The Devotees of Elazar - The Characters

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“Rejoice,” he told me, “for I am Elazar.” For his fell deed Slaanesh gave the gift of immortality. He was elevated to Daemonhood and I stood in awe for I had witnessed the birth of the death of man. He rose into the sky on feathered wings, radiant, more glorious than the sun, it’s light paling in the Daemon’s aura. His harmonious voice filled the skies as he spoke to me then. My heartbeat froze, desperate not to besmirch the wondrous sound with its crude thudding.
“I am temptation, I am vanity. I am the voice that says yes when all other say no. I am the dark ambition that broods at the core of every man. I am your salvation and I am your doom. Love me or fear me, it matters not, you will be my slave.”

The mad writings of Rumpolt Staudinger who impossibly claims to have been present at the massacre at the Hospice for the Insane at Sensfeld. Staudinger’s insanity is matched only by his heresy. May this document provide further proof against him in his ongoing trial and may Sigmar’s righteous fires free him from his ravings!
- Witch Hunter Aldebrandt Veit

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Elazar The Glorified is a Daemon Prince of Slaanesh. Such is his standing in the eyes of Slaanesh and indeed his arrogance that he is worshipped by many as a god in his own right. In the far north the Diatchi worship him in part as a proxy for Slaanesh but in part as a separate deity. The Diatchi are a collection of tribes of predominantly Kurgan stock, the tribes exist in a state of war with eachother but at times a High Zar is able to bring the lower Zar's of the tribes into line and lead them to war all the while the Daemon Prince watches over his Glorious Host...
The followers of Elazar are not confined to just the northern tribes. In the darkest depths of the forests of the Old World an ascending Beastlord is starting to gather the rival herds in the name of the Daemon.
And worse still in the heart of the Empire's cities the Cult of Elazar continues to attract more followers.

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The Devotees of Elazar are my Warhammer Fantasy army. They are a Slaaneshi Warriors of Chaos force. I wanted to create a host dedicated to Slaanesh that didn't focus on the lust aspect of this particular god but instead on the vanity and pride aspects more. I also wanted to avoid the common pink/purple colour schemes used by Games Workshop and do something a little more original. I had always wanted to try a chaos army with a bone coloured armour as I thought this would give it a very unique look instead of the traditional cult colours or undivided black that Games Workshop use.

To start with I'll post pics and background of all of the finished characters for the army so far.

Neron The Destroyer

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Neron spat at the ground, disgusted with himself. He'd followed that weakling Archaon. He'd seen the Gods turn their backs on the Everchosen and their glorious war had come to an abrupt halt. Now here he was making an inglorious retreat back north leading a handful of the tribesmen he'd led south for the promise of slaughter and rapine.

They'd marched for days and the grasslands had given way to tundra and the tundra had given way to the barren lifeless Chaos wastes. To start with their retreat had been greatly hindered by outriders and then by rival tribes still spoiling for war. Neron and his men had quickly dispatched all who stood in their way and offered up their souls to the Gods. In the distance Neron spied a lone building. Even from this distance he could make out the ornate decoration that adorned the strange building and new it at once to be a shrine.

He brought his men to a halt once they grew closer to the shrine and made the last small part of the trek alone. A breeze seemed to issue from the black engulfing portal of the shrine and the breeze carried dark whispers that prickled at Neron's ears. The archway was lavishly decorated with golden scrollwork and crude drawings on the walls, penned in dried blood, depicted writhing humans, presided over by a winged beast.

'Neron!' The whispers rose to a nerve shattering crescendo and then ceased. The blackness seemed to beckon Neron into it and his legs carried him in despite his doubting mind. The darkness engulfed him and his stomach lurched as if he'd been launched from his feet yet they stood on a floor of rounded stones. A very dim light rose around Neron and he could make out the floor around him and see the far wall about three paces away from him.

