I’ve always loved the Anti-Paladin as described in Dragon 39. This guy:
When I was a kid I spent a good number of months rolling up these bad guys and their retinues. I’d map out their castles, which were always skull-shaped and carved into the living rock. I’d imagine them at their scheming best. Life was good.
My favourite thing about this first and best version of the Anti-Paladin is that he’s not simply an evilEvil Paladin. He is quite literally anti. Yes he’s all about the Chaos and the Evil vs. Law and Good. Sure he’s that. But what brings him to life for me is that, while Huckabear (my goto Paladin) is morally impeccable, steadfast and true, the villain pictured above is a sleazy weasel and a coward at heart. Basically Count Rugen.
I prefer this archetype as it was before the D&D Anti-Paladin got conflated with the Warhammer Chaos Warrior. He’s much more a self-serving son-of-a-bitch than a slave to darkness. This is my kind of Anti-Paladin:
And Ral-Partha made the world a perfect circle by sculpting this pack, 01-093 Anti-Paladin, mounted and on foot:
Beware the mediocre man with a singleness of purpose.
Those are mine, painted in Sinestro Corps colours (because obviously). I like how he wears his heart on his sleeve; all that yellow goes right to the bone.
And here he is mounted and on foot for Song of Blades and Heroes:
To be fair though, I do like the Anti-Paladin as written in Knockspell 3. It’s a couple steps toward Warrior of Chaos but it channels enough Dragon 39 to keep me happy.
But let’s make one thing perfectly clear. It’s Matango’s Island!
Now that’s out of the way, I’ll tell you about a dream I’ve had. Two yachts wreck on opposite sides of a deserted island. Eventually the groups of castaways run into each other and a fourteen-person version of Hell in The Pacific develops. Plus mushrooms!
[P.S.: Look at the release and original run dates on Matango and Gilligan’s Island. Right?]
I also have (unpainted, mind) her, her. and her. And I covet her (it’s OK though ’cause she’s not my neighbour’s wife). I’ve got my eye on Mrs. Pike. And then, well, there’s her. Basically any woman swingin’ a pin or a pan. My mother — God rest her soul — was a firm believer in what she called “the cast iron hearing aid.” Then again sometimes it was a “two-by-four hearing aid.” Those poor ol’ Moors wouldn’t have stood a chance.
These gals are Part I of my planned Vimens and Vermins game. Now to get my lunch hooks on Warlord’s looters.