Fur flies at Khurasan Miniatures!

Whether you like 15mm sci fi or high adventure, there's something fluffy for you at Khurasan Miniatures.

First up we have updated our Mystri Island range with some hominids who apparently found a coke bottle, or touched a black rectangle, or whatever, and now realise that the nearby bone bed is a splendid arsenal! Ten models in five subhuman poses.

They are available here:
Mystri Island



Pulp sci fi hasn't been neglected on the rug-with-legs front, as the Furrobots have invaded, the leader Spar Tan and his two minions (insert ancient civilization references here) arriving in a flurry of bubbles to wipe out mankind, but hopefully not the cutest girls.

The Furrobots are available here:
Planet 15

HE WHO KILLS Part 2

(For part 1 of this TALE OF MYSTRI ISLAND, read the blog post below first.)

At this point there were no foes on the battlefield, there were only men (and one woman) filled with wonder, and at the same time a curious sense of impending dread.

As a girl, an orphan in Africa, I would play with the types of animals that other Europeans fled in terror, but when I heard that strange sound rushing through the jungle, even I felt the tingle of fear, running up my right leg and then my back. The sound, the sound – how can I describe it? Like a steel plate being dragged along a cobblestone road by a locomotive? Perhaps. To that was joined the violent report of heavy tree limbs bursting in the wake of this onrush -- a sound like nothing I had heard before.

Then I saw it.

At first it was a dark shape in the jungle, of great height although primarily horizontal, like a colossal battering ram rushing toward a gate. A battering ram with legs, for as it got closer two could be seen, thick as tree trunks, pumping back and forth as they surged the dark shape forward. Then it loomed closer still, into view, colossal, and the shape developed a head, which made it clear that Stalks-at-Dawn’s god was some sort of dragon, a huge squarish head with enormous jaws lined with teeth like railroad spikes. Thick horny crests ringed the top of the head and eye sockets. At first it seemed to have no arms at all, but as it drew nearer it fleetingly showed what appeared to be tiny wings, or at least small arms lined with feathers, for it could never had flown using them.



Such was our group astonishment that no one uttered a sound when this creature hove plainly into view. Stalks-at-Dawn fondled the amulet that hung from his neck, and held something odd in his other hand, which appeared to be a hunk of animal fur matted with drying blood. He watched He-Who-Kills quite closely as the huge beast peered around the jungle, its nostrils flaring. It had just swung that sledgehammer of a head in our direction when from the German lines came a single fearful utterance, “Gott in Himmel,” and the creature then snapped its head to the left and like a tidal wave surged down upon the German lines.

In amazement I turned for an instant to look at Stalks-at-Dawn, to gauge his reaction, but he was gone. Even before I could turn back I heard shouts and screams and gunfire from the German lines, the occasional shot thudding into the armour of this creature, perhaps stinging it no more than a hornet stings a man, as it thrust its great torso in and out of the trees. It would find a man, swing its great jaws open, and then -- and a ghastly recollection it still is -- clamp them shut around him, chopping him to pieces which tumbled every which way to the jungle floor. Again and again this happened, and I watched.

Try though I might to move them, my feet were frozen in place. I didn’t know what Richard or the Gurkhas were doing at this time because I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene of this carnage, this monster of myth who tore men asunder, this god so aptly named.

Now, with almost superhuman bravery, a mortar team manned their weapon, a clumsy squat German thing which appeared to be mounted on a wheel of some sort, and tried to depress it to bring fire of sufficient caliber on He-Who-Kills. They hastily discharged the gun and a portion of the canopy fell all around the great beast – too high! The monster seemed to interpret the blast from the mortar as a sort of challenge to its authority, and swept straight down on the hapless crew, who fled … but not fast enough. When it was finished with them, it turned and attacked the mortar itself, seizing the stubby cannon in its jaws and hurling it through the jungle like a toy. As it turned again, its great tail swept through the trees, and when one of these cracked a splinter must have been shot in my direction, for I was struck in the head and was out.

***

When I came to, there was silence, a buried feeling, and an earthy odor. My sight was blurry and I was disoriented. It was dark, then light, then dark again. Where was I? I was … in the arms of von Schrecklichdorf! Ensconced with him, it seemed, in a cave of some sort. Or was it a hollow tree? I felt clumsily for one of my pistols but he held me tighter and nodded with his blonde head to the left, to where the light was shining. My sight was coming back to me and in the sharpening of the world I could now see outside the tree, to the jungle foliage.

