Born from the embers of the historical Flowers of Disease, the new FOD carries on the tradition of unrelenting bloodshed made infamous by their predecessors. Only with time, what was once diseased has now decayed. What little pity for humanity the FOD possessed has slowly curdled over the two plus years of dormancy, replaced by a simmering hatred and disgust for their fellow survivors. With crazed, terminator-like fury, the FOD travels Malton once more, culling Flotsam and again filling up their wheelbarrows with the dross of the city along with anyone else who happens to find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.
So how did this come to be? What caused these patriots of Malton to be unleashed once more?
It started in the Skarin Row PD. Hibernaculum, long since retired to a life of study and reflection at the Quartley Library, had finally decided to scale the wall with the intent of fleeing Malton for good...but not before taking a last tour of a few sentimental locals. With no ill intentions, he begins at Skarin Row PD amongst the Cult of the Stuffed Crocodile. To his surprise, an old friend and Flowers of Disease co-founder, Rob Collick, was already there having had the same idea to retire in the place where the Flowers of Disease were first born. After reminiscing some and chalking up their reunion to happy coincidence, Hibernaculum resumed his pilgrimage and chose next to visit the Knights Templar, another old FOD target. Just as Hibernaculum arrived in the headquarters of the Templar a commotion broke out and to his great surprise in crashed Rob Collick with his pistols roaring. Three of the Templars hit the ground before anyone, including Hibernaculum fully grasped what was happening. Only one survivor was left, cowering in a corner. Standing alongside Rob Collick, Hibernaculum took in the bloody scene. At first appalled by the brutality and violence doled out by his old friend, something quietly stirred inside Hibernaculum, at first just a whisper.
Hibernaculum then began reflecting on the conversations he had overheard, the graffiti he had seen and the general state of Malton he had witnessed during his recent travels. What had the city become? Bereft of killers the city had sunk into complacency, its survivors grown fat and useless. The whisper increased in volume and soon its source becomes apparent. It was the voice of Malton calling the strong, bloodstained hands of Hibernaculum back to work.
As the pool of blood from the slain Templars spread to Hibernaculum's feet, the voice intensified again. The course was clear, its necessity unarguable. He looked upon the sole survivor of Rob Collick’s massacre …and shot him dead.
The seed had been planted. Collick and Hibernaculum returned to the old FOD forum and placed the freshly hewn scalps in the trophy room. The conversation began with a simple "Do you think...do you think we could return? Should we? What of the old ideology is to be kept? What is to be discarded? Who of the old group still lingers in Malton? Who else might be a good addition to the group? Should we try?” With no idea of how long this new calling would last, how many like minded individuals could be found or even where to begin, the FOD made the decision, returning at long last to Malton.
Raddox Murtangle of the now dormant MITS was the first to join, giving up the sea for the Rose. Bobby Pegleg, a longtime and loyal Flowers of Disease member and also a member of the dormant [MITS] heard the call and opened up the attic chest to retrieve the tools, prepared to return to his work. Ben Harding, another long time member, on a whim returned to the forum to unexpectedly find the lights on.
It isn't long before some new blood is infused into the group with the additions of Killer Scarecrow and Rob Oppenheimer. After hearing of the FOD’s reemergence from one of his sources, old-timer Bootsy Funk offered to pitch in as he could and Peter McGrady once more shouldered his bloody fire ax.
More new members soon arrive at the door ready to do their part. And so it goes, the tale is still being written. Where it goes from here, no one can tell. We're taking it one bag of flotsam at a time. Each new body added to the wheelbarrows is one less weed choking Malton, making it weak and sick. The work is thankless but someone's got to do it...