From the foetid holes and forgotten crevices of the Realms, the mad and moontouched come, adulation on their lips. The Moon plucks discordant notes in their addled minds, leading them to the one who will bring the Moon and the Realms together as one, so all may know exquisite madness. This is no mere rabble of religious zealots, however. As filthy and deranged as they might be, the followers of the Mooncaller are vicious fighters, joyous revellers, and true devotees. To walk the path of the Mooncalled is to lose oneself to the cause, face forever hidden behind a crude, nightmarish mask fashioned after the visage of their patron that haunts their dreams.
Though grots make up a large portion of the faction, any who have felt the touch of the Bad Moon might hear the call. Humans, aelves, duardin and even a number of skaven have joined the ranks of the mooncalled, with many other peoples besides. Their ranks have spread like a sickness throughout the dank corners of Ulgu and beyond, though few have followed the call back to the Mooncaller himself. Those who brave the Ulguan night rarely survive long enough to find their patron, but those who do have proven their mettle and devotion.
Only the Mooncaller’s most ardent worshippers have followed him across the Ur-River to the frigid shores of Frørholm, for the Moon has whispered that at the heart of the frozen city lies the power needed for the Mooncaller to finally realise his destiny. The sane may look upon this prophecy and wonder, however: if it is truly the Bad Moon’s desire to fall, why would this prophet need an artefact of such malign power to bring it down? Perhaps, then, it is not the Moon that whispers in the minds of the Mooncalled, but something far darker.
The grot shaman known as the Mooncaller is a diminutive and wasted thing, even among his kind. His jittery, shuddering form, ever swaddled in a filthy and ragged cloak, would be neither intimidating nor inspiring, were it not for the mask he wears over his gnarled features. This grotesque visage is waxy, almost cartilaginous. It leers and gawks with an interrogating gaze, and every word spoken behind it bites and tears. Only the Gitz see the lunacy in its wearer’s eyes. Only the damned can hear the daemon in his voice.
Nobody knows where the Mooncaller found the mask, though it is rumoured to have originated in the Age of Chaos, crafted by daemon-worshippers for their profane rituals. The worshippers of the Mooncaller would call this nonsense. The mask was a gift of the Moon, allowing its chosen to enact its will upon the Realms. Whatever the origin of the mask, it is certainly a thing of terrible power, enhancing the Mooncaller’s spellcasting beyond that of even the most ancient fungoid cave-shaman.
Character hooks for if your PC is a member of the Mooncalled
Character hooks for if your PC has joined the cause of the Mooncalled