A shadow descended, then a huge leg came down with a thud, was rapidly lifted and gone, then a section of tail swept far overhead. Von Schrecklichdorf whispered to me, very quietly in his perfect English, “it is not satisfied yet. It is finishing the job. It smells our lives … and wants them for itself.” I ventured to lean my head ever so slightly out of the tree hollow, and there it was, almost in repose, craning its head out slightly, smelling the air. But it seemed confused now, almost distracted. Then, very suddenly, it swung its head straight toward me, locking eyes with mine. Fear seized me again and I began to tremble, but then it turned its head just as suddenly to the right, and pumped its legs, thrusting its vast muscled mass through the jungle, moving off.

We waited for a while in the tree, the Guards Jager officer and myself. When we had not heard He-Who-Kills for a while and the sounds of the jungle began to return, we slid ourselves out to the ground, still staying low, and put our backs to the great hollowed tree we had just been in.

After a while von Schrecklichdorf spoke. “Your friend, the Englishman, he kept his head. He took your soldiers down to the pier when the creature appeared. They dumped the cages with the Stossechse females into the cove. All twelve of them, and the two male studs too. The sailors shot at them from the U-boat but there was little they could do to stop it.”

I asked him for more details and he said, “I saw there was nothing I could do for the men, so my next concern was the mission. Yes,” he said with a grimace, “I can now admit what you already knew, there was a mission.” I smiled a little. “But I saw them drowning the Stossechse and I knew all was lost then -- my men and my mission. I did not see you with them, however, so I came back to look for you. It was prowling around, and you were unconscious on the ground, so I looked for a hiding place for you, and found this.” He slapped the tree. “I had to drag you fairly far, and it was touch and go for a while.” He paused. “But the creature seemed … distracted … first quite certain it knew where we were, but then confused and looking off in other directions. Almost as if someone or something was purposefully distracting it.”

I smiled again.

***

Many hours passed, and we sat and quietly recalled some of our adventures on the island, many of them so utterly without precedent that passersby overhearing us might have thought we were recounting mutual nightmares. When it was clear that He-Who-Kills was gone for good, and we heard quiet voices in the darkness, we got up and almost immediately saw Richard. He ran to us with a section of Gurhkas, his Webley not quite raised, and said, “Been looking for you my dear, were afraid we'd lost you." Turning to von Schrecklichdorf, he said, "You’re mission’s quite over I’m afraid, old man,” surprising me that his voice sounded almost regretful. Richard was always a gentleman, even to his enemies. “Yes, and I am glad of it,” von Schrecklichdorf replied. “I have fought in the trenches, I have seen men massacred before, but never by an animal, butchered so horribly, torn to pieces. It is no way to fight a war.” Richard was about to say something to von Schrecklichdorf but I interrupted him, which he hates, saying that it is very American. But I had to get it out right away. “I’m sorry I failed you Richard. I froze when it attacked. I should have gone with you and the Gurkhas to the cove. When push came to shove, I was of no use at all.” My eyes began to tear up and I was ashamed that I was behaving like a woman.

As had happened so often in the past, Stalks-at-Dawn materialized from the jungle, and came loping up to me, putting his hand on my arm. “Are you pierced? Is your health sound?”

Richard looked at our friend the lizardman and then at me, laughed and shook his head. “Failed? No, very much to the contrary, you were absolutely critical my dear girl.” He nodded his head to the creature he sometimes dismissively called Stalkers and said, “you befriended this chap, and he was man of the match on this day, there’s no doubt about that. I doubt he would have brought that terror down upon the Germans solely on my account.”

“No, I would not,” Stalks-at-Dawn replied, and we humans laughed a bit despite everything.

***

Although he was our de facto prisoner, in the end we let von Shrecklichdorf go, as frankly we were not sure what the legal niceties were when taking a prisoner on neutral ground. So he got back on his U Boat and sailed away to whatever fate awaits him. I had to cajole Richard into doing this, as he was most eager to make a prisoner of the troublesome, if gallant, German, and was sure he would pop up to vex the Allies again. As he was leaving I thanked him for saving my life once again, we agreed to look each other up after the peace, and he gave us that salute with the clicking boots.

