Their fate was sealed; not when documents were finally signed in blood but the instant the last rampart of their humanity fell and they agreed upon the deal. The Chaos Space Marines of the Lords of Ascension had successfully aided the heretics push to overthrow Imperial rule. Now the time had come to pay their due – the tithes of flesh and soul would be met.
Ten million able men and women to be sold as slaves to Daemon Forges of Ruinstorm. The usurpers of the Felsworn Menagerie had already chosen those to be taken. Lists had been drawn up, their enemies would be purged – those still of faith and loyalty to the Imperium. Despite the grim prospect of their future, the slaves were the lucky ones.
Debauchery and madness had overtaken the ancient halls of the Governors Palace. With all the restraints of the old Imperial creed gone; the Felsworn celebrated their victory in whirlwind of hedonistic sadism. Through the insanity of it all a mighty Chaos Astares walked. His power armour was corrupted by the Warp and he bore visable gifts of Nurgle. It was Davos Vane, Tyrant Elect of the Lords of Ascension. He walked up to Director of the Menagerie, placing his hand gently on the Directors pale forehead.
“The tithes of flesh have been met” as he spoke he tightened a grip of the Directors head. “My patron will come to claim the tithes of souls.”
The fear in the eyes of the Director was unmistakable – the slaves was not enough. He looked up at the Chaos Lord and as he did, he knew. They were all damned. Fooled. Vane released the man and just walked away.
The Director began to plead for mercy but instead of words, black flies came out. At first there was a few but soon swarms of flies poured out of the Director’s mouth. The flies just kept on pouring out slowly asphyxiating the Director.
From nowhere a rusty axe cut through the cloud of flies collapsing the walls of reality. Upon a palanquin of steel and rust, carried by three gangly figures covered in bulbs and putrid wounds, stood a corpulent figure. It’s skin was miscoloured, thorn, rotten, vile; much like pestilence made manifest.
“I am Apoxon. I am the Yellow King, the Herald of Grandfather Nurgle. Fear not children; Grandfather has decided to offer you his blessing. Rejoice as the seven plagues purge weak from among you.”
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Here’s a bit of a treat for you, guys and gals. Let me present the Yellow King, my Herald of Nurgle. I built this model a couple of years ago but never finished painting it. After seeing my blogging buddies Imperial Rebel Ork and Wudugast doing some cool Nurgle Daemon stuff I thought it was time for me to get the Yellow King done.
I’ve played this model in a couple of ways already; Herald of Nurgle, Daemon Prince, Great Unclean One, Chaos Lord or Sorcerer on Palanquin. It has plenty of uses. But it mostly looks pretty cool.
It was extremely fun to paint the model. It was all about getting that Blanchian vibe. Dirty, grim and disturbing. I might do some more Nurgle daemon stuff. Maybe. I don’t need another army. Check it out.
And a few close ups:
I hope you like it.