Cultist Chan Flameriff

For anyone just joining: Cultist Chan is a very small, very loud and very unwashed devotee of Chaos who has never been issued armor, never been trained, and never once been told no in a way that stuck. Every one of the Dark Powers has marked her. Not one of Them has explained why. She smells persistently, and from some distance, of fried breakfast, and she runs at every fight she can find wearing an expression of pure, uncomplicated joy.

And now she has a guitar. Nobody knows where she got it.

It looks a great deal like the ones carried by Ork rocker warbands: spikes where no spikes are needed, a fuel tank on a hose, and a burner bolted to the headstock, because as far as an Ork is concerned a guitar that cannot set the audience on fire is just a plank with strings. It has four of those strings, and the debate over whether that makes it a bass or simply an Ork's best attempt at counting to six is ongoing. The little hearts on the body are new. Somewhere out there is an Ork band with no lead guitarist, and the Orks, for the first time in recorded history, are declining to comment.

Ask her where she got it and she says she found it. Ask her where she found it and she plays it at you. The conversation usually ends there.

Nobody enjoys her playing. That is not quite the same as disliking it. It is closer to a medical event. Enemy troops within earshot have been found dead without a mark on them, their faces fixed in an expression the field medics could only record as profound artistic disagreement. The working theory on the other side is that they died in protest. Nobody has managed to disprove it.

The ones who survive the music get the special effects. The pyro is built in and fires on every solo, which is every song, and she adores the result. A man on fire screams in a key that sits perfectly under her third chord. She treats them as backing vocals, and has been seen holding back the chorus until the right one starts.

The real verdict came from the experts. The war-choir of the Renegades of Excess, sonic warriors of the Dark Power of excess who have spent millennia chasing the most extreme sound in existence, heard her play one full set. They held a brief meeting. They left the planet. It is the only recorded instance of that host retreating from a sound, and the same people who spent years trying to get a certain relic hammer back from her have quietly stopped asking.

On the table she fits any warband that needs close-range fire, a morale problem and a soundtrack nobody chose. Ork players are welcome to recruit her. They will not be getting the guitar back.

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