Blacktear Mourning Knight

The Blacktear Mourning Knights form the shattered backbone of the funeral march, once-honoured warriors now reduced to living vessels of grief and corruption. Their armour hangs unevenly from swollen bodies, plates bolted together from scavenged remnants and darkened by rust and constant weeping. Beneath cracked helms stare eyes that never dry, leaking cold black blood as an unending confession of loss. Their flesh bears unmistakable swine-like traits — thickened jaws, split snouts, coarse bristles forcing through diseased skin — the residue of gluttonous blessings that turned rancid when their promised paradise was torn away. Some whisper that the stench of their wounds carries the memory of that broken promise, a reminder that paradise can rot into damnation.

These knights were shaped by a power that offered transcendence through decay and dominion through pestilence. When that power was destroyed, they were left behind, neither redeemed nor released. The revelation forced upon their minds did not fade; it hollowed them, leaving memory without meaning. Cast out and denied purpose, they eventually bent the knee to the Antipope not in hope of salvation, but because obedience was the last structure left to shattered souls. Service became routine, and routine became survival. Their oaths are no longer prayers but mechanical echoes, spoken only to fill silence that would otherwise consume them.

On the battlefield, the Blacktear Mourning Knights fight with grim discipline twisted by despair. They advance in measured lines, shields locked, blades rising and falling with ritual precision, as though reenacting wars that ended long ago. Pain is neither feared nor sought — it is simply endured. Many adorn themselves with crude jewellery fashioned from corroded weapons, broken armour fragments, and relic shards taken from their fallen lord, believing the lingering corruption within these objects preserves memory. Their low chants drift across the trenches like funeral smoke, promising nothing but shared annihilation. Even their silence carries weight, a suffocating presence that presses upon allies and enemies alike.

Their role in the war is to embody inevitability. They are unleashed where resistance must be broken not by speed or brilliance, but by the slow erosion of will. To face the Blacktear Mourning Knights is to confront warriors who have already lost everything worth defending. They do not fight for victory, glory, or faith — they fight because the march has not ended, and until it does, neither can they. Their existence is a dirge without end, a procession of ruin that advances not toward triumph but toward the certainty that all things decay, and in that decay, they remain unyielding.

“We have already buried our future. Now we bury yours.”

🎨 A dream for painters and grimdark collectors

One model – “Blacktear Mourning Knight #4”, designed by Wargames Crew

In this set you receive:

• Plague rifle
• Filththrower
• Blight cannon

Total size 50mm

Base size is 32mm

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