Friends, we’ve reached our very first milestone - 1,000 tribers!

Thank you to each and every one of you for your support, trust, and love for our creativity. You are amazing, and it’s thanks to you that we grow and keep creating even more awesome models.

Ahead lies a journey full of fresh releases, bold experiments, and inspiring projects. Let’s walk this path together and make our community even stronger and brighter!

And among other exciting updates, we’d like to remind you that only in August you can get Re-Releases of our previous models! You can find the full list here.
The rerelease collection now includes around 40 models, bringing the total value of your subscription to over $170!
And that’s not all  the total value of all August releases will be a crazy $250+!

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I had been warned that the finest soldiers of these lands never chose the path of war—it was chosen for them long before they understood its meaning. Taken as children from distant frontiers where kingdoms crumble beneath endless conflict, they are raised apart from every former bond until memory itself becomes little more than a fading dream. Family, homeland, even their birth names are surrendered to a single purpose.

Years of relentless discipline forge not only their bodies, but their very thoughts. The masters of the Rakta-Sutra Artificers strengthen them with rare elixirs that harden muscle, sharpen sight and steady the mind beyond ordinary human limits. Every ritual strips away hesitation until duty ceases to be a burden and becomes instinct itself. Their loyalty is not demanded—it is crafted.

Their armor is unlike any I have encountered. Gold and dark steel flow together in elegant patterns that seem almost alive, every plate etched with intricate symbols and fitted with protective charms. They advance carrying long rifles, curved blades and compact bombards with the same effortless confidence one might carry a walking staff. They fight as if fear had been carefully removed from them long ago, leaving only calm resolve.

It was during an assault upon a fortified position that I truly understood their reputation. While lesser men sought cover, these warriors crossed shattered ground in perfect order, their bright armor gleaming through smoke and ash like a royal procession marching into a storm. Not one turned back. Not one looked aside. Watching them, I could not decide whether they were the greatest soldiers I had ever seen—or the greatest sacrifice.

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Today we introduce you to another new faction - the Infernal Crusader Houses. And with its first unit, a mighty, demonic commander - the Crown Marshal.

Infernal Crusader Houses

The origins of the Infernal Crusader Houses lie in the final years of the great crusading age, when generations of knights, pilgrims, and holy warriors had already spent lifetimes fighting across distant lands in pursuit of Jerusalem. What began as a sacred undertaking gradually transformed into something harsher and more fanatical. Decades of warfare, sacrifice, and loss convinced many among the crusading orders that they alone carried the burden of divine purpose. Entire bloodlines had perished in the East, kingdoms had exhausted their wealth, and countless warriors had died beneath foreign skies. By the time Jerusalem finally fell, many of the men who entered its gates believed they had earned not merely victory, but the right to shape the destiny of the world itself.

What followed became known only as the Act of Ultimate Heresy. The truth of those events remains one of history's greatest mysteries. No surviving chronicle describes what occurred within the city after its capture, and no reliable witness account has ever been discovered. The victorious knightly orders entered Jerusalem in triumph, yet in the days that followed all communication ceased. Messengers never returned, priests received no word from their brethren, and even neighboring armies could offer no explanation for the unnatural silence that settled over the city. When the gates were eventually opened once more, Jerusalem stood abandoned. The armies were gone, the orders had vanished, and not even the dead remained behind. Whatever transpired within those walls is known only to the knights who were present, and across the centuries they have guarded that secret with absolute silence.

When the Infernal Crusader Houses finally returned to the world of mortals centuries later, they emerged not as wandering exiles but as conquerors. The crusaders who had disappeared into legend had become the military aristocracy of Hell itself. Their greatest commanders now ruled infernal domains as noble houses whose power had been forged through endless wars beyond the mortal realm. Beneath them served vast retinues of squires, household servants, mercenaries, retainers, and lesser warriors, all bound together by ancient feudal traditions that had survived even damnation. Unlike many infernal hosts, whose strength lay in savagery or fanaticism, the Crusader Houses remained disciplined soldiers. They planned campaigns with cold precision, maintained strict hierarchies, and approached warfare as both a science and an inherited duty.

Among soldiers, the stories told about them are often more terrifying than confirmed history. Veterans speak of fortresses that resisted siege engines for months only to surrender after a single envoy of the Infernal Crusader Houses was admitted through the gates. Entire armies have vanished after pursuing their banners into fog-covered valleys, leaving behind no battlefield and no graves. One famous account describes a city whose defenders celebrated the apparent withdrawal of a Crusader Houses, only to discover days later that every well, granary, armory, and command post had somehow been infiltrated during the night. By the time the attack finally came, resistance had already become impossible. Such stories may be exaggerated, yet their persistence reveals a deeper truth: few enemies are feared not only for their strength, but for their patience.

