Agnus was a simple (though battle hardened) priest for a local backwater town on the edges of the Empire’s borders. The priest of Sigmar however, had an… avaricious side to him, always skimming off tithes and taxes ( that were meant for the Holy Church of Sigmar) from the local nobility and honest citizen alike to slake his thirst and hunger for all materialistic things. And for a time, no one was the wiser. After all, Agnus did his duties with fervor, even so much as to do the occasional sermon and spreading false hope to the citizens (after all, no harm if someone actually believes what he/she was doing was for the greater good)

A few months ago though, a pagan soothsayer arrived in town, spreading his damning lies of doom to the locals. For this town’s case, he predicted a terrible drought on the land, with everyone’s crops withering and dying. Agnus, fearing that someone MIGHT actually believe this charlatan, convinced the mayor of the town to have the man whipped and thrown in prison. With the troublemaker dealt with, Agnus felt his position secure, and continued his duties, spreading the hope that this year’s crops would prosper. Of course, the charlatan’s claims were true, and within less than a week, a horrible drought occurred. Both fields and farm animals died and withered, and even the local countryside was devoid of nourishment. Man, woman and child alike starved at the lack of food, such that even the mayor had to enforce strict rationing, regardless of rank or nobility. For Agnus, this starvation proved too much for him, and was soon caught stealing food from a group of malnourished children.

Agnus was not ‘mercifully’ spared the whip, and was tossed into prison after 10 lashes, and soon shared the same cell as the naysayer he so condemned weeks ago. For a whole week Agnus prayed for a god, ANY god, to release him from this cruel fate. But none answered. Not even Sigmar, the patron god of Agnus, replied to the man’s prayer. Even the soothsayer said nothing to Agnus, remaining ever calm and eerily quiet. Starving, it all felt as though Agnus would die and rot in that prison. That is, until one night…

A fire broke out in town, and Agnus could see from behind bars that the whole town was on fire. Strange, rat-like creatures were terrorizing the town, killing and pillaging what they could find. Even the jail itself was burning, and Agnus believed himself doomed. However, part of the ceiling came crashing down, crushing the rusted jail bars, and offering freedom to the two prisoners. The prophet ran out first. Agnus, not knowing what to do in a chaotic time like this, did what instinct told him to do: he followed after the prophet.

Sneaking and escaping the town (with nary a rat monster to spot and attack them), the two ran off into the woods. For a whole week they ran.

And ran.

And ran.

Never looking back.

On the fifth day, the prophet slips and falls on the road. As Agnus inspected the man, he soon realizes that the man’s knees clotted and bled within, effectively crippling him. After a lack of food for two weeks, a great hunger welled within Agnus. As if driven by some bestial instinct, Agnus was hungry, and the prophet was his meal.

He HAD to FEED!

The prophet, too tired, hungry and weak to do anything, could only watch in horror, arms flailing in futility, as he was slowly being eaten piece by piece by this insane madman, bleeding at every bite. The man was dead long before Agnus even reached for the stomach.

With the deed done, Agnus was horrified! He had just committed cannibalism, one of the Empire’s greatest of taboos! And yet… it felt… good. Nay, it felt… delicious! As if… this was meant to be. That same night, he could hear a voice in his dreams.

“Agnus! You have feasted on a most unworthy gnat, a former follower of my greatness. It is good, for only the meek and wretched deserved to be devoured by the stout and resilient as is befitting of the Lord of Flies! But know this! There is much flesh to slake your hunger, much blood to slake your thirst… beyond the Chaos Waste north of here! Crush the heathens, the flocks that blindly follow the False Ones, and gorge on their corpses! For their flesh shall make you stronger! Leave nothing for the scavengers! Now go, and use my followers to your liking, for YOU are now one of my Champions! AWAKEN, AND FEAST!”

Agnus awoke from that dream, and was greeted by three of the rat-men he saw pillaging his former town. And they were… bowing to him. He saw a strange symbol on their chests, and when he looked onto his own, saw the same symbol as well (not to mention stare in awe at his bloated girth). He soon realized he became the champion… of Nurgle! When asked, the Skaven (as he soon came to know them) are followers of the Lord of Change and were part of a raiding group sent by another champion of Nurgle to ‘rescue’ Agnus. However, a few days ago a group of soldiers (serving the Empire) decimated the war band, with the three being the only ones who managed to escape. After pledging themselves to Agnus, the former priest of Sigmar picked himself up and started to make his way north… to the Chaos Wastes.

Agnus decided then and there, that he will form a new cult. NO! A new RELIGION after Nurgle! After all, isn’t faith itself a disease that spreads across the land and filling the minds of fools with false hope?

And he will craft Nurgle’s name in the bones and carrion of his slain foes, and his teachings will ravage the world like a plague.

So sayeth the wise Agnus, Champion of Nurgle!