Into Mirkwood

     I've been working on a Mirkwood terrain board for a few months, on and off.  Frequently, artists depict Mirkwood as a tangled, overgrown forest full of gnarled trees and tangled roots.  Here's a still from The Desolation of Smaug.  To my eye, there's nothing interesting about this kind of forest - it's become the 'go-to' forest design for any fantasy setting (Snow White and the Huntsman, e.g.).

     Tolkien's own drawing of Mirkwood is quite different, however.  Endless rows of fairly uniform trees create a kind of eerie semi-monotony.  What is more, old-growth forests often have little in the way of undergrowth because the trees are tall and the canopy dense enough to block out most of the sunlight, and few branches survive on the lower portions of the trunk. So this is a more life-like representation of an old forest.

     Here is Siegfried in a forest in Fritz Lang's Die Nibelungen.

     And here's a still from Orson Welles' Chimes at Midnight, when Falstaff and his pals waylay some travelers and are in turn set upon by Harry and Poins.

     I find these images much more interesting and affecting.  

     Here's what I've got so far.  The trees are just dowels of different diameters, wrapped in toilet paper soaked in watered-down glue, with roots made of twisted floral wire bound in masking tape.  By varying the colors, textures (from sawdust), and the direction of the TP wrapping, one can create a number of different tree types.  The leaf litter is from JTT, and the mushrooms are from a Polish company called Ristul (I think?).  I intend to make enough to cover the whole table, but these were the trial run.

     Not the best pictures, and the effect is ruined by the bright sunlight in the background, but that's the idea.  Will try to prepare a more scenic backdrop next time.

This Hand for My Country

Bit of an odd post today, and one I've been meaning to complete for some time.  In a way it's a lead-up to my next Federal regiment, the 80th (20th) NYSVI.  I will write more about them when the regiment is fully painted. 

At Second Bull Run the 80th was under Colonel George Pratt, who received mortal wounds while leading his men against Jackson's right flank on August 30th.  Pratt was born in what is now Prattsville in Greene County, NY, a town named for his father, Col. Zadock Pratt.  Col. Pratt was many things: tanner, businessman, militia officer, Congressman, reformer, banker, and developer.  One thing he was not, however, was modest.  Not only does Prattsville bear his name, but a large rockface outside of town, now known as Pratt's Rock, is covered with carvings he commissioned to commemorate himself and his family.  George Pratt, a state senator, businessman, militia officer, and amateur historian, moved to Kingston, NY, seat of Ulster County, and subsequently was involved with that county's militia.  After he was killed, he was of course added to Pratt's Rock.

Col. Zadock Pratt: "Tanner, Farmer, Builder, Banker, U.S. Congressman."  Pratt is also responsible for revolutionizing the postal system in the United States.  Previously, postage for letters and packages was paid by the addressee upon receipt of the item.  Transportation was costly, and therefore postage was high, so it was not uncommon for an addressee to refuse a letter upon its delivery, in which case the postal service would have to return it to the sender (and pay for the two-way trip, labor, etc.). Pratt, believing that the high cost discouraged people from corresponding, moved while in Congress for the system to be reformed.  The sender would pay postage prior to mailing, and postage would be kept low.  Since it would be simpler and cheaper to send letters, more people would send them, and a net increase in postage revenue would arise in time; at the same time, increased correspondence would stimulate intellectual and commercial development.  Pratt was so proud of this accomplishment that he ordered it engraved on his tombstone.

His son, Col. Pratt - one of many carvings on Pratt's Rock. 

G. Pratt from the front.

Also carved into the rock is an emblem the militia regiment, the Red Hand of Ulster, encircled by the words "This Hand for My Country," a phrase of Pratt's devising that would become a sort of motto for his regiment.

Here is Col. Pratt, urging his men toward the enemy.  The model is a fiddled-with Perry Union officer, who's been given boots, hair and beard, and a hat in his outstretched hand.

Over the Merlock Mountains...

     So begins "The Mewlips," a curious and tantalizing poem from the oft-ignored Adventures of Tom Bombadil.  The poem describes a set of horrific, flesh-eating creatures that drag their victims into gloomy "cellars" and devour them.  There are many references to geography that, though apparently fictional, could correspond with the regions near the Long Lake. 

