Human is the flesh, Skaven is the faith

Above ground, beneath crumbling cities, behind smiling faces and trembling prayers, there is a truth Mankind refuses to chew on: not everything ends in glory…it ends in gnawing. And those who understand this first are the faithful of the Yellow Fang. These faithful of the Yellow Fang are Humans, nothing more than common Imperial folk: laborers and miners, watchmen and guildsmen, merchants and beggars, but who have heard the truth whispered from the sewers below.

Sigmar? Too fashionable. Ulric? Too wolfish. The Dark Gods? Hmmm almost, but not quite. The true religion tolls thirteen times in the name of the Horned Rat, Lord of Ruin & Lord of the World Below. As it has always been, empires rise and empires fall, but when the End Times come, only the devourer will not be devoured! The Cult of the Yellow Fang will be ready to feast upon what remains.

In the shadows of the Old World, far from the watchful eyes of Witch Hunters and Warrior Priests, its cultists do not hide in caves like the Skaven they admire…at least not yet. They are not fanatics of the four Chaos Gods (only the fifth), nor do they pray in marble temples like foolish Man-things. They infiltrate, laughing, preaching and infesting from the inside. In taverns and guildhalls, from poor districts to rich districts, anywhere rot can grow, the Yellow Fang is already there, teeth clicking softly in the dark.

Sabotage and assassinations may be their favourite trades, but Mordheim is another story. In the City of the Damned, among Undead and Possessed, one can live their devotion far more openly. The absolute secrecy enforced in other cities and in all Electoral Provinces is no longer necessary here. All that matters is boundless faith, rusty weapons and the will to lay hands – or paws – upon as much warpstone as possible.

Leading a branch of zealots, more filthy fanatics than silent spies, are the few who claim to hear the voice of the Horned Rat itself: the Yellow Seers. They are the ones “blessed” enough to wield Dark Magic and clumsily imitate the Grey Seers of the Under-Empire. But it gets worse, as within the Cult of the Yellow Fang, some preach in Queekish while others dream of becoming Skaven themselves…the pure progeny of the Horned Rat! However, even the less extreme cultists slowly adopt verminous habits. At first it may be something small: the stylized triangle carved into the skin or the curved dagger tattooed beneath the upper arm. Their teeth filed or stained yellow, their robes tattered or draped with rat skins. Soon come the twitching speech and squeaking tones (oh yes-yes). The path finally leads to deliberate mutilations. The most extreme pursue blasphemous rituals and warpstone brews, twisting their flesh. To become less human is not corruption, it is ascension.

No one truly knows whether the Horned Rat is pleased to have a rabble of hairless creatures worshipping him (spoiler: probably not), but as long as the Known World keeps falling apart, it will do. The most direct way the Cult of the Yellow Fang shows its devotion is through sacrifices to the Dark Moon. Each cycle, Morskrit is honoured by slaughtering and devouring some unfortunate unbeliever or sometimes a cultist who has believed too much…or too little. Occasionally something chaotic answers, and that is more than enough to keep the faith alive.

Like the comet that fell upon Mordheim, the Yellow Fang bears two tails: one Human, one Skaven – the body of Man & the soul of Vermin. And while everything decays over shards of green fire, only those who crawl will endure.