Flanders was, as the saying goes, gifted with the wits of a rock. That may have been from the stray stone that glanced off of his forehead as a small child, or it could have been from ingesting a steady diet of rats since being separated from his family at a young age.
Fear not, gentle reader. Rats are, of course, generally good for eating, as long as one knows which are healthy, and which carry plague and other foul humors of the blood. Flanders, being rather dim, did not discern between rats that were good eating or those that were best left to molder in the gutters. He was a hungry lad, and ate whatever he came across.
Which made him rather big, surprisingly. He was lanky, muscular in a sinewy way, and rather fond of crashing about the slums of the city. While dreadfully dim, he was possessed of a enthusiasm for living, and sang loudly of all the things he loved whilst he cantered about.
He was also easy to hire for odd jobs, and many a merchant found he would work tirelessly at any labor for the promise of gruel and a dry palette to sleep upon. Some found he worked even harder for heartier fare, and would pull a wagon better than a small team of oxen if fed well.
Flanders life changed during one such job, pulling a sledge through a neighborhood affectionately dubbed “Rottersville”. This area had suffered a withering blight, and the survivors shuffled about in the alleys and sewers, flesh hanging gray from their bones.
Even the rats avoided Rottersville, but it was the fastest way from the Merchant district to the temple. Flanders was attacked by nearly a dozen of the shambling denizens, who had succeeded in pulling him to the ground when one of them started eating his arm. Then the others, smelling the aroma of fresh meat, set to it.
Flanders screamed. He screamed and screamed. He screamed until his lungs burned and his eyes stung with tears.
And then, the Angel came. Mighty arms clad in mail swung a hammer with righteous enthusiasm, each blow ringing out like a thunderbolt from the heavens.
The rotters either fled, or met their violent end.
The Angel stood over Flanders, then called to his fellows, a rag-tag group of priests, hunters, and penitents.
“Tend to this Wretch’s wounds, feed him, and when he is able, bring him to me.”
Thus did Flanders find that he was Wretched, and his heart was filled with light and joy.
Wretched Flanders is an interesting kitbash project, which came partially out of desperation. The Flagellant from the classic GW Empire line is great, especially if you’re using them with other classic GW minis. But if you put one next to a newer model, they’re REALLY short. With a good portion of my Witch Hunters warband being made up of newer models, I needed a Flagellant that looked formidable and perhaps a little scary.
I took some bits from the classic kit, like the brazier clad head, weapons, and whatever the hell that book thingy is, and added them to a stock Kruleboy Orc body. Those guys are really stringy and muscular, and using them for a human really makes them look like they’ve been to hell and back.
The final product does the job nicely, I think! I also decided it would be fun to actually draw out his character card, which is something I loved doing in the ’80s with my D&D characters. We’ll see if that’s something I keep doing as the warband fills out!
Grimmleigh's Lab 