Once he was gone, Stalks-at-Dawn explained to us that no creature fills He-Who-Kills with more fury than a male Giant Ape, and so the Reptilian Hunter had tracked and, with great difficulty, killed one, and had removed a hunk of flesh from its armpit, which he assured us has the most pungent aroma. With this grisly object he lured He-Who-Kills out of the deep jungle. “He is usually a quiet hunter,” Stalks-at-Dawn said, “but when an ape enters his home he is very loud and angry until the ape is dead, even if the ape flees.” For hours Stalks-at-Dawn had fled the rampaging beast, leading it all the while to the jungle above Madawan Cove, its jaws sometimes only meters from his back. He led it to the German lines where it destroyed them before my eyes, and then he had the equally difficult task of leading the creature back again to the deep jungle.

I asked him if this had ever been done by the Reptilian Hunters before. He told me gravely that it had not, and for this he was now an outcast in his tribe, despite the fact that he had brought He-Who-Kills back to his domain. And so it was that the Reptilian, once beloved of his tribe, was forced to leave his island, and it became my turn to teach him of the ways of the wide world beyond it.

--JP


We are very pleased to make available a model of the dreaded He-Who-Kills, based closely on the description of Janice Prishwalken, in 15mm scale. It is a towering beast indeed, and solid pewter! Some eyewitnesses dispute her observation that the creature had arm plumage, so this is an optional piece that may be left off if the gamer prefers. The model should be released during the week of December 6, 2010.

He Who Kills, part 1

Diary of Janice Prishwalken, March 1918:

When it all came to a head, the Reptilians were there for us in a way we could never have anticipated.

The Germans had backed us into a corner, trumping our platoon of Gurkhas with two good companies of German infantry, supported by light artillery. But despite all their cleverness and planning, their grim efficiency at exploiting the dark mysteries of this island, we had something they did not – we had Stalks-at-Dawn, first a curious onlooker, then a guide and yes, a friend.

And finally, our savior.

We’d heard about it for months, this god of theirs, ominously named “He-Who-Kills,” who lived in the deepest jungle and held sway over that mysterious place. It is said that no human who set foot there had ever come out alive, and I’d not met anyone who tried. Even the Savannah Lords and the armies of the local powers on the island avoided venturing into this deepest and darkest of all the island’s jungles, even if in force. The sheer thought of it was madness to them. The feathered reptiles themselves built their nests a respectful distance from the domain of He-Who-Kills.

Precisely what He-Who-Kills was, Richard and I had pondered many times, occasionally even imagining, upon encountering some new monstrosity, that we had perhaps this time run into He-Who-Kills himself, only to draw looks of bald amazement from those who knew better. On several occasions Richard asserted to me that it was but a myth held in reverence by savages, but he listened attentively all the same when the Reptilians referred to their spirit master in that oblique way they reserved for him alone.

Whenever humans from the island were asked about He-Who-Kills, they invariably said that they did not know and did not want to, for anything that put fear into the Reptilian Hunters was something they wanted to avoid at all costs.

Only the Reptilians would slip into that deepest recess of the island and return to tell the tale. Or at least, sometimes return. Young braves, now old enough to join their tribe’s hunters on foraging expeditions, had first to pass a test. To prove their bravery and skill, they had to bring a small wooden ring into the domain of He-Who-Kills and leave it on a certain branch of a certain tree, then take the ring that the previous young Reptilian had left on that same branch, perhaps years previously, back to the tribal elders. Some of the young Reptilians never came back from that fateful journey, and in this way the tribe assured that only the surest and quietest of their number would sweep forward on the daily hunts.

Our efforts to coax a description of He-Who-Kills from the Reptilians were always frustrated, and we eventually resigned ourselves to the thought of leaving the island with this particular mystery remaining unsolved. But it was not to be, and in the end we had all our questions answered.

* * *

We had learned much of Captain von Schrecklichdorf’s master plan -- to gather a dozen egg-laying females of the dreaded “bayawak balahibo” (feathered reptiles) and bring them back to Germany by means of the huge transport U-boats that crept into Madawan Cove. In the platoon of Gurkhas that had joined us just in the nick of time, we thought we had the means to stop him. But von S. was not a man to be taken for granted, and to our astonishment we discovered that he had brought superior force to bear, no doubt carried on the U-boats that came to retrieve the feathered reptiles in their wood crates. Von Schrecklichdorf wasted no time in sending his little army after us, and our brave Gurkhas, vastly outnumbered and outgunned, could only fall back as the German forces pressed us.

