Lord Medicae ||| Auric | Gunslinger | User
 Hive Scum Build - Warhammer 40k: Darktide 

MEEEEEDDDDICCCAAAAEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lord Medicae "Stimm-Lad", the Fallen Noble o' Tertium's Underhive

In the festerin' bowels o' Tertium Hive City, where the spires o' the nobility pierce the smog-choked heavens like accusin' fingers, there once strode a man what called himself Lord Medicae. Born tae the faded glories o' ancient Terra stock, he were a peer o' the realm, lordin' over Tertium estates, supplyin' the Arbites and even the odd Inquisitorial retinue wi' the finest chems and salves. But hubris is the Emperor's own whip, aye? A wee scandal involvin' siphonin' promethium-grade stimms fer his ain veins, a botched duel wi' a rival lord's champion, and a hivequake what buried his estates under rubble—next thing ye ken, Medicae is stripped o' title, branded outlaw, and cast intae the sump-depths.

But a true Terra Lord dinnae fade; he adapts. Wi' naught but his nobleman's fury and a surgeon's steady hand, Lord Medicae clawed his way up the black market ladders. Nay, he reigns as the Stimm-Lad, undisputed chem-king o' Tertium's underhive. His Medicae Empire sprawls through derelict hab-blocks and gang-tunnels: illicit stimm-labs brewin' hyper-adrenaline cocktails, black-market apothecaria peddlin' everything frae frag-grenades disguised as painkillers tae "Auric Pure" chems what let ye fight through daemon-possession. Addicts swarm his throne-room fer a fix, enforcers guard his convoys, and rival bosses end up wi' their veins full o' his experimental bleeds. Medicae's empire keeps the hive's rejects breathin'—fer a price. "Pay up or bleed oot, ye grox-dung!" he cackles, shakin' frae his latest jolt.

In the Emperor's Service (or His Rejects'):

Pressed intae Inquisitor Grendyl's convict cadre, Lord Medicae fights not fer redemption, but profit and the next hit. In the depths o' Atoma Prime, he leads the charge: sprintin' hipfire pistol-blaze melts hordes, shivs bleed out specials, medkits patch the team while he snarls, "That's fer the lab, ye bastards!" His stimm-shakes make him a blur—dodgin' ogryn axes, stackin' bleeds on crushers, suppressin' bombers wi' autopistol storms. Allies live longer, kill more, and owe him fealty. Enemies? They get the "Lord's Mercy": a knife tae the neck or a hail o' bullets, screamin' "MEEEEEDDDDICCCAAAAEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" as Tertium's fallen peer claims another soul fer his empire.

This build embodies Medicae's fall: noble finesse twisted intae outlaw savagery, medicae salvation laced wi' addiction. In Tertium's endless war, the Stimm-Lad endures—shakin', bleedin', and always comin' back fer more.

This back story was written by Lord Medicae himself and totally not Grok.