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Fickle is a tailor by trade, and while for many years he combined amateur league Blood Bowl with his main vocation, it soon became clear that he was cut from a different cloth to his teammates. Leaving home with just his warpstone pinking shears and a punnet of strawberries, Fickle Shicklesnip set out to make his fortune on the field of screams.
After a few games, Fickle was still tailoring on the side to make ends meet, and quite often he would forget to leave his shears in the dressing room as he trotted onto the pitch still hemming a tunic or some such garment.
These shears were such a common sight, that Fickle thought he may as well rip his hand off, stuff the handles into the still bleeding stump, and carry on like that. Needless to say, the warpstone in the metal saw to it that all was well, and now he sports a dirty great pair of blades on his arm.