'Neron The Destroyer. Great Debaucher. Neron The Refulgent One,' came a harsh hissing voice.
'I am Neron. Who addresses me?'
'I know Neron. His path is clear to me. Great and terrible he might be. Foolishness and weakness are the paths he frequents for now.'
'Who addresses me!' bellowed Neron into the darkness as it seemed to grow around him once more.
'I am Glorious He,' the voice answered sharply.
'What do you want of me?'
'An answer,' the voice responded.
'What is your question?' Neron's agitation edging his words.
'Why did you follow the Jester, the Fool, the so called Everchosen?'
'It was the will of the Gods.' Neron answered flatly. He span around slowly trying to identify the source of the voice as it spoke to him once more.
'You know nothing of the Gods' will. The Fool was doomed to failure. Not a one of the Gods would share the spoils of war. My sweet father, my sweet mother would never bless such a being as he.'
'Tell me creature, what do you know of the Gods?' Neron felt a great force of static energy descend on him and he fell to his knees.
'Kneel!' The whisper rose to a roar then quickly receded back to a hiss. 'I can tell you all if you swear your soul to me wonderful Neron. I am Elazar, beloved of Shornaal. Glorified servant of Slaanesh. I can grant you powers your mind can't imagine. Show you things your eyes will not believe. You will feel sensations beyond your most depraved dreaming. Men and women will fall at your feet in awe and love. All you need to do is swear yourself to me.'
The static energy coursed through Neron's muscles and bones sending him into agonising spasms and he screamed tortured screams he never thought his body capable of. Harsh laughter filled the air and the spasms intensified. He heard movement, chitinous claws scratched at his skin but his eyes couldn't locate them.
'I swear,' Neron screamed between the wracking spasms. 'I'm yours.'
A hissed roar greeted him from the dark as a great winged beast stepped into the light and knocked him unconscious with a graceful swipe of a crab like clawed hand...

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Neron is converted from the 25th Anniversary Harry The Hammer miniature. I used a regular Marauder head and the shield/banner is from the Chaos Knights sprue. The flail was made from a chopped up banner pole, some chain and flail heads taken from the Marauder sprues again. Initially he had the shield for the Harry miniature but I decided to use him as a Battle Standard Bearer instead so converted the banner up. The hands and tentacles are from the plastic Bloodletters sprue (the tentacles actually being tongues). The paintjob on Neron needs some work as it isn't particularly well shaded and like a lot of the minis for this army currently doesn't look quite finished.

Isidro Devante

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Isidro Devante stalked between the houses of the small town, enjoying the sounds of the carnage and the smells of the flames as the wind carried them both keener to his senses.

He'd allowed his men to enjoy the slaughter as long as they left ample numbers of captive to take back with them. Whilst the gods would revel in the destruction the warband had sown upon the small village, Isidro needed the slaves to dedicate their souls to the gods to bind some of their power to him.

Isidro rounded a corner and saw a peasant man bent over the body of a young woman who lay still and lifeless. The peasant man must have heard his foot falls or sense him in some other way as he looked up and stood abruptly to his feet, an axe in hand. His face was a vision of tormented rage and beneath his helm Isidro Devante allowed himself a smile at the man's anguish.
The main raise his axe and charged at Isidro.

He needed the slaves but Isidro reasoned that he should allow himself a little enjoyment too. He summoned his energies and made a brief and silent dedication of the man's soul to his patron Elazar. The man ran across the clearing and down the row of houses towards him. Isidro Devante thrust out his hand holding aloft in the other the symbol of the gods, the focus for his power and clutch at the life force of the man as if it were a physical, tangible thing. The man collapsed to his knees, dropping his axe and grasping at his throat a few paces from Isidro.

Terror flooded into the man's eyes, as if it had been held at bay by a dam but that dam had splintered and crashed down under the pressure. Isidro Devante chuckled to himself and tightened the pinch hold on the man's soul. The man began to choke violently and his hands ripped frantically at his throat with growing force and tore away layers of flesh. The eyes of the man glazed over and he thrust his hands into his own throat, his nails plunging into red ruin.

