u/DexJBry

As I climb I realize it’s probably too late for me. It feels like twenty minutes I’ve been in this tower, yet I know it’s been longer because I can no longer see the ground. I look out one of the few windows and I’m met with a haze of cloudy air and maybe the top of a tree or two. At least, I think they are trees. This is the last time I let curiosity take a hold of me. If I get another chance to be curious.

I tried turning around after a few minutes but that led to worse stipulations. Distortion, sickness, near blindness. I don’t know why, but the spire wants me to keep going up. I oblige. I scale.

The paintings started appearing about ten minutes ago, and were aligned along the spiral wall, almost panoramically. All beautiful oil paintings. They weren’t connected physically, but they were connected thematically. Each painting was almost the exact same, but there were slight differences in perspective. The paintings depicted a field with woods, but the point of view kept getting closer to the treeline. At one point the painting just pointed at the ground to a bloody corpse. The body was mangled beyond identification. Couldn’t even tell the sex of the person. Or if it was a person at all. The strokes of the oil were captivating. It was a beautiful piece despite the subject. I had to leave it behind. I have to keep going. Still I scale.

Twenty four hours have passed. I feel closer to the top with each passing footfall, but I don’t know what awaits me. The paintings have gotten more abstract and vague. A strange walk through a familiar wood was replaced by various swirling images of something that was supposed to be, now confined to a volute of colors and indistinct imagery. Still I scale.

After days of being hypnotized by oils and tincture, I finally hit something. A door. A grand door. Burgundy in color and velvet to touch. Despite the dusty infrastructure of the pinnacle, The door is seemingly spotless. I lost my balance due to the sheer amount of space the pillar suddenly gave me. I was velcroed to the walls of the small spiral staircase that ascended impossibly, so being met with such a large clearance, it felt like the entire horizon was open to me. Above the door was one final painting. A figure whose face was blotted out by a twister of black, white and grey. Below the face, the deity had the body of Venus and the imposing air of Saturn. Beauty, but a cautious and villainous beauty.

As I look upon this unfriendly, godly form, I realize this notepad has been my only acquaintance this journey, writing down my feral thoughts and findings. Not as much as I would’ve wanted though. Being coerced by a never-ending obelisk doesn’t leave much to a writer's hand or mind. I could've written about the paintings more. The bloody body wasn't the only violence I encountered in the mysterious brushstrokes of the twisted walls after all. Various naked human beings strung up across a thick forest, some clean, some covered in deep gashes. Cuts so intense they’ve almost severed from the rest of the body. They got worse. My intuition said the mangled corpse I first saw was the first to fall. 
Near the door is a window…I just threw my backpack out the window to gauge the mountainous heights I did not consent to climb. My heart sank when I heard it hit the ground. Freedom is out of that aperture, but I know I can’t leave. The steeple is a cruel jester. My final partings here. Let this small pad of paper be a warning to the inquisitive, do not climb this tower. I fear the painted god above the plush door. You have the opportunity to not see them. Grasp that opportunity. Turn away from the seemingly small structure. For me however, the velour passage awaits. Still, I scale.

As I climb I realize it’s probably too late for me. It feels like twenty minutes I’ve been in this tower, yet I know it’s been longer because I can no longer see the ground. I look out one of the few windows and I’m met with a haze of cloudy air and maybe the top of a tree or two. At least, I think they are trees. This is the last time I let curiosity take a hold of me. If I get another chance to be curious.

I tried turning around after a few minutes but that led to worse stipulations. Distortion, sickness, near blindness. I don’t know why, but the spire wants me to keep going up. I oblige. I scale.

The paintings started appearing about ten minutes ago, and were aligned along the spiral wall, almost panoramically. All beautiful oil paintings. They weren’t connected physically, but they were connected thematically. Each painting was almost the exact same, but there were slight differences in perspective. The paintings depicted a field with woods, but the point of view kept getting closer to the treeline. At one point the painting just pointed at the ground to a bloody corpse. The body was mangled beyond identification. Couldn’t even tell the sex of the person. Or if it was a person at all. The strokes of the oil were captivating. It was a beautiful piece despite the subject. I had to leave it behind. I have to keep going. Still I scale.