It got worse, for we soon found ourselves surrounded, two squads of the fearsome stormtroopers having crept into the jungle behind us as we fell back. This was just as Stalks-at-Dawn had predicted when he had mysteriously left our party in great haste. The Reptilian Hunters had rapidly familiarized themselves with the “bang-men” (their term for stormtroopers because they use grenades so frequently) and knew they’d have something up their sleeve. He had tried to warn me about this two days before, as the Gurkhas were joining us, but he could not quite find the right words, and I could not let his vague cautions interfere with doing our duty, which was more urgent now than ever. Eventually he stopped pressing me and gesturing, looked at me for what seemed a long time, told me he would try to do what he could to help, and disappeared into the jungle.

He was right, as he always had been, and our moment of triumph had turned into our moment of doom, for neither Richard nor I had any intention of leaving the Gurkhas and planned to share their fate whatever that might be, Richard firing his Webley with his normal deadly accuracy, his pith helmet off but his tie perfectly straight as always. I looked at him there, crouching behind a tree, splinters flying everywhere, and as I stuck another clip into my .45, my own adventures on his astonishing island flashed before my mind’s eye ….

…dinner at the table of the Brothers Hamyldon, the vampires Georg and Vlad, Georg insisting that I wear an evening gown that appeared exceedingly antique …

… negotiations with newly-sentient penguins to join our cause …

… a midnight game of hide and seek in the jungle with those crazed, gibbering cannibals, the Getinmahbeli …

… pursued across the grassy interior of the island by the colossal Savannah Lords …

… more than one face-to-face encounter with that dashing gentleman, von Schrecklichdorf himself, who always asserted with a smile and a shrug, his uniformed stosstruppen around him, that he was simply a German gentleman on vacation, and here only for the hunting …

… and all the while, through the highs and the lows, Richard and I never gave up hope that right would prevail in the end. But now here we were, trapped and outnumbered, mortar shells exploding around us as the Gurkhas fought and died tenaciously for every inch of jungle, fire coming at us now from behind as well as front, ever closer.

But what was that sound, a sound like living thunder? All fire ceased as that roar drowned out even the mortars, rattling the bones of every man, Gurkha, German and Briton -- and my American bones too, the only woman present. Squinting toward the enemy line, in the distance I made out Captain von Schrecklichdorf as he rose up slowly amongst the grey helmets bobbing in the bush, his handsome Broomhandle Mauser in hand, peering in the direction of those thunderous bellows, which were now mixed with the sound of cracking tree limbs as something surged through the jungle.

I felt a familiar presence and Stalks-at-Dawn materialized from the bush, panting. He crouched, pointed in the direction of the sound, and said, “He is here. He-Who-Kills is here.”

To be continued ....

Tales of Mystri Island: The Stossechse

The details were kept a closely guarded secret, but part of the Italian trench line taken by the Germans at Caporetto in November of 1917 was not seized by their vaunted Stosstruppen. In one or two selected points on the battlefield, something worse even than the stormtroopers was at play. In those sectors the Italian defenders were utterly wiped out before they were able to withdraw -- worse even than wiped out, torn to pieces, their bodies mangled, sometimes beyond recognition. Only one man survived, a reliable veteran Sergente, but he had been driven insane, and to this day shields his face and screams for no apparent reason. The Germans had here unleashed a weapon that, in its war-winning capabilities, might eclipse the flamethrower and even poison gas itself.

With great effort, Allied intelligence eventually determined from scat left in the assaulted trench sectors that this weapon was biological, apparently some sort of … animal. The Bosche seemed to hold it only in limited quantities at present, or they would have scythed down the entire front, a ghastly slaughter. Thank God for little miracles, though this was literally cold comfort to those torn limb from limb in their trenches.

It was a Belgian spy who first caught wind of the likely origin of the new Hun menace, in the summer of 1917, in fact a few months before Caporetto. She heard two German officers speak obliquely about the “dividends being yielded by a Guards captain on an island in the Pacific,” and how those may “some day yield triumph for the Fatherland.” She passed this information on to the British Secret Service, and it floated around Whitehall Court for a few months, usually described with evident amusement as “Jerry’s Witch Doctor Battalion.” But after Caporetto an enterprising intelligence officer put two and two together, and a team was established specifically to investigate what the Germans were doing in the Pacific. As the Secret Service learned more, two agents, an Englishman and an American, were sent to Mystri Island to see what they could find out. But doubts persisted -- could the obliteration of two full platoons of good Italian infantry be caused by something biological, found on a remote island?

