Blood and Iron - heroes fall

A shock ran up his arm as the hammer smashes into the flank of the horse. A dreadful whinny, screaming, heat, mud underfoot as he almost slips. He kicks at the broken man's head. Turning to face the newest stab of noise a spark caught his cheek as his armour deflects a weapon. Punching, punching, wetness between his fingers cold against the mail, a body falls. He retrieves his hammer, blessed be his name. Smoke, there is always fire. He stops for a moment behind a wall, chest heaving, clouds in his eyes, shaking. He walks, holy fire from his tongue, through a broken doorway, men, how many? Noise again, screaming, again he slips, pain suddenly, on his feet, hammer falling again and again and again, his hammer is gone, something breaks in his hands, a body falls, he clears the filth from his face and retrieves his hammer from the mud. Already the crows and vermin of the city are feasting. Qoelet spits as he counts the slain, four in the courtyard, the rider and one other outside. He cuts the throat of the shattered palfrey and climbs the steps of the chapel. He nails the articles to the door. The eye of the apostate is upon him until a crow begins its feast.

A COOL miniature & an interesting background story! You did a FINE job with the brushwork & basing. VERY WELL DONE!  

Really cool, I think I've seen him before, do you post on the ammobunker as well?

The fool, in the green and white motley of Lord Alaster took another mouthful of wine, the whisper in his head was getting in the way again. He couldn't remember the words. Something about a bear. He took another sip of the wine anyway and tried to ignore the bastard being born behind his eyes.
"Fool!" came a voice "Entertain!"
He hated this inn, the fat gelding that ran the place stank of cloves and the wine was piss. At least it was out of the wretched city though.
"Fool!" came the voice again. Not his good sir though. Who? Qoelet wasn't around and didn't ever seem to like his rhymes anyway, pious bore that he was.
The floor. Wet face. Sour breath. "I said entertain me." Fire in ribs. Humours misaligned, liver and spleen. The agony behind his eyes grew and he knuckled his head for clarity. Standing again, more voices, choler, choler, choler. The fool heard screaming, so loud it threatened to split his jaw in two, eyes clenched, louder, body rigid, louder. His face ran wet, heart and brain in balance now. The fool opened his eyes. It was time to go, quickly, he needed to find the Sir and Qoelet, time to find a new inn.

The story & miniature are once more SPLENDID. GREAT WORK on both!  

Love your crackled bases, top notch! J.B. would love them!

Branded sky, two fingers pointing, a deep bass tremor, whispers in the dark, a blade strikes through clouds, always fire, lungs filled with mud.
She awoke once again to crying, no longer her own. The fever had broken, the pain had gone, he had spoken to her. East, follow the red fingers. She stood, disturbing the other sisters for a moment. They were gone now, too much pain. She left the dark room. The abbey was a ruin, the mutilated corpse of the Mother superior all but unrecognisable now the crows had taken their fill. Her face a ruined bloody mess, her hands still somehow holding her staked to the great wooden gate that had seemed to strong. Soot blackened the dirt, turned slick by blood and rain. No matter, she would never fall again. She knew where to go, through the kitchens, the bread ovens cold and dark, butchers blocks still red. Into the larderhouse, accross the yard and along the South cloister, through the chapel, the ancient tapestries now gone to cloak some bloody handed men.  Outside again, by the mill. The old willow tree, a bloody rag, no a body at its roots. She pushed the body away, not noticing which of her sisters it had been, or the ragged hole where her smile and laughter once was. She reached into the roots and felt the cloth, safe. She pulled out the long bundle, and unwound the shroud. She paused, rehid the bundle and left, returning with chains from the gatehouse. She again unwrapped the two precious things left in the world. The reliquary she chained and locked to herself, never to be parted from her body, the other item would never leave her hands. She sat for a while, whetting and polishing. She stood after some time, walked from the abbey, and followed the scent of smoke on the wind.

From what can be seen, The Girl looks BEAUTIFUL. With a closer look & better lighting, I would imagine she'd be even more attractive.  

Oh, I really like THAT conversion! A closer look certainly would be appreciated.