Krampus of Black Trench

When winter descends upon the war‑torn frontlines and the trenches freeze into iron‑hard graves, something ancient stirs and walks again. Soldiers speak in hushed tones of a horned figure emerging from the snowstorms, carrying a great hooked blade and a sack heavy with unseen weight. The Church records name it only as Krampus — not a demon of Hell, but a relic of older fears given form by endless war. In the silence between artillery strikes, when frost clings to rifles and breath crystallises in the air, men swear they hear the faint tolling of bells, a sound that chills the marrow more than any shellfire.
Some claim the Krampus was once a penitent executioner, bound by sacred oaths to punish the faithless and the cruel when earthly justice failed. His chains, they say, are the remnants of vows broken and reforged in blood. Others whisper that it is no man at all, but a walking amalgam of belief and dread, shaped by centuries of folklore and given flesh by the mass death of the Great War. Whatever the truth, its presence is always heralded by ringing iron, crunching hooves, and the silence of frozen men who dare not breathe. Even the bravest officers falter when the snow thickens and shadows lengthen, for courage is useless against a judge older than nations.
The Krampus does not choose sides. It stalks no man’s land, ruined villages, and abandoned supply lines, seeking those marked by cruelty, betrayal, or oath‑breaking. Those taken are said to vanish into its sack, never to be found — not among the dead, nor among the living. Some whisper that the sack is bottomless, a prison of eternal winter where the condemned wander without end. Even Heretics fear it, for its judgment is not infernal, but older than Hell itself, a justice born from the primal terror of midwinter nights when survival was uncertain and morality was measured in firelight and bread.
Among the faithful, the Krampus is considered a warning made flesh, a reminder that sin cannot be hidden beneath uniforms or banners. Among soldiers, it is a curse, a figure that strips away illusions of honour and reveals the raw cruelty of war. Among commanders, it is an inconvenient truth: that war itself can summon judges no banner can command, no treaty can dismiss. When the bells sound in the snow and a horned silhouette looms against the white, wise men lower their weapons and pray they are not remembered. For memory is the Krampus’s ledger, and every broken oath is a mark upon the soul.
In the frozen wastes, where men become numbers and villages become ash, the Krampus endures as a shadow of conscience. It is the embodiment of winter’s merciless gaze, a reminder that even in the chaos of war, there are forces that weigh deeds and mete punishment. And so, when the storm rises and the chains rattle, soldiers know that the battlefield is not theirs alone. Something older walks beside them, and it does not forget.

Fully compatible with Trench Crusade

A dream for painters and grimdark collectors

One model – “Krampus of Black Trench”, designed by Wargames Crew

Total size 74mm

Base size is 40mm

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