Greetings Terrans, last time I gave you an overview of how I generated my starting warband, chose my Champion stat card, and I shared pics of the followers all painted up. I still needed a model for my Champion, and the Loreseeker card got me looking at the Lumineth range for inspiration. I also needed a name, so a roll on some internet generator gave me ‘Scynir the Architect’, and after a bit of converting and painting, here she is:

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For those that are curious, she is made by taking the head of the Scinari Cathallar, trimming the ears to be less Elvish, and then adding it to the body of a Scinari Calligrave. A pair of Blue Horror hands complete the look while effectively ticking both ‘oversized hands’ and ‘gift of magic’ boxes.

Here is Scynir the Architect with her starting warband:

I’m chuffed to bits with how all of this has worked out – I even felt inspired enough to get back into some writing! Feel free to skip it, but if you do fancy a five minutes of fan fiction, here is he tale of how Scynir came to be, and how she gained her very first followers:

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The Tale of Scynir the Architect – Part 1

The wind howled around the ruins, carrying a bitter cold and a light dust that seemed determined to seek out every crevice, despite the dubious shelter of the long-derelict farmhouse. Scynir barely noticed the discomfort, lost as she was in a growing awareness of a wind that, out of her remaining comrades, only she could detect. This wind blew from a plane beyond the ken of normal folk – not a physical force, but one that was warm and enticing to her soul. Scynir found it passing strange that she had never noticed this ‘other’ wind before now, but her awareness of it had been growing by the day, and the whispering that it carried was growing ever louder. She fancied that she could almost hear sibilant words:

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“Kill the Elves. They despise your kind. The leader has secrets. You are scum to him. Kill the Elves.”

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She looked sidelong at the Elves. The male was the leader of the pair, his distaste for the humans mercenaries that had protected him these last two weeks was evident in his haughty face. The rumour was that he was a Lumineth Battlemage who had lost his honour guard in the war against Chaos. The other elf was female, and was clearly some kind of apprentice or student. The mage didn’t deign to talk directly to the humans – he only spoke with the Elf woman, and only when the humans were out of earshot. Scynir didn’t even know the Mage’s name.

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“Kill the Elves. They have nothing but contempt for you. The Mage’s power feeds his contempt. Kill the Elves.”

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Whatever his story, the Free-state mercenary band that Scynir belonged to had been employed to escort the Elves and their baggage of scrolls and arcane curios back to their own people. Their route had skirted the fell lands of the Eightpoints and they had been attacked several times since their journey began, losing many comrades along the way. Not once had the Elves lifted a finger in their own defence. Thinking that, Scynir glanced at what was left of the mercenary band – apart from herself, only three remained. One was old and past her prime, while the other two were barely old enough to shave… They were clearly terrified, and with a twinge of guilt, she realised that she didn’t even know their names.

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“Kill the Elves. They despise you. The mage has power that he is hiding from you. He spends your lives like coppers. He values his scrolls more that your lives. Kill the Elves.”

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She looked back at the mage, and silently brooded as the urge to slide her steel into his arrogant face grew and grew…

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“Kill him. Take his scrolls – I can teach you how to use them. Take his power! Kill them all!”

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The sun had set, and the night was bitterly cold. Scynir usually hated the darkness, but this night she didn’t pay it any mind as she lay awake, schemes flitting through her head and the whispering filling her thoughts.

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“That power is yours for the taking. With it we can build so much together. I will teach you. Wheels within wheels. Be part of my beautiful plan. It is yours for the taking – kill them!”

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A glance around the group showed the older mercenary stood sentry while the others slept. The two Elves appeared to be deep in whispered conversation, and were intent on whatever it was they were discussing.

An accidental scrape of steel on stone sounded out in the darkness beyond the ruins – it was close. The sentry slowly and silently drew her sword while simultaneously nudging the others with the toe of her right boot. She stared intently out into the darkness, while the Elves stopped their conversation and stood up, tension showing through their graceful forms as they quietly gathered up their packs and satchels, and slowly backed into a corner of the ruined building. Scynir also rose, gripping the hilt of her sword as she backed towards the Elves, her eyes straining to pierce the darkness beyond the sentry. The silence was total – a part of Scynir even noticed that the whispering had stopped, as if the whole universe was holding its breath.

