While the glue I'd smeared over the hull was drying (a waterproofing layer, I thought, seeing as it wasn't sticking anything together), I started thinking about what the ship would be flying over.
I did at one point consider a model ploughing through the ground. Just after the Mk. 3 hull, I think it was, when the idea of an actual ship-shaped ship felt like a rapidly receding possibility. Just as chaotic, I supposed, but also kind of tame. Not as iconic of something or other. And a total copout on the whole hull front.
The rest of the chaos army has a bunch of crudely slopped-together carefully researched arctic tundra on its bases, and this would have to be no different. But it was going to be tall and top heavy as well, so it needed weight.
Reluctantly, I ventured outside into the cold light of day. I took a heavy blanket to protect my nerdy skin, and by fumbling blindly around for half an hour I managed to come back in with some lumps of local rock that would do the trick.
These, plus a length of extra-heavy-duty paperclip and the top third of a DnD skeleton, would do the job.
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Pesky modeller, come back here with my legs! Why, I oughtta... |
The hull was dry. So I made up as much green stuff as I dared from my tiny store, slopped it round the edges of the warshrine deck, put it on top of the hull and pushed. After a bit of scraping with a penknife, I had this:
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Blobby greenstuff joint! Because of chaos reasons. Like, mutant flesh and stuff. Or molten metal.
Not shit modelling, no sirree. |