Twenty four hours have passed. I feel closer to the top with each passing footfall, but I don’t know what awaits me. The paintings have gotten more abstract and vague. A strange walk through a familiar wood was replaced by various swirling images of something that was supposed to be, now confined to a volute of colors and indistinct imagery. Still I scale.

After days of being hypnotized by oils and tincture, I finally hit something. A door. A grand door. Burgundy in color and velvet to touch. Despite the dusty infrastructure of the pinnacle, The door is seemingly spotless. I lost my balance due to the sheer amount of space the pillar suddenly gave me. I was velcroed to the walls of the small spiral staircase that ascended impossibly, so being met with such a large clearance, it felt like the entire horizon was open to me. Above the door was one final painting. A figure whose face was blotted out by a twister of black, white and grey. Below the face, the deity had the body of Venus and the imposing air of Saturn. Beauty, but a cautious and villainous beauty.

As I look upon this unfriendly, godly form, I realize this notepad has been my only acquaintance this journey, writing down my feral thoughts and findings. Not as much as I would’ve wanted though. Being coerced by a never-ending obelisk doesn’t leave much to a writer's hand or mind. I could've written about the paintings more. The bloody body wasn't the only violence I encountered in the mysterious brushstrokes of the twisted walls after all. Various naked human beings strung up across a thick forest, some clean, some covered in deep gashes. Cuts so intense they’ve almost severed from the rest of the body. They got worse. My intuition said the mangled corpse I first saw was the first to fall. 
Near the door is a window…I just threw my backpack out the window to gauge the mountainous heights I did not consent to climb. My heart sank when I heard it hit the ground. Freedom is out of that aperture, but I know I can’t leave. The steeple is a cruel jester. My final partings here. Let this small pad of paper be a warning to the inquisitive, do not climb this tower. I fear the painted god above the plush door. You have the opportunity to not see them. Grasp that opportunity. Turn away from the seemingly small structure. For me however, the velour passage awaits. Still, I scale.

As I climb I realize it’s probably too late for me. It feels like twenty minutes I’ve been in this tower, yet I know it’s been longer because I can no longer see the ground. I look out one of the few windows and I’m met with a haze of cloudy air and maybe the top of a tree or two. At least, I think they are trees. This is the last time I let curiosity take a hold of me. If I get another chance to be curious.

I tried turning around after a few minutes but that led to worse stipulations. Distortion, sickness, near blindness. I don’t know why, but the spire wants me to keep going up. I oblige. I scale.

The paintings started appearing about ten minutes ago, and were aligned along the spiral wall, almost panoramically. All beautiful oil paintings. They weren’t connected physically, but they were connected thematically. Each painting was almost the exact same, but there were slight differences in perspective. The paintings depicted a field with woods, but the point of view kept getting closer to the treeline. At one point the painting just pointed at the ground to a bloody corpse. The body was mangled beyond identification. Couldn’t even tell the sex of the person. Or if it was a person at all. The strokes of the oil were captivating. It was a beautiful piece despite the subject. I had to leave it behind. I have to keep going. Still I scale.

Twenty four hours have passed. I feel closer to the top with each passing footfall, but I don’t know what awaits me. The paintings have gotten more abstract and vague. A strange walk through a familiar wood was replaced by various swirling images of something that was supposed to be, now confined to a volute of colors and indistinct imagery. Still I scale.

After days of being hypnotized by oils and tincture, I finally hit something. A door. A grand door. Burgundy in color and velvet to touch. Despite the dusty infrastructure of the pinnacle, The door is seemingly spotless. I lost my balance due to the sheer amount of space the pillar suddenly gave me. I was velcroed to the walls of the small spiral staircase that ascended impossibly, so being met with such a large clearance, it felt like the entire horizon was open to me. Above the door was one final painting. A figure whose face was blotted out by a twister of black, white and grey. Below the face, the deity had the body of Venus and the imposing air of Saturn. Beauty, but a cautious and villainous beauty.

