Sunday, 20 December 2009

The Storm God

Rumpolt Staudinger is a man of extraordinary long life. He was already in the winter of his life when his path crossed with that of a mortal follower of the chaos gods. That man was known by the name Elazar The Glorified. The Daemon Prince was still a mortal man when he led a small warband to the Hospice for the Insane at Sensfeld. What had drawn him from the north to that place nobody will ever know. He and his followers stormed the Hospice and took great delight in slaughtering the many patients there. The good Sisters of Shallya who ran the hospice were bound in chains and led into the courtyard of the abbey that had become the Hospice. One patient alone was spared from the slaughter. Rumpolt Staudinger. Elazar marched the elderly man into the courtyard and let him witness the heinous act that followed. The Sisters of Shallya were crucified, foul runes daubed on their flesh, their souls offered as gifts to Slaanesh. It was that unholy act that earnt Elazar the ultimate favour of the Serpent God. Rumpolt Staudinger witnessed Elazar's ascension into immortality. Elazar has kept Rumpolt alive through countless lives of men since then. The man is drawn to the great and terrible acts carried out by the Daemon and his followers, cursed to witness them all. To the Cult of Elazar that has sprung up in the wake of his tales he is a prophet, a mouthpiece of their idol.
To Elazar, Rumpolt is a toy, an oddity, a pet. Elazar protects and prolongs the life of the wretched old man but only so that he can have the pleasure of tormenting him, himself. Forcing him to witness and record the fell deeds done in his name. But that doesn't mean Rumpolt isn't important to Elazar. The daemon is the embodiement of the selfish vanity and ambition in man. Rumpolt catalogues the daemon's glories and in his maddened state shares them with the world. There are some who listen and find themselves drawn to the worship of the daemon and Elazar's power grows within the Realm of Chaos. His own mad ambitions slowly being realised...


Rumpolt journeyed north. He knew his steps would be dogged by the Witch Hunters but he knew that there was nothing they could do to him that would match the eternity of torment he’d be subjected to if he failed his daemon master. Along the journey there were those that helped him, they offered food and shelter from his pursuers. He preached his warning to any who passed him but they though him mad for the most part. Mad he might possibly be, but he knew the truth. Soon the forest roads gave way to open plains. Fevered dreams haunted Rumpolt’s nights so he gave up trying to sleep and continued walking in the darkness. He knew he had to bear witness to the Storm God’s reawakening. It was both his privilege and his curse.
As he journeyed ever northwards the landscape became barren and featureless. He knew he drew near to the wastes. To an observer he might have looked like a lost old man but despite there being no landmarks and having never seen his path before, Rumpolt knew exactly how to get to where he needed to be. His journey was halted though. In the distance he heard a shout go up, and then others followed suit. They’d finally caught up with him. He was too old and weak to put up any fight now. He tightened his grip on the stick he walked with. He whispered a plea to the daemon and stood silently, ready to face the wrath of his pursuers…


That brings the fluff up to the point the where the first scenario will start. Rumpolt alone, amongst mortals at least, knows the path through the wastes to where the Storm God slumbers. Obviously, this makes him exceptionally valuable (alive!) to anybody who seeks Aaracturious and Arnaldo's fabled crown. So at the point we'll kick off the armies have spotted his silhouette in the distance as dark clouds start to fill the sky.