Isidro took three paces towards the man, not relaxing his grip. He smiled an unseen smile of malice as the man destroyed his own throat and airways and the decided to put him out of his misery, thrusting an armoured boot into the man's ribs. He was sent sprawling backwards, the last of the air in his lungs knocked from his and his life expelled.

Isidro Devante continued on, stalking through the town. He'd keep the next one alive he promised himself.

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Isidro Devante is an out of print Chaos Sorcerer miniature originally called Vorl Warlord. I bought the miniature on ebay and felt that he had something of a Darth Vader like appearance and the pose of the mini only added to that. It's very much a 'I find your lack of faith disturbing' moment that looks to have been captured so I decided to make a mini-diorama base for him. The peasant is from the Giant sprue. I cut both of the legs and his left arm to reposition to pose him as if he is having the air choked out of him. Also on the base is the walking book chaos familiar. Again, the paintjob on this mini could do with some work as it needs some more shading to complete it.

Gaizka The Warped

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Gaizka was jostled aside by a group of drunken tribesmen. Normally he wouldn't think twice about issuing violent retribution but he was in the camp of the High Zar, whilst he had the ear of his Zar he couldn't risk inciting the wrath of his master's master. At least not yet. The grotesque growth that had grown from the back of Gaizka's head chattered angrily at the offence and Gaizka made a shushing noise as if to sooth it. The growth had started out merely as a voice inside his head. It had whispered dark secrets to him and the more he had listened the more it had shared and then it began to grow. Once fully formed it didn't share its secrets as willingly and often jeered and taunted Gaizka when they were alone together, but it didn't act against Gaizka, and it worked hard to protect its host when necessary.

The tribes had been brought together under the High Zar but as in all things with the tribes distrust and violence slunk under the surface of the alliance and would soon be brought to the fore. That was what Gaizka intended to do. His master would take the position of High Zar but when the tribes were gathered for such a divine purpose by the otherworldly patron he couldn't make the first challenge. So Gaizka looked to insight things.

Gaizka approached the campsite of the High Zar's shaman, Jamour. Whilst Jamour possessed a gift he could only dream of wielding power to match Gaizka's, for he was truly blessed by the Daemon Elazar.
Gaizka strode into Jamour's tent his aim to cause offence. Jamour leapt to his feet at the intrusion, he'd been wrapped in lavish furs and silks on the floor with one of the tribeswomen but moved with a frightening pace and dexterity. Within two seconds of Gaizka entering the tent Jamour had a staff in his hand and roared in anger sending a concussive wave of sound in all directions. Gaizka kept his footing and heard the clamour outside as men reacted to the sorcery taking their weapons in hand and fixing their armour. Gaizka acted fast, his withered frame might not move as fast as Jamour's but his mind summoned forth words of power with which to strike back and as Gaizka recited them the growth on the back of his head recited them also in a dark and terrifying voice, far removed from the chattering that normally issued forth.
Jamour screamed as a high pitched note that only he could hear built up in his mind. He thrashed wildly collapsing to the floor and knocking into the startled woman who had cowered away from the dueling sorcerers. His screaming began to rapidly rise in pitch until it began to match the note placed in his mind by Gaizka. The sound was horrifying and the woman lost consciousness under its aural assault. The tribesmen outside could hear the note too, they were far enough removed from it that it only caused a ringing in their heads but the stopped their advance on the tent and shook their heads to clear them. The note died out as Jamour's mind burnt out in his skull, flames licked out through his eye sockets and mouth as the flesh burnt under white hot heat. Gaizka smiled as the flames leapt to the tent and turned to leave as the sound of battle started outside as the tribes descended on each other in fury.

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Gaizka is probably my best character right now as the paintjob is the one that looks the most finished. He's just the standard Chaos Sorcerer on foot miniature with no conversion work whatsoever. He often leads my army in smaller battles and usually has the Book of Secrets and a Power Familiar to make him a very magic heavy character.