August is finaly here with a new character this time we are introducing Hannelore, the Deathbed Preacher,
We are very exited to let you all know that we are adding to the MMF Tribe for the same 3.89$ a full DnD 5e Stat Block for our Characters.
The model comes fully supported in 32mm and 75mm and with an aditional custom skull base for all you skull fans that really like a custom base.
“Even the fairest rose eventually wilts, my dear. Embrace death, for it is the only lover who will never abandon you.” – Deathbed Sermon
"Underneath a sky as dark as iron, following thunder that rolls as steadily as executioner’s drums, a figure emerges through the fog. It coils around her waist as thick as a belly dancer’s serpent, and on the heels of the thunder is a saturnine silence that is then broken by the clacking of bones. Emerging from the darkness, her hips sway, reminiscent of the cat-like grace she once possessed. Yet now, every step is more of a jostle. Her skeletal toes push deep into the earth, attached to the sweeping arch of a foot that was one coveted by those who gazed upon it and wrapped in the finest silk and hides. She wears the leather cloak of a village witch and carries the staff of a high priestess. Some say she was once both, before dabbling too deep in sticky black arts. Her Human spines curl around her shoulders and sprout from her back like wings—attached to her collar, which is said to be made from the fingers of every man who ever loved her. The moonlight loves her pale skin, and through its beams she carries the allure of a siren. Those who move any closer will see her horrors revealed—for the face that was once renowned for its beauty is now little more than muscle and scraps of skin clinging to exposed bone. Her rotted waist is soft to the touch—decayed almost to the point of sloughing off if she were to be touched. Underneath the shadow of her hood and beneath the safety of her cloak, it reeks of death, barely masked by lingering notes of clove oil perfume. There is no flesh upon her back, exposing the gaping hole of a heart that was once ritualistically torn out. Decorated, bejewelled—even in death, she is grand, she is beautiful, and she is deadly. She is the glory of death in svelte feminine form, trailing fire and smoke through the darkness. "