* * *

Von Schrecklichdorf beckoned the party on, his Broomhandle Mauser now heavy in his hand and still hot from use. The native porters remained jumpy from the previous attacks, and clearly expected to see more of the vicious feathered reptiles bolting from the jungle at any moment, but the cadre of German explorers had moved these eggs around on Mystri Inland before and knew that the coast was now clear. The creatures, which Gotz had christened “Stossechse,” would not attempt to retrieve their eggs this far beyond the river.

Good thing too, v. Schrecklichdorf thought as he spat in his monacle and rubbed it on his bluse to remove a blood splatter. Nine more porters killed, over fifty rounds of invaluable K98 ammunition and six grenades expended ... defending six animal eggs. Not that the local tinpot dictator cared a whit about the losses to his own people, but it was getting harder to obtain carriers, conscripted or not, who would not flee as soon as the opportunity presented itself. These simple people, he thought ruefully, nursing a surface gash on his left forearm, had the good common sense not to transport demon eggs out from the deep part of the jungle.

Von Schrecklichdorf allowed himself to relax a little. “Stossechse.” Something right about that name -- “assault lizards” -- yet something so very wrong all the same. Scaly skin and a face like a lizard, but feathers like a bird, and a taut, wiry body like nothing he’d ever experienced before. What were they, besides damnably dangerous?

Well, that was a question for men in white lab coats back in Germany to answer. But what he did know was that these were the first animals he had sent back to Germany that led to clamours for more. Though in their wild state they were incredibly dangerous, in fact nearly suicidal to approach, the creatures were, he was told, domesticable when raised from the egg, and made awesome weapons. (Von Schrecklichdorf tried to image that for a moment.) This was good. He had not come here to fail the German people in their hour of trial. He would collect more of these eggs, and no one would stop him, he thought, looking around the jungle, the hairs now standing up on his neck. He had that old feeling again, like he was once again being watched, but not by Stossechse.

Janice sensed her German subject was aware of her, as she slipped through the jungle, Richard right behind her ….

* * *

Comparison to a 15mm sci fi model

We will soon release a pack of von Schrecklichdorf’s Stossechse (pronounced sh-tows-egg-zuh), dinosaurs now known to science as Deinonychus, often called "raptors" in popular parlance. There are six different poses and the animals are represented in line with the most up-to-date dinosaur science, so they are covered in feathers for heat regulation as well as display. They represent medium to large “raptors” in 15mm scale, but are perfect for 28mm scale smaller “raptors” such as Velociraptor (not the movie monster, the actual animal, which was about the size of a German Shepard).

Tales of Mystri Island -- The Giant Ape

The great beast, a roaring maelstrom of black fur and muscle, had Richard cornered, stuck in the fluted trunk of a vast old sycamore fig tree, ducking from one deep hollow to another as the monster pounded its fists against the mossy wood. Left and right Richard went, and the ape followed him, varying its thrusts occasionally in an attempt to catch Richard unawares. Janice watched the scene unfold from downwind, knowing that if the ape tripped Richard up just once, or if its energy reserves were greater than her companion’s, it would be the end of him. Just one blow of those massive fists would certainly kill any man alive.

She stared at the frenzied giant ape down the barrels of her H&H .600 Nitro Express, which she careened left and right to keep time with it. Never in her life had she seen such a huge and terrifying beast, large enough to easily pummel to death even the elephants she had played with as a child, under Stek’s watchful eye. A great hunter and peerless tracker of the African veldt, Stek had raised the orphaned American girl, teaching her the ways of the savannah and jungle, and she had seen everything the Dark Continent had to offer, but nothing to compare with this. Again the barrels swayed -- she could not shoot, the chances were too great that she might hit Richard, crack shot though she was. And waiting for the ape to lurch more to the left or right simply wasn’t good enough. Richard, barely visible in the crevice, was as imperturbable as ever but even his great strength and endurance were clearly being taxed by this deadly game. The ape let out a deep bark of indignation and accelerated its attacks.

