Wednesday, 13 July 2011

prophets of FaDoom pt.4

Whilst the majority of Dümbar's followers are weapon-toting bearded lunatics with such a tenuous grip on reality that meteorite insurance seemed like a wise investment, this is not the case for all of them.

Torvald Blasphemy and Helsinki Abominator are a pair of alarmingly antisocial young men who, prior to the devastation of Mordheim, attempted to make a living as musicians. They were not generally well received by the public. This could have been for any number of reasons; because of their predilection for corpse paint, the way they played their lutes really really fast, that they preferred grunts and shrieks in lieu of any actual singing, all of their songs were about Chaos gods, that they would occasionally burn down the odd temple of Sigmar, or because people had been brainwashed by corporate mainstream bards and just weren't ready for anything as real as them yet.

In any case, when Mordheim got levelled and society collapsed Torvald and Helsinki found the bleak aftermath much more to their liking. Amongst the smouldering ruins countless extremist cults sprung up seemingly overnight, and it seemed as though these two malcontents may at last find something that they could belong to.

Sadly for them, they soon found out that life in a proper Chaos cult involves an awful lot of very tedious ceremony and was not anywhere near as wilfully destructive, anarchic and... well... chaotic as they would have liked. For months they lurched from one cult to the next, never able to stick with any for too long before the ultimate badass leader of said cult would tire of their preposterous cocking about and banish them from his sight. Torvald and Helsinki were slowly coming to the conclusion that all these jerks must have been brainwashed by corporate mainstream cults and just weren't ready for anything as real as them yet, and were on the verge of leaving Mordheim altogether when they encountered some of the Disciples of FaDoom, rummaging through bins behind the burnt ruins of an alehouse. They heard tales of the Great Prophet FaDoom, of how he foresaw the doom of Mordheim, of how he could transform men into hideous beasts with blasts of green fire from his mighty skull mace, of how he sometimes didn't seem to know exactly what was going on...

Dümbar doesn't like Torvald or Helsinki. Their wild and unpredictable nature makes him nervous, but he's too scared of them to ask them to leave. Occasionally he will wave the skull mace at them in the hope that it will sort things out for him; but the damn thing just cackles maniacally and then incinerates something else entirely before getting back to shouting at him in that incomprehensible northern tongue.

Torvald and Helsinki find these vulgar displays of Dümbar's power quite awe inspiring, and on the whole are pleased to have finally found a home where they can cause as much havoc as they like, and play their lutes as fast and as loud as they please all night with no complaints.

Dümbar is fairly certain that Torvald and Helsinki want him dead.

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