     I had two plaguebearer bodies left over from an aborted earlier project, and for a long time I didn't quite know what to do with them.  Something about their awkward limbs and ghastly, bloated bellies stuck in my mind, however, and eventually, it occurred to me that they would serve well as mewlips. 

     The prevailing supposition is that a mewlip is in fact an orc, or rather an orc as it might exist in a nonsensical hobbit poem: a vague, atavistic memory of the orcs that might have preyed on hobbits before they crossed the Misty Mountains, transformed over centuries of story-telling into something like a bogeyman. This is a likely-enough theory.  As I started to fiddle with the plaguebearers, however, I came to think of mewlips rather differently.  One of the bodies had a pair of what might pass for breasts, so I began to think of it as the female.  From there, it was an easy step to see the mewlips as a kind of sub-created version of something from one of Tolkien's dearest real-world stories, Beowulf.  

     There's not much to go on in the poem, but it seems that the mewlips live in caves or grottoes situated in a dreadful swamp or marsh.  These caves contain treasure, presumably filched from the bodies of victims.  The mewlips emerge to seize their victims; they feed; and they keep the victims' bones in a sack. We cannot tell how many mewlips there are - whether they are a proper species or just a small group of monsters, nor do we have much in the way of a physical description.

     The mention of the sack caught my attention.  It seemed like an odd detail, and I couldn't help but think of a line from Beowulf which mentions Grendel carrying a bag or pouch made of dragon-hide into which he stuffs the corpses of men he has killed.  Then there is the swamp itself, a bleak, festering marsh situated far away from the abode of civilized men.  The poem mentions gorcrows roosting in the willows and "gargoyles" staring down at any trespassers.  Whether these gargoyles are actual gargoyles, the mewlips themselves, or perhaps other hideous beasts is unclear.  Here again I was reminded of Beowulf: the otherworldy swamp, overhung with trees and filled with writhing water-monsters.  Below, in the lair of the merewif, Beowulf finds a treasure-hoard.  And there is, of course, the obvious similarity between the mewlips and the monsters themselves.

     Before anyone jumps to conclusions, I should make clear that I am not saying Tolkien intended mewlips to be Grendels.  Rather, there are certain similarities - allusions, even - to Grendel and his mother that, to my mind, are unlikely to have been entirely accidental.  In the same sense, I did not set out to make my own version of Grendel and his mother but rather to allow my fondness for Beowulf to inform my understanding of a what a mewlip is like.

     These figures saw a number of firsts: the first time I've resculpted faces, the first time I've tried to mimic figures standing in water, and the first time I've sculpted genitalia.  It took me a while to decide whether the last part was necessary, but I didn't care for the sexless, empty-crotched look of the plaguebearers.  In addition, the text of Beowulf establishes Grendel and his mother as descendants of Cain, a kind of twisted off-shoot of humanity.  There's also an academic theory that considers the merewif a vestige of the fertility deities that preceded Germanic polytheism.  So there is some scholarly justification for what was primarily an aesthetic decision.

     And the finished products...

     The swamp bases aren't quite what I'd hoped.  Oh well.

Above Us, Or Around Us

    So read the scroll stitched onto the National Color of the 5th New York Volunteers (Duryee's Zouaves), surely a regiment that needs little introduction.  Already a veteran unit in 1862, they earned their greatest and most terrible honor on the last day of Second Bull Run, when the 525-strong regiment suffered 332 casualties, at least 120 of them fatal, in under 10 minutes.  Suffice it to say that Zouaves fulfilled the oath in their motto.
     There is plenty of information about the 5th on the Internet, but I draw your attention to this article, which describes in vivid detail those lethal ten minutes on August 30th.

       The miniatures are of course from the Perry Zouave set and were a real pleasure to paint.  You may note a few altered weapons - two companies carried Sharps rifles, which I tried (imperfectly) to recreate.

