1:12 scale resin bust. Sculpted by Jonatán Monerris. Kit includes: 1 piece casting
The distant echo of footsteps had become louder bit by bit once the adventurers went down the narrow corridor behind the sinister altar. Finding the right path to reach the inner chambers of necromancer lair was proving quite a challenge, but, thankfully, Gar-Ael, the elven ranger seemed to know where they were going.
Unlike Snorri, that elf, as well as all the other members of the party, shared a common trait, they knew what they were doing down there. Their faces showed a kind of courage and determination that he was getting trouble to find inside himself.
Nobody back in the mine trusted on his courage and martial abilities. The last time he had wielded a sword in a training exercise, he almost lost a toe. “It is not my fault if I have butter fingers!” thought Snorri. “Everybody can have an accident…”
In any case, it was too late for regret. His companions trusted him and had believed the stories of adventure and valour, he told them by the fireplace, back in the village tavern. He never thought they might actually meet a real danger that could put his words to test.
The echo got louder as they were reaching the heart of the lair, where unthinkable horrors might be waiting for them. It was time to reach for the sword and prove everybody that he was not a clumsy coward. His shaking hand felt the brass pommel and that sensation reassured him for a moment.
The old doors suddenly opened, vomiting a horde of fearsome skeleton warriors animated by the dark magic of the necromancer. He tried to thrust forward with his weapon and realized that the sword was tangled with his long beard!
It was not a good moment to have butter fingers…
Text Courtesy of FeR Miniatures
