Cultist Chan Flameriff (Nsfw)

Chaos has many prophets, many champions, and exactly one guitarist who throws her underwear at the audience.

Cultist Chan is the least qualified devotee the Dark Powers have ever claimed. She has no armor, no training and no rank that anybody can find on paper. Every one of the Dark Powers has marked her, and not one of Them has ever explained why. She smells, permanently and from some distance, of fried breakfast. She charges tanks on foot, grinning. And she already has a history with dress codes: the last High Priest who ordered her to cover up spent eleven days on a chamber pot.

Then she found the guitar. Nobody knows where. It looks like something an Ork rocker warband would carry: spikes in every direction, a fuel tank on a hose, and a burner bolted to the headstock that fires on every solo. Her playing kills in two ways. Some listeners drop dead from the music alone, apparently in protest. The rest catch fire, and those are her favorites, because a burning man makes an excellent backing vocalist.

Wherever there is a stage and a guitar, there is an old tradition: the crowd throws its underwear at the guitarist. It is how a crowd says “we love you” without words. Cultist Chan has never had a crowd that loved her. She has had enemy regiments that came to kill her. So one afternoon, in the middle of a solo, facing a full line of furious infantry, she decided the tradition would not die on her watch. If the crowd would not throw, the guitarist would. She stopped playing and reached behind her back. The bra went first, in a long, high arc over the trenches. The panties followed. Then she picked up the solo exactly where she had left it, stark naked apart from her boots, her straps and her guitar.

The regiment had prepared for a great deal. Fire. Chain-blades. A relic hammer. Screaming. Its officers had read every report on her. Nobody had prepared for this. The front rank stopped. The second rank walked into the first. A sergeant caught the panties out of the air by pure reflex, looked down at what he was holding, and has not been the same man since. He still has them. His men have stopped asking. The bra was never found, and nobody on either side will admit to having looked for it.

She did not do it as a tactic. She does not do tactics. She did it for the music. The Dark Powers have not commented. And every morning since she found the guitar, someone has left one Ork-sized guitar pick outside her tent. Nobody has seen who. She keeps them all in her boot.

Kit details:

34 mm tall, on a 32 mm round base with a scenic skull
Separate parts: head, body, guitar with both arms, spiked back icon

The dressed version is available separately

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