...and then these guys showed up.
Dümbar forgets exactly when or how the foetid creatures appeared. There was obviously a time when their rotting stench didn't permeate his very consciousness, but it all seems a very long time ago now. He is fairly certain that it is all the bastard skull mace's doing.
He is fairly certain that they want him dead.
In fact, there seems to be almost no end to the variety of ways in which Dümbar might meet his end. He could be horribly maimed by maniacs that believe he has magical powers, or slaughtered by one of the countless other bands of lunatics that seem so curiously obsessed with shards of green rock, he might succumb to one of the hideous plagues or poxes that seem to have blighted so many of his followers of late, he could have his skin eaten by the hideous fly-headed mutant of his own creation, or he could be suddenly transformed into a whiff of green vapour by that shrieking bastard skull mace.
Aekold Fastidious Dümbar, known to his followers as The Great Prophet FaDoom, has finally come to realise that he is in fact utterly doomed.