     Here we Sgt. Allison, carrying the National Color, and Sgt. Spelman,carrying the Regimental Color. Allison was an Englishman, Spelman an Irishman. Both were killed carrying the flags of their new nation, as was every other man in the Color Guard but one.

     In between them is Capt. (acting Col.) Cleveland Winslow, a capable but rather unpopular officer who would lead the regiment until his wounding at Cold Harbor.  He was the son of the regiment's chaplain, who accompanied him back to Alexandria on a hospital steamer.  During the voyage, the elder Winslow fell overboard and drowned, and the younger Winslow succumbed to his injuries soon after reaching Alexandria.
     The flags are hand-painted.  I managed to get them in the right size for once - noticeably larger than those of the other regiments I've done. The Zouave set comes with only the spear-point finials for the flag-poles, so I sculpted an eagle for the National Color. Capt. Winslow is actually a Perry Confederate officer. In his "official photo," his sleeves are decorated with Austrian knots - a rarity among Union officers.  Winslow was actually mounted (his horse virtually disintegrated in a hail of bullets, and all other mounted officers were killed), but for purposes of identification, I have decided to keep all regimental officers on foot.

          On the end of the line is Sgt. McDowell, a gigantic ex-fireman who, unwilling to retreat and too injured to reload his weapon, stood in his place and scowled at the approaching rebels until he was shot through the forehead.

      I should have another Federal update soon.

Knight of Evendim

     Another semi-LotRO-inspired project here.

     Every once in a while I like to wander around the shores of Lake Evendim, which is, I think, one of the most beautiful and peaceful regions in the entire game.  For those of you who don't play, there are a number of old Arnorian ruins there, reverently watched over by some Rangers.  I'd been toying with the idea of recreating them in miniature for some years but couldn't quite get myself to start on the project until recently.

     The image on the shield is meant to resemble the view westward across Lake Evendim after the sun has set, with the spire of Tinnudir visible on the right.  Looking at it I am reminded of the shield of King Arthur in Culhwlch and Olwen, which is called Wynebgurthucher, or "Face of Evening."

     The miniature is one of the old Rangers of the North that came out in one of the early SBG supplements.  Very handsome figures, to my mind.  This wound up being perhaps the most complicated conversion I've ever done; I had to cut out and reposition the left forearm, grind off the quiver, and then re-sculpt the cloak.

     There might be a few more of these in the pipeline. We'll see.

Young's Corners

     Every morning as I drive to work, I pass a little monument.  Recently, it occurred to me that I had never bothered to find out what it commemorates, so I pulled over to examine it and found that it marks the site of a common grave, discovered in 1922, of men killed at the Battle of Young's Corners (also known as Young's House or Four Corners), an engagement I'd never heard of.  

     There was, to my surprise, a quite detailed article on Wikipedia, which I encourage the reader to peruse.  I was interested in visiting the exact location of the battle and learning a bit more about it, however, and with the kind assistance of the librarian of the Westchester County Historical Society, I was able to pinpoint the location of the battle, aided in particular by an article written by a local historian, a Mr. William Abbatt, on the occasion of the discovery of the bones of the fallen in '22.

   Young's House was a tavern at the intersection of two local roads.  It served as a Patriot outpost during the rough years of the Revolution, when much of Westchester was a no-man's land ravaged by both sides.  In 1799, with the departure of a substantial part of the New York garrison for the Southern campaign,  the Continental army was at last able to establish its lines closer to the city.  General von Knyphausen, who now commanded the garrison, was an aggressive officer and planned a number of raids in strength on Continental strongpoints.  Young's House, held by five companies from Massachusetts regiments, was an obvious target, and on the evening of Feb. 2nd, 1780, an elite force of Guardsmen, Hessians, and the much-feared Westchester Refugees departed Kingsbridge in the Bronx and marched North.  The winter of 1779-80 was especially severe, and the deep snow delayed and disrupted the columns, so that they arrived piece-meal at the tavern the following morning.  Despite having been alerted to the presence of the British, Lt Col. Thompson, commanding the garrison, was totally unprepared for the attack, and in characteristically aggressive fashion the British and Hessians, though in some disorder from the march, fell on the defenders, flanked them on both sides, and, after a short but bloody encounter drove them off.  The Refugees rode down or captured many of the fleeing Continentals while the British fired the tavern, unfortunately burning to death several wounded men trapped in the building.  The operation was a total success, and the Tavern was not rebuilt, though Continental patrols frequently passed near it;  Major Andre, on his fateful voyage towards New York, deviated from his planned route to avoid men posted at "the burnt house."

