Headtaker

Headtaker (75mm, 154mm) pre-supported

The only law Headtaker acknowledged was the song of steel and the wet thud of separation. Clad in nothing but a soiled loincloth, scarred leather boots, and spiked bracers, he was a mountain of corded muscle and fury. His face was forever hidden beneath a horned great helm, its dark eye-slits revealing nothing but abyssal blackness, a void that promised no mercy. In his right hand, he wielded a single-bladed, two-handed axe of crude, brutal design, its edge notched and stained with the evidence of countless battles. His left hand, however, was his banner—clutching the freshly severed head of a rival chieftain by its matted hair, a grisly trophy held aloft for all to see. He stood knee-deep in the muck of the battlefield, a primal god of carnage made flesh.

He did not roar or boast; his silence was more terrifying than any war cry. He moved with a relentless, ground-eating stride, his axe humming a low, deadly tune as it cleaved through shields, armor, and bone with equal indifference. The head in his left hand was not merely a prize; it was a tool. He would hurl it into the ranks of his enemies to sow discord, or use it to bludgeon a foe before the killing blow. Those who faced him did not see a man, but an elemental force—a whirlwind of gore and polished steel. When the fighting was done, he would add another head to the grisly collection spiked upon his helm, a silent testament to the folly of challenging the one who wore the horns of the damned.