Janice laid her finger lightly on the trigger of the great gun and fought the urge to fire out of panic. Fresh in her memory was the concern on Richard’s face just this very morning as he leapt to her aid, saving her at the last moment from being stuck by a bloodworm. She wasn’t about to repay this latest debt by permitting Richard’s body to be smashed and broken.

The ape had evidently had enough of Richard’s evasions. Ceasing its pounding, it eyed the tree for a moment, then began ripping away at the fluted trunk. The time had come – all she needed was a clear shot at the head. She spied Richard draw his Webley, a futile gesture of defiance before death, and he looked at her for just a moment to communicate his understanding that there was nothing to be done. Janice looked down for a moment and saw a twig propped against the nearest tree. She gently shifted her weight, rested her foot upon the twig, looked back down the barrel of the gun, and pressed down with her boot.

The ape heard a distinct snap behind it – a predator? Another invader? Distracted for a moment from the violator it had cornered, the creature swung around to confront this new menace, its mouth agape in a roar, its eyes searching. The great ape had battled many foes in its time, conquering all with a deadly combination of wiles and brawn, its face a web of scars, bearing testament to countless challenges overcome. Whatever this new threat was, it was ready. Or so it thought. For nothing in all its experience could have prepared it for the roar that split its eardrums, the kinetic energy to which its skull was now subjected, like a meteor hurtling into the front of its skull. For a fleeting instant the stunned ape felt a terrible heat on its face, glimpsed a tall slender human artfully absorb the recoil of a huge rifle in the crook of her arm, and then … blankness, evermore.

Janice looked down the smoking barrels of her elephant gun and relaxed. The ape had collapsed in a heap near the base of the great old tree, the top of its head blown clean off, and Richard was already out and retrieving his white pith helmet. He holstered his pistol, tucked his tie back in his collar and said “not the first time that I’ve been grateful indeed for the cannon you lug about, what? I do wish you’d let the Gurkhas carry the blasted thing for you,” he added, faintly disapprovingly. “Can’t imagine how it must weigh on your shoulder.” He straightened his helmet and, looking back at the tree, said quietly, without looking at her, “thanks for that, as usual greatly appreciated.” Janice’s throat was parched but she smiled and faintly nodded.

The birds suddenly stopped their chorus, and the two adventurers froze in place. Forms silently materialized from the canopy of the jungle. There were eight of them this time, scaly with striped patterns, Reptilian Hunters including Janice’s new friend, Stalks-at-Dawn. They quickly surrounded the fallen ape. Stalks-at-Dawn loped over to Janice and looked at the smoking Holland and Holland. “This is great hunting,” he hissed very slowly to her, then, clearly vexed, snapped his jaws three times toward the other Reptilians who were eyeing Richard up rather like a meal. They stood down and returned their expressionless gazes to the corpse of the ape.

Janice knew what a compliment she had just been paid. “May your blood channels be ever wet,” she said respectfully in reply. “The weapon is mighty indeed that can bring down He-Who-Kills.” Janice held the gun out. She was slightly alarmed that she had slain this creature that obviously meant so much to the Reptilians, the only living thing on the island they truly feared. For how often had Stalks-at-Dawn referred obliquely, and with quiet reverence, to “He-Who-Kills,” the ruler of the deepest jungle at the center of the island, a despot who knew no rivals? The Reptilians, it was said, steered his territory a wide berth, and prevented any efforts to explore those nether regions. Stalks-at-Dawn himself (or “Stalkers” as Richard playfully called him) wore an amulet that represented “the fearless heart of He-Who-Kills.” And now, here the mighty one lay crumpled in a pile, slain by her -- a mere human. Janice was eager to put the credit, or the blame, for the kill on the weapon, rather than the shooter.

The Reptilian looked at her quizzically. Communication with them was not always easy, so she pointed to the ape with the heavy rifle and said, loudly and slowly, “only this great weapon allowed me, a human, to slay He-Who-Kills.” All of the Reptilians were looking at her now, and they hissed, popped and cawed at each other for a few moments. Stalks-at-Dawn shook his head back and forth several times in mimicry of what he had seen humans do before. “This,” he said, looking at the fallen giant, “is not He-Who-Kills.”





(The Mystrian Giant Ape is available now from Khurasan Miniatures.)

Tales of Mystri Island -- The Savannah Lords

A massive Savannah Lord on his Wooly Rhinoceros mount.