As I look upon this unfriendly, godly form, I realize this notepad has been my only acquaintance this journey, writing down my feral thoughts and findings. Not as much as I would’ve wanted though. Being coerced by a never-ending obelisk doesn’t leave much to a writer's hand or mind. I could've written about the paintings more. The bloody body wasn't the only violence I encountered in the mysterious brushstrokes of the twisted walls after all. Various naked human beings strung up across a thick forest, some clean, some covered in deep gashes. Cuts so intense they’ve almost severed from the rest of the body. They got worse. My intuition said the mangled corpse I first saw was the first to fall. 
Near the door is a window…I just threw my backpack out the window to gauge the mountainous heights I did not consent to climb. My heart sank when I heard it hit the ground. Freedom is out of that aperture, but I know I can’t leave. The steeple is a cruel jester. My final partings here. Let this small pad of paper be a warning to the inquisitive, do not climb this tower. I fear the painted god above the plush door. You have the opportunity to not see them. Grasp that opportunity. Turn away from the seemingly small structure. For me however, the velour passage awaits. Still, I scale.

As I climb I realize it’s probably too late for me. It feels like twenty minutes I’ve been in this tower, yet I know it’s been longer because I can no longer see the ground. I look out one of the few windows and I’m met with a haze of cloudy air and maybe the top of a tree or two. At least, I think they are trees. This is the last time I let curiosity take a hold of me. If I get another chance to be curious.

I tried turning around after a few minutes but that led to worse stipulations. Distortion, sickness, near blindness. I don’t know why, but the spire wants me to keep going up. I oblige. I scale.

The paintings started appearing about ten minutes ago, and were aligned along the spiral wall, almost panoramically. All beautiful oil paintings. They weren’t connected physically, but they were connected thematically. Each painting was almost the exact same, but there were slight differences in perspective. The paintings depicted a field with woods, but the point of view kept getting closer to the treeline. At one point the painting just pointed at the ground to a bloody corpse. The body was mangled beyond identification. Couldn’t even tell the sex of the person. Or if it was a person at all. The strokes of the oil were captivating. It was a beautiful piece despite the subject. I had to leave it behind. I have to keep going. Still I scale.

Twenty four hours have passed. I feel closer to the top with each passing footfall, but I don’t know what awaits me. The paintings have gotten more abstract and vague. A strange walk through a familiar wood was replaced by various swirling images of something that was supposed to be, now confined to a volute of colors and indistinct imagery. Still I scale.

After days of being hypnotized by oils and tincture, I finally hit something. A door. A grand door. Burgundy in color and velvet to touch. Despite the dusty infrastructure of the pinnacle, The door is seemingly spotless. I lost my balance due to the sheer amount of space the pillar suddenly gave me. I was velcroed to the walls of the small spiral staircase that ascended impossibly, so being met with such a large clearance, it felt like the entire horizon was open to me. Above the door was one final painting. A figure whose face was blotted out by a twister of black, white and grey. Below the face, the deity had the body of Venus and the imposing air of Saturn. Beauty, but a cautious and villainous beauty.

As I look upon this unfriendly, godly form, I realize this notepad has been my only acquaintance this journey, writing down my feral thoughts and findings. Not as much as I would’ve wanted though. Being coerced by a never-ending obelisk doesn’t leave much to a writer's hand or mind. I could've written about the paintings more. The bloody body wasn't the only violence I encountered in the mysterious brushstrokes of the twisted walls after all. Various naked human beings strung up across a thick forest, some clean, some covered in deep gashes. Cuts so intense they’ve almost severed from the rest of the body. They got worse. My intuition said the mangled corpse I first saw was the first to fall. 
Near the door is a window…I just threw my backpack out the window to gauge the mountainous heights I did not consent to climb. My heart sank when I heard it hit the ground. Freedom is out of that aperture, but I know I can’t leave. The steeple is a cruel jester. My final partings here. Let this small pad of paper be a warning to the inquisitive, do not climb this tower. I fear the painted god above the plush door. You have the opportunity to not see them. Grasp that opportunity. Turn away from the seemingly small structure. For me however, the velour passage awaits. Still, I scale.

I want to create a pirate ship themed Chaos Knight and I would like to put a ship figurehead on the front of the knight. What models would work the best for a figurehead? My immediate thoughts are the top half of a Keeper of Secrets or Celestine the Living Saint, both painted to look like it's carved out of wood. I'm open to more ideas or even other GW mini lines. Thank you for the help!