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Hi all, now i realize that alot of people collect and play warhammer with absolutely no interest in history or background, but fluff is what this thread is all about.Do you have some story as to how your army came to be? what they are trying to achieve? where they originated from?If so, then let us know.
Deep within Athel Loren, a magical forest ancient in the old world. A Dryad is on the prowl, sensing a disturbance in her territory. An obnoxious taint have spread among the trees, now she hunts the sent.
Dryads often take form as beautiful maidens, but in her anger she had become a twisted mass of thorns, her fingers savage talons. The source of the pollution where a bloated creature, standing in a clearing amongst the trees, chewing greedily on one of its own limbs.
“ In the soul of a Dryad there is neither room nor regard for compassion or mercy”
She smiles as she elegantly pushes her tree like claws through the creatures mushy flesh, lusting after the warmth of bloody intestines. The smile faded out in a horrified cry, at the realisation that her body is covered with rotten blood and bile. But it was not just any taint that flowed through her veins, it was Nurgle’s Rot, the plague god’s greatest gift to the world. The Dryad kept fighting the daemonic contagion, even though her limbs and soul mutated in agonizing pain and decay. The Plague God was delighted by the strong will of his new friend, and was thus even more generous with his gifts and blessings. In the end the Dryad was reborn a Herald of Nurgle, gifted with powers of a daemon and knowledge of a forbidden lore.
Gorn Alvers was a typical healer working a circuit of towns on the edge of the Drakwald forest. His knowledge of common ailments and injuries saw many townsfolk return to the fields or the pickets in good health before attacks by beastmen from the forest made his life more...interesting. They came from the woods in scattered bands. Sometimes as few as ten and sometimes as a many as a hundred. And always at the town the Gorn was working in at the time. At the center of each group was a warped and twisted creature who seemed to direct the packs in their efforts to breach the walls of the fortified towns. It glowed a sickly green and didn't take part in the attacks itself but would often strike down one guardsman with a spell that carried festering boils before withdrawing to the rear of the pack. The beastmen threw themselves at the weakest points in the walls with fury, attempting to take advantage of the sudden weakness of the afflicted guard. But these towns were used to attacks and had many men to fight off the hordes of beasts. As guardsmen fell Gorn found himself using his knowledge and instead of treating farming injuries he was fixing axe and arrow wounds, binding broken bones and healing the arcane afflictions. The diseased men would start out weakened and as he ministered to them, would seem to strengthen and grow healthy before his eyes. After each man was healed a new boil would sprout on Gorn's body. He hid his disease and continued to treat the guardsmen. After many attacks the braying herds suddenly stopped. For weeks nothing was seen of the beastmen and, after time had passed, the people allowed themselves to relax. Gorn, still hiding his diseased flesh from view, began to move from town to town freely once more. His boils pained him but while they didn't seem to be spreading or getting any worse, neither did they get any better. One night as Gorn arrived at a small town near the northern end of his circuit he noticed that the walls were unguarded and the gates stood ajar. He wanted to go back but it was suicide to travel at night this close to the forest. Inside the walls he found that the town had been deserted. Nothing moved or breathed but no bodies were to be found. Puzzled, Gorn searched houses. Food had been left to rot on the tables, horses were dead in their stalls, seemingly of starvation. It seemed that everyone had simply vanished overnight. Gorn felt drawn toward the village center. As he neared it he began to feel his boils itch. In the town square he found the creature that had led the attacks against the towns. Its weeping pores and blackened limbs creaked as it turned to gaze at him with milky eyes that dripped yellowish pus. The glow grew more intense as Gorn drew near, he couldn't stop himself from approaching, it just seemed so...right. When he got within ten feet Gorn stopped. The creature lumbered towards him and stopped mere inches away. A rasping wet sound came from the hole in the front of the things face. "You are ready!" With that the creature exploded into a swarm of heavy black flies which swarmed down Gorn's throat and into his eyes ears and...other orifices. He choked and gagged on the carapaces of the hairy things as the coursed deep inside him. Within seconds he was dead on the ground. In the sky overhead Morrslieb glowed.
Days passed and traders came with guards to investigate the lack of communication from the town. They found Gorn's body and brought it back for a proper burial. In the largest town nearby hundreds gathered to mourn the healer that had saved so many of their number from injury or disease. They laid him in the town hall and hung flowers. As he lay in state in front of the crowd his body started to writhe and change. The people cried out and tried to run but the doors to the hall slammed shut, trapping them inside. Behind them Gorn rose from his coffin, no longer a human but a horrid pestilent Plaguebearer. The children were still at the front of the room and were the first to be warped by Gorn's pestilent aura. They shriveled and shrank into mewling nurglings, their parents crying out as their little ones turned with beady eyes and swarmed over them biting and clawing. Gorn moved slowly up the aisle and everyone fell to the floor writhing in change as he passed. By the time he made it to the doors the entire funeral company had changed into Plaguebearers and followed him. the children gathered around him and bore him up on their shoulders, carrying him on a plank taken from his casket. They advanced out of the town hall and used their newfound dark powers to change the townsfolk into shambling daemons. Pink Horrors popped into existence in their wake, drawn by the forces of change as life was transformed into death and humans were made into daemons. The town fell soon after as Fleshhounds followed the scent of bloodshed and smashed their way through the walls and gates. The guardsmen were no match for daemons as their arrows and swords clattered harmlessly off of armored hides. The molten collars of the hounds burned brightly as they dragged down the men foolish enough to fight them. Flecks of fire flew from the collars and lit the gates on fire. From this fire Flamers burst, happy to burn the rest of the town into ashes. By this time Gorn had reached the gates and with a wave of his hand the fire stopped and the gates rotted away. He smiled through cracked black and yellow teeth as his new children carried him out of the burned out husk of a town. His new army followed in his wake.
Last edited by aounfather; April 6th, 2010 at 14:39.
I dream of a day when a chicken can cross the road without anyone questioning its intentions.