HORSE LORDS ON PATROL — Crown Wars Skirmish Box
The King’s Nephew
The plains speak in long lines — wind across grass, hooves on hard earth, the quiet warnings carried through distance. I’ve ridden them since I was old enough to hold a spear, and I’ve learned that trouble rarely announces itself. It shows up as a change in rhythm.
Today, the rhythm breaks.
A flicker of movement along a low ridge. Not a herd. Not a traveler. Something that wants to be unseen. My horse stiffens beneath me, ears forward, breath sharp. The patrol feels it too; reins tighten, bows rise, the formation narrows without a word.
Dominion scouts. Pale Hand. Crossing where they shouldn’t.
I lift my spear, and the riders settle into readiness. No panic. No shouting. Just the quiet, practiced shift of cavalry preparing to meet whatever waits beyond the next rise.
The plains stretch wide around us. But the danger is close.
The Royal Cavalry Captain
The Nephew signals, and the patrol folds into a crescent — a shape meant for speed, not defense. Good. Out here, you win by moving first.
The wind carries a scent I don’t like. Iron. Rot. Dominion. The Pale Hand has a way of slipping through the land as if it owes them passage. They think the plains hide them. They think dusk blinds us.
They forget the horses.
My mount stamps once, impatient. The riders behind me shift their weight, ready to break into a charge or scatter into flanking lines. The Nephew doesn’t rush. He reads the land, the sky, the silence.
Then he lowers his spear.
Not a warning. A DIRECTION.
The patrol moves.
Lore
The Horse Lords do not ride for glory. They ride because the plains demand it.
Every dawn, before the mists burn off the lowlands, patrols sweep out from the hillforts — lean riders who know every ridge, every stream, every shifting line of grass. Their charge is simple to say and endless to uphold:
Keep the borders breathing. Keep the roads open. Keep the darkness from crossing the plains.
This patrol is led by the King’s Nephew — young by court standards, but seasoned by saddle, storm, and long miles. His companions are scouts, outriders, and swift‑bow riders whose horses know the land better than any mapmaker.
They are the first to see trouble. And the first to meet it.
Tactical Role
The Horse Lords Patrol Skirmish Box is built for fast‑response encounters, open‑field engagements, and high‑mobility skirmishes. The Nephew anchors the patrol with decisive command, while the cavalry delivers sweeping charges, flanking maneuvers, and rapid repositioning.
Ideal for:
-
Border defense missions
-
Plains ambushes
-
Scout interception scenarios
-
Hit‑and‑run engagements
-
Narrative arcs involving the Pale Hand Dominion
This box emphasizes speed, initiative, and battlefield control.
Options & Scale Selection
Choose your preferred scale using the dropdown menus above. All FilamentResinHunter kits follow the standardized multi‑scale system.
Available Scales: 15mm True | 15mm Heroic | 20mm | 25mm | 28mm
Native Sculpt Scale: 10mm True
Scaling Method: Band B professional scaling
Pose Consistency: Identical silhouettes across all scales
Material: Photoreactive resin, print‑to‑order
Price Adjustment: Automatically updates based on scale
Box Contents (Varies by Scale)
Fixed Skirmish Box Price: $49.99 Dynamic Model Counts
15mm (True & Heroic)
-
1 Mounted Nephew Model
- 8 Royal Horse Lords Cavalry Models
-
12 Horse Lords Cavalry Models
-
Total: 21 mounted models
20mm
-
1 Mounted Nephew Model
- 6 Royal Horse Lords Cavalry Models
-
10 Horse Lords Cavalry Models
-
Total: 17 mounted models
25mm
-
1 Mounted Nephew
- 4 Royal Horse Lords Cavalry Models
-
8 Horse Lords Cavalry
-
Total: 13 mounted models
28mm
-
1 Mounted Nephew
- 3 Royal Horse Lords Cavalry Models
-
6 Horse Lords Cavalry
-
Total: 10 mounted models
Add‑On Pack — Pale Hand Scout Force (+$10)
-
1 Pale Hand Archer Champion
-
2 Pale Hand Berserkers
-
4 Pale Hand Archers
A perfect counter‑force for plains skirmishes and border clashes.
Encounter Lore
The plains rarely shout their warnings. They whisper them.
The Nephew’s patrol found the first sign at dusk — a trampled ring of grass, a half‑buried sigil, and the faint stink of iron and rot. The Pale Hand had crossed the borderlands again, slipping through gullies and dry creek beds where even the Horse Lords seldom ride.
The riders tightened their formation, bows half‑drawn, eyes scanning the long shadows. Horses shifted, restless, sensing what the men could not yet see.
Somewhere ahead, Dominion scouts watched them in return.
The plains held their breath.
The Nephew lowered his spear. The patrol surged forward. The chase began.
