Much like the Herald of Razmir, I'm not entirely sure what the Crimson Herald is actually heralding. Is he a proponent of deep red shades? The mascot for a daemonic Blood Bowl team? Advertising a sale at the local Evil Я Us? Whatever he is, it gave me an excuse to whip out the chapel and the door again.
After finishing my new building I got into a bit of a scenery kick and knocked out these Reaper models over the past few days. They were relatively straightforward thanks to the magic of spray paint.
Carol pauses between zombie kills to check out the local record store. She's miffed that the cigarette machine doesn't work, and she'd give the manager a piece of her mind if a zombie hadn't already eaten a piece of his.
After two days in the mudroom the texture paint was completely dry, and better yet it had stopped stinking the place up. It was brought into the warmth of the spare room to be painted while the detail bits were drying in the garage after being sprayed with grey primer.
Not literally, obviously. I'm terrible with budgets and maths leaves me in a cold sweat. I'm so bad at it that if you asked me to pick a number I'd probably say "X". I resat my GCSE Maths four times and got a solid D every time, so at least I'm consistently crap. If I ever actually opened a shop I'd be bankrupt by lunchtime on the first day.
"A survivor, unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of morality. I can't lie to you about your chances... but you have my sympathies."