     The only monument to the battle is this rather odd structure, which marks the common grave of both Continental and British soldiers who were killed.  It is in itself a somber and reverent memorial and stands in a grove of very stately Eastern red cedars.  What the photos don't show is that it is located on what is effectively a highway median (near the on-off ramps for the South-bound Sprain Brook Parkway).  It is a very noisy spot on account of the traffic, and it is also used as a staging/storage ground for road maintenance projects; the effect, needless to say, is less than peaceful.

     Looking east along Route 100C (Grasslands Road) towards the Sprain Brook Parkway.  On roughly this ground the British left column (Hessians and the light companies) engaged the Continentals: the company from the 15th under Roberts in what is now the road-bed of the Sprain Brook, and Stoddard's company from the 1st marching belatedly East along 100C and arriving just in time to participate in the general rout. Roberts' men put up stiff resistance for a few minutes, but while they were pinned the attackers slipped around Roberts' right flank and routed them.  Roberts was mortally wounded in the defense.  Incidentally, the grave marker is in the stand of conifers on the left.

     Using the map provided in Mr. Abbatt's article, I estimate Young's House to have stood more or less on the same spot as this building, near the main entrance of Blythedale Children's Hospital on Bradhurst Avenue.  There were also a number of outbuildings, as well as an orchard immediately to the tavern's North.  Lt. Col Thompson and Watson's company from the 9th Massachusetts were stationed here.  Apparently, the tavern's chimney survived the conflagration and was incorporated into a new house built after the war.

     Again looking East along Grasslands Road, this time toward Westchester Community College.  Farley's and Cooper's men (9th Massachusetts) were strung out in this direction, Farley's company driven off by the British right column and Cooper's arriving too late to do much of anything.

Orcses!

     Here are some photos of the various orcs I've painted over the last few years.  Many of them I've had for 10 or 15 years, from the very first releases of GW's Lord of the Rings miniatures.   The old ones have been repainted.

Some warg riders, including my favorite (second from left), whom I call Magua.

Mirkwood orcs.  I'm very pleased with the color scheme: pallid flesh set against black armor, with a lot of unhealthy purple/grey colors on the cloth.  I hoped to give them a vaguely ghostly look as befits the soldiery of Dol Guldur.  Bases are unfinished (the leaf litter needs work).  And it goes without saying that the old metal orc sculpts are just fantastic - far better than the plastic ones.  A few personal notes: the face on the banner is one of my first attempts at free-hand (done 13 years ago) and survived the repaint, while the rather greenish orc on the right was for many years my favorite GW model and one of the first I ever painted, so I redid him in the same colors I used back in 2002.

Hobbit goblins.  I wasn't crazy about the idea of mutant goblins when I saw An Unexpected Journey, but the sculpts are so wonderful that I couldn't help getting a few.  I think of them as devolved or diseased orcs (like the Globsnaga in LotRO), repulsive even by orcish standards and condemned to the lowest and most squalid tunnels. They remind me of Morlocks, so perhaps I should call them Morlorcs?  The blind one in the second photo is a sort of shaman, and he has a little midget goblin to help guide him along the tunnels.

Now that I look at them, the black-lining seems a bit heavy, and the one with the whip might have to be altered considerably.

When the Fellowship travel down the Anduin and pass the Brown Lands, they come under fire from orc archers stationed on the East Bank of the river. There are also allusions in the books and appendices to occasional orc raids across the River into Rohan.  I thought it would be fun to build a small Brown Lands orc patrol, of which the above is the start.  Predictably, they're mainly brown.

And my favorites, the goblins.  I think the Moria goblins are the closest PJ came to Tolkien's orcs in terms of stature and appearance.  They're just so neat-looking.  I never get tired of converting and painting them.