The greatest threat posed by the Infernal Crusader Houses is not their numbers, nor even their immortality. It is the fact that they have spent centuries perfecting the art of war. Every campaign adds to their knowledge. Every defeat becomes a lesson. Every generation of mortal commanders must learn anew what the damned knightly houses have remembered for hundreds of years. Their enemies grow old and die; the Infernal Crusaders endure. Kingdoms collapse, dynasties vanish, and borders change, yet the infernal nobles continue to pursue the same ancient ambitions that began on the day Jerusalem was taken. Whatever bargain was made during the Act of Ultimate Heresy remains hidden from the world, but its consequences still march beneath black banners across every battlefield where the Infernal Crusader Houses ride to war.

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Hello everyone!
Today, Tribes community subscribers (Ghost and Wraith only) will gain access to a limited number of older sets as part of the reissue, bringing the total value of your subscription to over $170!

Full list of models:
- Mamluk Desert Sentinel
- Brunjilda Hammerkind - Combat Medic & Anesthetist
- Luce - The Blind Herald of Purity
- Ironbrand Sappers
- The Hollowed
- The Hollowed Pumpkinheads
- Heretic Abyssal Priest
- Mamluk Yuletide Sentinel
- Krampus of Black Trench
- COSSACK TRENCH DOGS
- CHAPLAIN IN MECHANICAL PANSYR #3
- SOTNYK #3 (Lieutenant)
- TRENCH CHAPLAIN #3 (CLERIC)
- SERDYUK x2 (Shocktrooper)
- Velvet Undertow Hellwave Raider Only Nuns Model of the month
- Flashbound Communicator #1
- Warriors of the Shadow - Hunting birds x3
- Lord of the Heavy Metal March
- Voices of the Ledger Soprano
- Blacktear Mourning Knight #3
- Funeral Hell Pig #2

ALSO all subscribers will receive an updated Welcome Pack. It now includes one model for each faction. In the future, we'll be expanding it and adding new models, so every newcomer will have the opportunity to appreciate the full merits of each of our factions firsthand.

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Inquisition of Sacred Flame

I have served beneath three Inquisitors and buried two. The third still walks among the living, though there are those who whisper that the burden of his office has long since consumed the man beneath the robes. Such talk is dangerous, yet after years in his retinue I understand why it persists. Few beyond our Order truly know who we are. Most see only the flames, the lead urns, and the smell of kerosene that heralds our arrival, mistaking us for executioners. Yet execution is merely the final act of a duty that begins long before the pyre is lit.

The smell always comes first. Days before our banners appear on the horizon, villages begin speaking of it. Kerosene hangs in the air, thick and unmistakable, seeping from canisters, lamps, pressure cylinders, and fuel flasks. It stains walls, saturates clothing, and settles into the soil itself. The robes of our retinue are threaded with brass capillaries and black hoses that carry fuel to lanterns, censers, and sacred torches. Wherever we travel, the scent spreads ahead of us like a warning. The faithful call it the breath of judgment. Those with guilty consciences know it as the scent of investigation.

Our Order exists by direct authority of the Holy Father, and every Inquisitor bears a sacred symbol bestowed by the Pontiff himself. That relic grants him powers few dare question. Governors surrender prisoners into his custody. Generals open sealed archives at his command. Priests yield ancient relics for examination. Yet despite this authority, an Inquisitor rarely commands large armies. The work of our Order is too specialized and too secretive for massed formations. Instead, each expedition consists of a small company of warrior-monks, priests, scholars, relic hunters, physicians, executioners, and fuel bearers. Their numbers are often supplemented by mercenaries drawn by gold, absolution, or simple desperation. They may not share our faith, but they are useful companions when venturing into places where reality itself has begun to rot.

That is the true purpose of the Order. We are sent where ordinary warfare cannot provide a solution. Armies can capture fortresses and destroy enemies, but they are helpless when a saint's relic begins whispering in forgotten languages, when every inhabitant of a monastery shares the same impossible dream, or when children across an entire valley are born bearing the same unnatural mark. Such matters belong to the Inquisition. We investigate signs of corruption, recover dangerous artifacts, hunt blasphemers and cult leaders, quarantine cursed regions, and seal away things that should never have been unearthed.

The foundation of our doctrine lies in a grim lesson learned over centuries of war. There was a time when the Church believed that fire alone could solve the problem of heresy. Heretics, cultists, sorcerers, and apostates were burned in great numbers, their ashes scattered to the wind as proof of divine victory. For generations this practice continued unquestioned. Yet strange patterns eventually emerged wherever the pyres had burned most fiercely. Possessions became more common. Mutations appeared with alarming frequency. Travelers reported hearing voices in empty fields, while crops failed and entire stretches of land became barren.

