Having successfully negotiated the first scenario, I excitedly turned the page to discover what fresh horrors awaited my intrepid band of monster hunters. I had barely made it halfway through the introduction before encountering my first obstacle. There, amongst the instructions for setting up the board, were the seemingly innocent words, 'In the centre of the table place the ruins of a small chapel.' A small chapel? I didn't have a small chapel! Gravestones I could rustle up without too much difficulty, but an entire ruined chapel was quite another matter. Now, of course, I could have fashioned something to represent the crumbling remains, but this was clearly an opportunity for a spot of retail therapy. Accordingly, I did what any self-respecting gentleman would do in such circumstances; I went shopping!
A quick excursion onto the old interweb, armed with the search term '28mm ruined chapel', revealed all manner of tempting possibilities. There were countless 3D printable offerings and a respectable selection of MDF kits, but nothing quite captured the image I had in mind. Then, quite by chance, I happened upon the ‘Debris of War’ website, where, nestled amongst their buildings and ruins, was the answer to my prayers! What a fabulous thing, thought I, and promptly purchased it.
The kit arrived as a collection of beautifully detailed resin components, including ruined walls, an altar, a stone chest tomb, a font, thirty individual flagstones and assorted pieces of rubble. Better still, the website featured photographs of an assembled and painted example that looked remarkably like the vision I had been carrying around in my mind's eye. Indeed, I was instantly transported back to a rather lovely visit to Tintern Abbey with the Saintly Mrs. Awdry last summer, where we had enjoyed wandering amongst those magnificent ruins before rewarding ourselves with a foaming jar of ale and a fish and chip supper. A most agreeable expedition, but I digress.
Having unpacked the various components and given everything a thorough wash, I set about finding a suitable piece of plasticard to serve as the base. This was cut to size and the edges bevelled before I arranged the individual flagstones to form the chapel floor. Strips of cork were then positioned around the outside to create the surrounding groundwork. Once satisfied with the arrangement, I applied a little Polyfilla across the flagstones, wiping away the excess to fill the gaps and give the impression of a more substantial stone floor. The walls were glued into position and the various pieces of rubble scattered around the exterior. I deliberately kept the interior relatively uncluttered to avoid frustrating my entrepid monster hunters as they search for the elusive clues and artefacts the chapel was rumoured to hold.
It was during this stage that I decided to introduce a little vegetation in the form of my trusty 'hairy wool' vines. These were encouraged to creep up the walls and into various cracks and crevices, where they were secured with generous applications of PVA glue. Apart from suggesting years of neglect, they had the added advantage of disguising a few less than perfect joins. Once painted, a little fine turf would complete the illusion of encroaching greenery.
With construction complete, everything received an undercoat of my standard grey primer, after which I reached for my tried and tested recipe for stonework. After all, everyone knows that all rocks are grey, don't they? For the record, this involves a base of Vallejo London Grey, followed by a dry brush of Stone Grey and a final highlight of Silver Grey. It is a straightforward process, but one that brings out the lovely texture of the masonry particularly well. With the basic stonework complete, it was time to introduce a little colour and character. I began washing selected areas with Woodland Scenics Green Undercoat, occasionally adding a dab of Citadel Coelia Greenshade to provide some variation and depth. The intention was to suggest the subtle staining and discolouration that develops when ancient stonework is left exposed to the elements.
Returning once again to my photographs of Tintern Abbey, I was particularly keen to capture that wonderful sense of nature slowly reclaiming the ruins. This brought to mind a purchase I had made at Salute this year; a set of moss texture paints from 'Pemberley's Scenics'. The set comprises three 20ml bottles, Light Green Moss, Yellow Moss and Dark Green Moss, and promises a quick and easy way to reproduce realistic moss and lichen. Now, I have to confess that my first encounter with the stuff was rather perplexing. It is an extraordinarily thick and gloopy substance, and certainly not the easiest material to apply with any degree of precision. Indeed, there were moments when I wondered whether I was painting a ruined chapel or attempting to spread particularly stubborn chutney upon a water biscuit! Nevertheless, with a little patience and some careful layering of the different colours, the results began to win me over. Once dry, the textured surface gives a remarkably convincing impression of moss clinging to the old masonry, particularly around the broken tops of the walls and the more sheltered recesses; just the thing for a chapel that has clearly seen better days.
Attention then turned to the surrounding groundwork, where I reached for my increasingly indispensable collection of Krautcover scenic basing materials. I have become rather fond of these premixed concoctions and applied a judicious selection from 'A Tale of Grimdark' and 'Ruins of Persistence' to help blend the chapel into its surroundings. With everything secured in place, I added tufts and static grass, before finishing with a liberal scattering of leaf litter. The intention here was to suggest that some restless wind had swept through the ruined building, depositing the accumulated debris of the surrounding countryside upon its abandoned floor. All rather atmospheric, I thought, and hopefully in keeping with the Gothic character of the adventure that awaits.
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