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    Chapter Master Kriegschmidt's Avatar
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    Dec 2006
    Tyne & Wear

    "The Tale of Fut" (the birth of a Daemon)

    Greetings! Over the last year or so I have been playing a series of Warhammer 40k games using my Daemon army and writing up the batreps as parts of a continuing story. The first part of this story ("Pantalaimon's Odyssey") was centred around an ambitious and arrogant Lord of Change called Pantalaimon. If you're interested in reading through the battle reports to get out the tasty morsels of story, follow the link in my signature.

    During this arc, I developed a character called "Fut", a Daemon Prince of Nurgle, the offspring of my Great Unclean One, Blach'wla. I had long been interested in Daemon Princes, as they are not pure Daemons but a mix of Daemon and physical, which to me opened up a whole realm of possibilities for explaining how one came to be. So I wrote a little tale to describe how Fut came to be, and for a long time it stayed in the Battle Reports section.

    Then today I stumbled upon this forum and I thought I would stick it here for you to read. I hope it's the right mixture of grit and humour, and if you enjoy reading it have a browse through the full story by following the links in my signature.




    Blach'wla, aka Mr.Bungle, Father of Ecstatic Rot, Gifter of the Eternal Itch, stepped into his laboratory and stopped. He looked around at the rusty metal walls, the cracked flasks and test tubes, the quivering fleshy masses and bubbling vats of corrosive cocktails. He sighed.

    Blach'wla never really understood what he was supposed to do in his laboratory. He would mix and pour, sniff and stirr, but never really understand the results. So most of the time he would accidentally pour his latest creation over someone, normally with destructive results. This upset Blach'wla as he was really quite a friendly and affectionate chap. Poor Blach'wla.

    But what he understood even less was why, as he walked along the side of his laboratory, his head was rubbing against the wall. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, far from it: his slack skin rubbed off and he left a smoking smear of pus along the wall, which felt quite nice. But he didn't understand why this was happening; it had never happened before. Blach'wla stopped. He sat down at his workbench and tried to think. It was hard work.

    A while later, he started to remember things. He remembered going into the other world with his friends Goregorger and Pantalaimon, to play with some Man-things that looked and smelled a bit like he did; he thought they would be great friends. He remembered that when he got there, he had felt an itch on his foot and had nearly fallen over. But then he was far too occupied with entertaining the Man-things by juggling them and sneezing on them that he had forgotten all about it.

    Blach'wla scratched his head. He sniffed his fingers. He picked up a Nurgling and began absent-mindedly nibbling at its face. Then he stopped.

    "Ahhhhhh....." he said, the sound meant to convey sudden understanding. His breath caused the window frame opposite him to rot through and the window fell in with a clatter. Blach'wla didn't notice. He looked down at his right foot, or rather where the energy representing his right foot had previously been.



    Normally, Daemonic substance or energy that comes loose in the material world either dissipates harmlessly or soaks into the ground, staining the spirit of that location. But this "lump" of Warpstuff was so thick, so viscous, so saturated with infectious particles (and verrucas) that it just sat there, smelling bad.

    It had previously belonged to a Great Unclean One, a particularly affable Great Unclean One known as Blach'wla to some and many other names to many others. In fact, it had been his right foot, until he had inadvertently stepped on a hidden krak grenade and it had been blown off. Now the foot just sat here, alone and abandoned by its oblivious owner.

    Of course, since it had sat here for some time, it no longer really resembled a foot, more of a shapeless, dirty lump of.... well, something very unpleasant.

    Fortunately for the lump, it just so happened that this planet was home to quite a range of large predators, some of them reasonably intelligent. It just so happened that one of these large, reasonably intelligent predators was hunting one day in the field where the lump sat. It just so happened that this predator spotted the lump, sat in a ring of rotten vegetation and wobbling slightly in the breeze.

    Curious but apprehensive, the predator approached the lump slowly, staying as low as it could and stopping now and then out of caution. It gradually got closer and, seeing no movement from the lump apart from the odd wobble, it decided to go for a closer inspection.

    With one last look around, the predator crouched down, leaned in towards the lump and took a sniff. The predator vomitted so violently that its stomach turned itself inside out, tearing out part of its digestive tract. Blood and the burnt lining of its nose came out with the vomit, most of which landed on the lump.

    For the first time, the lump felt something. It became aware of the predator and the blood and vomit the predator had kindly given it. On a base level, it recognised this friendly gesture, which triggered a single emotional feeling: a longing for friendship. This emotional feeling empowered the lump, which managed to roll over onto the choking predator's hand.

    The effect was immediate. The lump became woven into every fibre of the predator's body, its insertion causing a violent transformation. The predator's spine cracked in several places as it forcefully bent forwards and bowed out. One of its legs grew so fast that the calf bone broke off and burst from the skin. Its flesh became so infected that the pus generated broke through its skin in many places. A single horn sprouted from its head, cracking and splintering as it tried to grow out in all directions.

    When the transformation was complete, the lump stood up. Well, as much as it could considering its spine was broken. But now it was fully aware, it could move and on a basic level, it could think.

    For the first time, it became aware of memory and a single thought floated up into its semi-conscious mind. Forcing its new mouth to move torn muscles, it moaned a single word:

    Last edited by Kriegschmidt; 02-11-2009 at 11:41.
    :cries: RIP Slippery Jim DiGriz :cries:

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