In the shadowed heart of the Underrealm, where subterranean rivers whispered ancient tales, there dwelt a man named Gorm. Unremarkable in appearance, save for an aged suit of armor that glistened with interpretations of time, and a helmet forged of starstone that reflected the deepest corners of the human soul.

One fateful eve, as the eerie radiance of glowworms illuminated the cavern's labyrinthine walls, Gorm scratched his chin, stilling the hushed whispers of wary passersby, who sensed his contemplation. His scrutiny fell upon the engraved parchment before him, containing the cryptic prophecy of the Maelstrom. With slow deliberation, Gorm strapped the helmet to his brow, allowing the enchanted crystal within to cast eerie shadows upon the scroll.

As the arcane runes on the parchment began to blur and shift, the helmet pulsed with an ethereal blue aura. The very air around Gorm hummed, and as these ancient symbols danced upon his cold, metal visage, a howl of begrudged laughter gunned through the depths, issuing from the helmet, mirroring the absurdity of this unexpected occurrence. Though the laughter soon subsided, a grave smile spread across Gorm's visage - that of a man who knew he was next in line to vanquish the monstrous abomination, Amorphos, who had long threatened the peace of the Underrealm. As Gorm moved in the direction the prophesy pointed him, the weight of the world's future now upon his shoulders, he could almost hear Maelstrom's ghostly chuckle accompanying him on his quest.