Theodore Casterdrill, a fine milliner - maker of quality hats to the dandy fops who paraded through the streets of Lower Cockington.

For many years he diligently built up his business. By middle age he had achieved his modest ambitions and life was good. He was a good hat maker, a respected boss, married and a member of the Lower Cockington Rotary. He could make any hat from any pattern.

Despite his progress in life, inwardly he was uneasy. His skills were those of the well trained and well taught but he lacked the natural flair to bridge the gap between good and great. He was one of the very few people would never know the difference between one of his hats and one from a great Milliner. But he could not be content with his lot, it knawed and irked and nagged.

Gradually the disappointment of his limitations turned to resentment of those more skilled and eventually began to corrode his soul. The effort and sacrifice, the control with which he had lived his life - he deserved to be a great Milliner. He was respected amongst his peers and his postion of power allowed him to destroy the reputation of up and coming milliners in whom he saw the potential for greatness. In this way kept at bay the anger that was always on the edge of completely swallowing him.

One night whist working late to finish an order of tam o'shanter's for a stag party, someone knocked at the door of the studio. By the time Theodore had got to answer it there was just a small package left on the door step with the words 'Rimm Worlde' scralwed on the front. Annoyed but with his curiosity piqued he opened the package to find the most stunning exotic and incredible hat design that he had ever seen. At once both complex and simple, beautiful and fragile but at the same time able to convey the strength and wisdom of all living things.

All of life exploded into Theodor’s mind. With this hat design he could not only become a great Milliner he could change the world as it was known. He glanced at the materials list and his stomach turned, it was to be made from Human skin. He forced the design back into the envelope and threw it in the bin, staggered back to his work station and vowed to burn the pattern the next morning.

But he didn’t sleep, he lay dazed amongst half dreams. Visons leaked into his semi consciousness - Now the smiling celebrated hatmaker, now giant puss-filled boils erupting on his face. Now rows of skulls singing 'Stagger Lee', now spinning newspaper headlines proclaiming ‘Casterdrills hat saves world’. The next day he felt strange, tired but with more certainty of mind. He would try to make the hat. He had convinced himself the way the weak and desperate do, that the good that hat could do outweighed the physical and moral repulsion of obtaining and working human skin.

It turned out to be a lot easier to get the skin than one might think, there are plenty of people who need money. Preparing it for use was more tricky, but working secretly at night he managed to get enough skin to make the hat. By the time he had completed the prototype he had lost all inhibitions of working with such taboo material. By the time he tried it on he had lost the last tentative grip on his mind.

Initially horrified, his wife slowly came around after he convinced her to try the hat. She fell in love with it's design and the feeling of power it conveyed. It was easy to convert staff, fear and money are powerfull motivators in cowards. The madness of their minds expressed itself physically in various boils and diseases of the body. Mutations and stench, rot and filth. Shunned by the disgusted towns folk of Lower Cockington they were forced to take to the road, a half dead mess of diseased wretches. Always moving on, searching for a new supply of skin to turn into their next hat.

And this is where we find our anti hero now. Leader of a blood bowl team having accepted, in full, Nurgle’s gift. They care not about winning the game, they only care about making hats. Soft goblin and halfling skin for berets. Stiff ogre and troll skin for stovepipes and crash helmets. Mummies for turbans. Wolves for trappers, and precious lizard skin for all manner of fancy bowlers and fedoras. The only team they refuse to play is other Nurgle teams since there just isn’t enough useable flesh to make a hat.
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dr dumbo killed by theodore = Fedora

This is block three.