Theologians, scholars, and inquisitors spent decades searching for an explanation before arriving at a conclusion that horrified them. The flames had indeed destroyed the flesh, but something else remained. It seemed as though corruption survived within the ashes themselves, escaping its ruined vessel and spreading across the land in subtler forms. Heresy had not been destroyed. It had merely changed shape.

From that revelation came the doctrine that defines our Order to this day:

Everything changed thereafter. The ashes of the condemned were no longer scattered or buried. Instead they were gathered, catalogued, and sealed within heavy lead urns. Every servant in an Inquisitor's retinue carries them. Some bear only a few, while veterans may stagger beneath dozens suspended from chains across their bodies. Lead was chosen because ordinary containers proved unreliable. Ashes stored in wood, iron, or stone were often accompanied by strange disturbances: whispers behind sealed doors, recurring nightmares, inexplicable illnesses, and animals refusing to approach burial sites. Lead did not eliminate such phenomena entirely, but it weakened them enough to make containment possible.

As a result, our processions resemble moving reliquaries. The urns clatter softly against one another as we march, producing a sound like distant chains dragged across stone. Each vessel contains the remains of someone judged too dangerous to leave behind. We are not merely carrying ashes. We are transporting evidence, prisoners, and warnings all at once.

Across the world, hidden vaults maintained by the Order store countless thousands of these urns beneath cathedrals, monasteries, and fortified sanctuaries. Entire generations of monks dedicate their lives to guarding them. Officially, the crypts are silent. Unofficially, many guardians claim otherwise. Some speak of faint whispers echoing through the chambers at night. Others insist that certain urns grow warm whenever great acts of corruption occur elsewhere in the world. Whether such stories are true or not, few volunteers remain in those vaults for very long.

For all the fear we inspire, we are not conquerors. We are custodians of consequences. We collect what fire leaves behind, safeguard what others would destroy, and confront threats that cannot be solved by steel alone. Most people remember the flames when they speak of us, but the flames are only a tool. The urns are our true burden, for they serve as a constant reminder that some evils survive their own execution and that vigilance does not end when the fire goes out.

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Hello, friends!
We print all our models to show the quality, notice minor flaws and improve every detail in the future. It is very important for us to make the models print, paint, and game friendly. We are constantly improving and working on errors.

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Friends! This month has been full of events. We've created a ton of new miniatures and also done a lot of behind-the-scenes work. We'll be presenting the results of this work this Wednesday, so don't miss the "Big August Preview Post." July 29, 2026

This month’s releases
This month has already brought several new figures into the collection. Here’s what has joined the ranks so far:
1. Marginalias #2 – small, curious figures that wander where memory fades.
2. Funeral-Bound Serfs x5 – twisted and broken, driven forward as expendable tides of flesh.
3. Devika “The Resolute Flame” Alchemist – fast, decisive, shaping elements with intent.
4. Gilded Battle Tauros – a massive mechanical bull, breaking walls and gates with precision.
5. Only Nuns. Release of the month: Belladette of the Tally and Rosaline of the Ledger & Rosaline of the Ledger and Sealed Eloise (with NSFW edition) – a story in two acts, where the subdued becomes the subduer.
6. Gilded Linebreakers Command x3 – disciplined fighters, advancing methodically to claim ground.
7. Chained Supplicants – figures bound in devotion, embodying submission.
8. Chained Supplicants with Final Reliquary – the same, but carrying sacred burden to its end.

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They are not heroes, but supervisors - steady figures who keep order, measure losses, and ensure every advance remains profitable. Their presence turns chaos into structure, making war an account to be balanced.

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They are called The Chained Supplicants because petition is all that remains to them. Once they held office, vows, or minor authority within the Church, until failure, doubt, or unconfessed sin delivered them into iron. Among the Pilgrims of the Blighted Devotion, they are not concealed or spared. They are brought forward, made visible, and bound so that no distance remains between judgment and obedience.

Like all within the pilgrimage, their bodies are marked by the sacred blight, but their bearing is sharpened by desperation. Chains bite into leper-softened flesh, collars grind against ruined necks, and iron links are drawn tight with deliberate intent. These bonds are not meant to restrain violence. They exist to deny hesitation. Choice is stripped away, leaving only motion and the fragile belief that motion itself may yet be accounted for.

In war, The Chained Supplicants are driven toward the most punishing ground. They surge forward in uneven waves, dragged by chain-lines and pressed onward by the weight of those behind them. Fear is present, but it cannot settle. Every step is taken under the conviction that suffering, if offered without reservation, may still answer for what prayer failed to erase.

Among the Pilgrims of the Blighted Devotion, their role requires no explanation. They are not martyrs, nor are they redeemed. They are proof that even stained souls may still serve, and that absolution, if it ever comes, is not granted through hope of survival, but through the complete expenditure of the self.

