The Chieftain

1:12 scale resin bust. sculpted by Jonatán Monerris. Boxart by Fernando Ruiz. Kit includes: 1 piece.
The dawn of the new day came with the persistent cawing of the crows. The clan elders had always considered that an omen of death. And this time they were not wrong.
The Chieftain woke up impatient on the straw bed. He had barely slept and felt the usual tension before a decisive combat overwhelming him. As he was dressing himself, fastening the equipment with movements that experience had made instinctive, he remembered the many times he had tasted that bittersweet sense of anticipation, that disconcerting feeling he always thought was going to disappear the next time… but always returned.
He wasn’t getting any younger, but his arm was still strong enough to wield a sword with the same energy as the best warriors. None of them had yet been able to dispute the scarlet cloak that marked his position and live to tell it. That thought drew a mocking expression in his mouth; many of the better positioned men of the council would not mind if he did not survive the impending battle.
The druid handed him a container with the sacred mud, the unmistakable badge of the clan in war. Another servant held near him a piece of polished metal like a mirror and he studied his own reflection on the surface while he applied the clan’s mark with his fingers. His face was that of a seasoned man. Maybe tired. Maybe worried. But the shadow of death was not in his stare.
The icy morning was waiting for him outside the tent. Amid the roar and the clashing of weapons that his men dedicated to him as a welcome, a nearby crow looked at him and cawed as a greeting. The mocking grin twisted again his mouth. With determination, he walked towards the bird and swiftly kicked it. It flew away terrified.
Today wasn’t going to be the day.
Text Courtesy of FeR Miniatures