

The wonders of leading the herd

I'm posting this mini-rant on this blog and not my other one, because it concerns a lot of my livejournal friends.

Approximately two-three months ago, I decided that I wanted to start bouldering. This is like rock climbing, but you never go higher than three-five metres off the ground. I mentioned this on my LJ, got a contact from one friend and expressed my desire to give it a try. I then discover that about three other friends have lept on the idea, and are also going to the introduction session the following Friday, which I was unable to make. So I ring up the place and manage to book a one-on-one intro session for the Friday afternoon. Go along. Have loads of fun.

Since then, I have been going fairly regularly with a friend that is also rather good at climbing. I find this very useful, as he encourages me to climb better and try harder problems than if I was going on my own. We have a laugh when we go as well. We get along like a house on fire (with the screaming, burning and subsequent insurance claims).

Another friend joins us for an hour of these sessions. I do not mind this. Much.

However, recently a lot of other friends are getting in on the act. They all go along on a Thursday evening, meet up, have a great time. I am unable to go. I am jealous. I then find out today that a hefty group went yesterday lunchtime as well. And there are photos. They, again, look like they are having a great time.

I am really rather annoyed over this. I know that it's stupid and immature, but this was -my- hobby, and now a load of other people have come in and are taking over and I feel less unique and interesting as a result. The only thing that I can hope is that one of the friends who drives in from Cardiff stops fairly soon because she can't afford it, and another one - whose first session was yesterday - decides not to take it up, especially when he feels how painful it can be the morning after.

So, am I selfish and childish and immature? Surely these people should be able to find their own hobby...

Brum brum! Shiny new toy!

Meet Mini-Miles

I have finished my fourth commission piece and handed it to the client on Saturday. This is not, unfortunately, the fourth member of the tabletop game that I have done all of my other pieces for. I'm still trying to get -that- job. This job was simply for flavour, as it is a representation of a larp character.

Anyhoo, I was presented with the old Warhammer Quest witch hunter model by a friend. Let's call him Nick, for that is his name. He had already painted it, but it was during his "Terracotta Phase". I particularly liked his pink bandoliers. However, painting the shirt and trousers pink as well just made him look a bit...well, a bit camp.

So, I looked back over various posts on the Warhammer forum (and the blog of the Mighty Mighty Willard Foxton) and bought myself a bottle of Flash All-Purpose to strip the paint. I left him soaking for about three days and then attacked the model with an old toothbrush (which fell apart under the strain) and a cocktail stick. The paint just flaked off in a very satisfying way, leaving the model looking shiny and new.

Naturally, he was not equipped right. For one thing, I hated the curved scimitar-esque sword, and for another, Miles (for that is the characters name) doesn't have a pistol. I had to change that out for a cross bow. I think you will agree that the model looks a lot better...

And then I was able to start painting him. Obviously once the paint stripping was done and before the conversion was started, mini-Miles was washed very -very- well. I didn't want the paint to start dissolving off him as I painted, after all! And so, I present: Miles Brauer, Witch Hunter in training of Steinhof, east Ostland!

Pimping my husband

Andrew's next army project:-

Yes, that's right people. He's revisiting the good ol' Scythes of the Emperor. Only this time, they are better/faster/stronger and a hell of a lot more battle damaged :)