Entry of November 11, 1917: The most physically imposing of all the thinking beings of Mystri Island are the Savannah Lords, huge creatures that appear to be a mixture of human and crocodilian. They are so called by the human population of the island because they rule the savannah without question, riding across it mounted on the huge Wooly Rhinos they import from the south of the island, the only trainable creature that is strong, fast and aggressive enough for their taste. On the single instance when I observed them standing erect (for they seem forever to be riding atop their mounts), I noted that the Savannah Lords are clearly over seven feet tall. One such creature must easily weigh 28 stone.

Living in villages near the great Mystri River, which cuts through the savannah, these beings are exclusively carnivorous and conduct no farming of their own. They dwell in huts built very close to the river, with channels cut into it which run into the huts so that they may wallow in muddy water as they devour their prey and plan out their next hunt. Around the village are built sturdy pens for the rhinos, where those creatures graze, clearly unhappy to be in such a warm clime. The health of the rhinos does not seem to be affected by the heat, but they do not breed on the savannah, requiring that the Lords purchase the rhinos from the barbarians to the south, which I presume happens by means of intermediaries.

The Savannah Lords are the senior members of the alliance which the people of the island call the Herpetile Confederation -- this includes the Reptilian Hunters, and the mysterious beings that live in the swampiest parts of the Island called the Salamen. Like the armies of old England, these Herpetile forces are composed of knights, foot soldiers and archers, the Savannah Lords supplying their mounted shock force, the Reptilian Hunters the combat infantry, and the Salamen the archers, as well, apparently, as fleet mounted forces; Miss Prishwalken and I have yet to encounter these last creatures so I do not know their method of archery (except that poisons are employed) or the beasts on which some few apparently ride. Stalks-at-Dawn, the Reptilian befriended by Miss P., tells her that the Salamen are smaller even than the Reptilians, but this, as I have learned, is no indication of the danger Mystrian creatures pose.

We are reassured by Stalks-at-Dawn that the Savannah Lords see humans as nothing but prey, and the German agents on the island would find nothing but death to greet them here. As dissemblance is utterly alien to the Reptilian Hunters, I am enormously reassured and grateful to hear this from his mouth, as such gargantua, properly armed and trained in the methods of war, would make formidable foes indeed.

Four months after our arrival, we accompanied a battalion of the Parayan Dictator Lopez's forces as they attempted to make a short excursion across the savannah, in order to outflank a battle line of his foes the Argentians. Despite being armed with muskets, and being accompanied by a cannon (both of which however were, I should point out, exceedingly antique, being at least fifty years old), the dictator's loincloth-clad troops, generally the picture of bravery, were clearly nervous. Fortunately for us, as the march column was about to move out onto the savannah Stalks-at-Dawn appeared from the jungle and restrained Miss P. from leaving the cover of the trees, and as the Gurkhas and I were not about to go on without her, the battalion marched out without us.

What to our wondering eyes did appear from behind a stand of trees but over a hundred of these towering beasts, galloping across the savannah, lowered lances thick as saplings, moving at great speed in absolute silence but for the thunder of their mounts' feet. (It is clear that these creatures are cunning, for they waited for the humans to advance far enough onto the savannah so that escape would not be possible.) The Parayans began shouting and formed a line, then issued several volleys, but these seemed to bounce off the thick hide of the Savannah Lords, and only few of the mounts were struck. The cannon, deployed quickly and skillfully, got off one cannister of grapeshot, killing several attackers, before it, as well as the rest of the battalion, were struck by this tidal wave of scale, muscle and horn, and seemed to be driven into the very earth itself. Fascinated and horrified, we turned to thank our savior but he had disappeared. We watched as the triumphant beasts pounded the few survivors with enormous mallets, which easily weighed five stone, then gathered up as many of the corpses as they could drape over several now-riderless mounts and upon their own beasts, and rode slowly off, over the horizon of the vast grassland, presumably to feast upon this new bounty of human flesh. -- RS-G

(The 15mm Savannah Lords should be released this week. They are very large crocodilian knights riding charging wooly rhinos. They will be released in two packs, one with six riders (three different poses), six rhinos (in two poses) and six savannah lances, another with one commander, one rhino and a replacement totem for a lancer to be converted to a standard bearer. Despite their size, they have been sculpted to fit on bases with a depth of 30mm, in compliance with the basing requirements of most popular 15mm gaming systems.)