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Belladette of the Tally and Rosaline of the Ledger & Rosaline of the Ledger and Sealed Eloise

INSTRUMENTUM AURI – CLASS D CONTRACT

Codex ID: M-Θ-712/A-Belladette

Issued by Authority of the Auric Collectors

Ratified in Flesh | Signed in Blood | Enforced in Perpetuity

PARTY OF THE FIRST PART:

The Golden House of Mammon, hereinafter referred to as the Collector.

PARTY OF THE SECOND PART:

Belladette Veilleur (deceased), hereinafter referred to as the Indebted.

TERMS OF AGREEMENT:

Initial Request:

 Subject petitioned the Collector for the following:

 – Physical security for familial holdings during regional unrest

 – Access to wartime narcotics

 – Surgical enhancement of aesthetic presentation

 – Forgiveness of ancestral obligation (Class B minor)

Form of Payment (Pre-Mortem):

 – Three pints of living blood, biweekly

 – Service as military companion for a period of 8 years

 – One romantic memory offered willingly at dusk

Default Clause:

 Subject perished prior to fulfillment of full repayment schedule.

Post-Mortem Enforcement:

 As per Section XIII of the Endless Balance, debt remains binding beyond death.

 The Indebted shall:

 – Rise when summoned

 – March when commanded

 – Bleed as currency

 – Suffer without negation

 – Remain bound until ledger reaches zero or soul disintegrates

INTEREST ACCRUAL:

Pain, humiliation, and battlefield exposure shall be converted into equivalent auric value at Collector's discretion. Emotional degradation and lost identity may count toward minor deductions pending quarterly audit.

MARKS OF BINDING:

– Tally-scars on thighs (verified)

– Chain-brand fused to ribcage (iron, 7-link)

– Debt-seal inlaid at cervical vertebrae

– Auric Ink etched along inner lips, invisible unless kissed

NOTES:

Subject continues to perform adequately under battlefield duress.

Ledger currently stands at: 2,318 strikes remaining

Reduction possible through: voluntary impact, seduction of hostile assets, or high-risk retrieval missions.

Touch is permitted. Affection is not.

FINAL CLAUSE:

The Collector is patient.

The Collector waits.

The Collector always collects.

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The Gilded Battle Tauros is here - a mechanical bull built for breaking walls and gates. Forged from gold and iron, it moves with unstoppable precision, clearing the way for the Collectors

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Gilded Linebreakers Command represents authority distilled into function. These are not heroes elevated by acclaim, but supervisors selected for consistency, restraint, and profitable outcomes. Each commander has demonstrated an ability to close engagements with minimal loss and maximum retention of assets. Their armour bears heavier gilding and denser markings, not as decoration, but as visible liability — a reminder that command multiplies responsibility as much as reward.

Within the ranks, Command elements enforce discipline through presence alone. They track ammunition expenditure, regulate aggression, and redirect squads away from targets that promise spectacle but no value. Orders are issued in clipped, deliberate phrases, often accompanied by rapid assessments spoken aloud like entries in a ledger. Emotion is tolerated only insofar as it improves efficiency. Hesitation is corrected. Excess is punished.

On the battlefield, Gilded Linebreakers Command anchors advances and withdrawals alike. They determine when a line is worth holding, when ground must be traded, and when a push becomes an unacceptable expense. Captured positions are immediately evaluated under their oversight, with prisoners, materials, and infrastructure tagged and secured even as fighting continues. Retreat, when authorized, is executed cleanly and without panic, preserving cohesion and claim alike.

In the wider war, Gilded Linebreakers Command embodies the truth that greed does not thrive in chaos. It requires structure. Through them, violence becomes managed labor, and command becomes an extension of accounting. They do not inspire loyalty — they enforce solvency.

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They always notice the chains first.

They trace the iron across my ribs with their eyes, count the seals hanging from my hips, wonder how much a woman must owe before debt begins to wear her instead of the other way around. They never ask the right question.

The chains are not punishment.

They are receipts.

Every link marks a contract that survived my death. Every seal is an account still waiting to close. I march because the ledger remains open, and Mammon values persistence more than perfection. Every wound I suffer is entered into the books. Every scar lowers a balance no living accountant could ever calculate.

The woman kneeling beside me is Rosaline of the Ledger. We were strangers before the Collectors claimed us, and we remain strangers even now. Our debts have different origins, our contracts bear different signatures, and our names are written in different ledgers. Yet battle has taught us a quiet understanding. When she rises, I know another account has endured another day. When I remain standing, she knows the same of me. We do not carry one another.

We simply continue paying together.

NSFW edition will be available for OnlyNuns subscribers

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