There was a sudden flash of movement in the darkness, followed by a wet thud and a choking sound as the point of a spear sprouted from the back of the sentry’s neck. Cast from the darkness, the spear had lanced cleanly through her throat, severing windpipe and spinal cord before she even had a chance to flinch. She was dead before he hit the floor.

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“Be ready…”

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The younger mercenaries froze in the act of rising, mesmerised by the look of shock on the dead woman’s face. It was their turn to die moments later as a pair of men bounded from the darkness, clearing the wall to batter the boys to the ground with shields before driving their short swords into exposed backs. Other shapes loomed out of the darkness – hard looking figures who moved with the practiced skill of trained fighters. Most appeared human, but Scynir spotted a Dwarf, and even a hulking Beastman among their number. They had the look of gladiators or pit fighters about them, and starlight glinted off well maintained weapons and dark steel armour as they grimly advanced. Only Scynir stood between them and the Elves, and as much as she hated the arrogant Mage and his helper, she was under no illusions about how the attacking warband would treat her… She prepared to sell her life dearly.

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“Not yet…”

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The raiders had cautiously advanced to within ten paces when they suddenly froze. Scynir became aware of chanting from behind her, and felt her neck hairs stand on end, a premonition of awesome powers about to be unleashed. She instinctively dived to the ground as sudden bolts of lightning arced through the night with a deafening crack. Screams of agony and rage filled the night, and the ruins were suddenly thick with the unmistakeable smell of cooking flesh.

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“Soon…”

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Slowly, Scynir regained her feet and her sword, and, blinking away livid afterimages, she continued to back away from the raiders. As her vison cleared, she realised that most of them were now motionless on the ground, flesh charred, low flames sputtering as they continued to feed on fat and tissue. A thick greasy smoke rolling into the air, adding to the cloying stench of burnt meat. Slowly a few of the raiders staggered to their feet – a giant of a man with a massive headsman’s axe, a pair of gladiators – one armed with spear and the other with net, and the towering Beastman, fur singed and its heavy mace gripped in massive fists.

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“Almost…”

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Scynir reached the Elves – her back was against the same wall with the Mage immediately to her right, and the acolyte to the right of him. The Mage had resumed his chanting, hands thrust forward to cast more magical lightning at the raiders. Scynir could see the fear and resignation in their faces – and the futile rage.

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“Now!”

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Without thinking, she swung her blade backhand with a savage cry of exultation, cleanly hacking through the Mage’s throat and neck. The head seemed to leap from the body on a jet of blood – face frozen in shock as it bounced and rolled towards the raiders. It came to a stop on its side, facing back towards her, and Scynir almost laughed as the Mage’s eyes appeared to look at her in recognition, while the mouth twitched in silent reproach.

There was shocked silence for a moment more before the Elf woman began wailing in grief and the surviving raiders began shouting in confusion. Scynir was oblivious to all as her awareness became engulfed by the full force of the winds of magic and the awesome majesty of Tzeentch.

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“You have done so well little one – too long have the arrogant Elves kept their knowledge hidden from me. Through you, we will learn their secrets – you shall be one of my architects in the mortal realms, and together we will build great works of intrigue as part of my greater plan. Accept my gifts, and rejoice, for I am Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, the Architect of Fate, the Lord of Sorcery… and you are now mine.”

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Scynir screamed as bolts of raw energy blasted down from the sky, surrounding her in a glowing purple cage of pure magic. Her clothes and armour disintegrated in the light, the flesh on her hands turned a dark indigo as they grew and twisted into monstrous things. Some fingers grew razor sharp claws, others developed puckered mouths that began to drip liquid flames, while some digits disappeared altogether. Scynir didn’t care – she felt no pain during the transformations, only the ecstasy of pure magic filling her whole being.

Eventually the energy subsided, and Scynir stood naked and gloriously transformed by the glory of Tzeentch. She looked down to see the raiders on their knees before her and she knew they were ready to serve. The female Elf was cowering in the corner of the ruined room, her eyes wide with the horror of what she had witnessed.

Scynir addressed her new followers.

“Do as you please with the Elf, but first remove her clothes carefully and bring them to me – I rather like them!”

Exultant roars filled the night and drowned out the terrified screams of the Elf as the warband of Scynir the Architect, champion of Tzeentch, fell upon their first victim in savage fury.

Scynir didn’t care – she was already rifling through the Elven satchels, hungrily seeking out scrolls of forbidden lore.