Lucius is actually quite impressed with the chem-user's knowledge of things beyond his ken. Knowledge of the Adeptus Astartes in the ranks of the common folk is rare even on an advanced world such as this, but he supposes it was probably likely that one associated with Chaos might be aware of the existence of Chaos Space Marines, and thus their loyalist counterparts. The Fallen Angel considers responding to the addict in a way that praises him for his astuteness, and so begin the process of endearing him to the Marine for future use, but it is at this moment that the same ratty little hunchback from before approaches them both, asking that they follow him to see his master. Lucius turns to face the man, judging him for his mere presence, and more subtly the distance between them both to see if his prior suggestion has been violated. He's decided that he dislikes Raoul - for his appearance, for his generally snivelling manner, and- he glances over at Atella, to see her conversing with a small horde of deformed roughly-humanoids, apparently unaware of Raoul's presence here- for apparently serving more than one master at a time. Even if he is as far unaligned from Nurgle as possible, Lucius has come to the conclusion that Raoul is a man with a toxic presence, even without the influence of the Four on his mind. More importantly, with regards to his train of logic, he has decided that Raoul would not be missed by anybody in particular, least of all the Dark Gods.

Gradually, Lucius hefts his bulk from the stool he is in. He does this in a manner that ever-so-casually positions himself just under five feet away from Raoul. Then, without warning and fast as lightning, he is stood behind the hunchback, hands clamped on top of his head and around his mouth in a way that exerts a great amount of pressure on his skull. The Angel only says 'I warned you' to the unfortunate man, before violently wrenching his head round and back to shatter most of the vertebrae in his cervical curve, a far more vicious execution than the relatively clean nerve severing he was used to performing, and one designed to draw attention from those in the immediate vicinity. Then, lifting the minion's limp body with the same grip, he turns and hurls the body with a grunt, sending it flying in an arc over to the edge of the crowd surrounding one of the nearby fighting pits; in seconds, they have heaved the man into the pit without actually checking to see that he's still alive, and it is at this point that Lucius loses interest in the pits, returning to his previous stool, and gravely muttering 'Sit back down, chemmie,' to the presumed spy. 'It's rude not to introduce yourself when meeting a new person.'

Turning to face the bar, he taps the surface with two fingers, quite solidly even for his size, a call to the many-limbed bartender which is swiftly answered. 'What'll it be, sir?' the man asks, apparently completely unfazed by or unaware of the brutal murder that took place not ten seconds ago. 'Two drinks,' comes the deadpan response from the Fallen, 'multiple hard liquors, at least 50% alcohol content. And that's ethanol, if you don't mind. I think my companion's liver would explode if it were something humans couldn't normally process.' A much-overpriced note is pressed into the table, and swiftly taken away and recompensed appropriately by the bartender, who promptly begins his work of mixing many of the more alcoholic beverages he possesses, working like a human spider with far too much hand-eye coordination for the number of eyes he possesses. Content that his order will be processed accordingly, Lucius turns back to the drug addict, says to the man he has drawn into conversation 'Please, addict, your name,' and eyes him in a way that dares him to not do as requested.

@Lord Coake @Jbcool

"Go on big guy, you can take 'em," the friendly youth said. Gormog looked down at him and a smile slowly started forming on his face, followed by a slow, pronounced nod. He looked around for Salvius and spotted him quickly enough. Smile still big on his face, he pointed at himself and then at the pit, the meaning clear: Gormog fight. The big Ogryn slung his ripper gun around his torso and clambered over the small wall, dropping into the miniature Colosseum.

The crowd roared appreciatively at Gormog and he returned their affections by baring his teeth in a vicious grin. He could already feel the adrenaline surging. Back when he was part of the Chaos warband they made him do the same thing and he developed a taste for it quickly. Fighting was in his blood. It's what he was born to do. While the Ogryn awaited his opponent, the crowd started placing their bets, and Traxel Yidara was no exception. He placed all the money he had left on the abhuman and cheered him on.

On the battlefield it was his Imperial Guard training that dictated how Gormog would fight. Here, in the fighting pits, it was his instincts. He growled and beat his chest, an instinct so ancient that it had resurfaced in the primitive Ogryn genome. On the opposite side of the pit a large door opened, lifted up by strong, cast-iron chains, and something huge appeared.

It was an Ork, and a big one at that. Gormog estimated that it was roughly the same size and girth as himself. Worthy, he thought, and his excitement grew. This would be a good fight. The crowd went wild and the betting intensified. "BLOOD!" Gormog roared, balling his fists. "SKULLS!" The crowd laughed and repeated his abbreviated warcry with vigor. The Ork looked intensely annoyed and bellowed at the crowd, shaking its tusked head to and fro.

Wasting no time, Gormog charged at his foe, determined to bash its ugly face in with his bare hands.

Walking into the VIP area, a glorious sight unveiled itself before Salvius. Never in his wildest nightmares could Salvius have dreamed of this. This room just reeked of death, ambition, and above all: powerful knowledge to be gained. Salvius could already deduce that apparently his own source of power was not the only one after all. The VIP area was clearly divided in four parts, suggesting there might be as much as four "gods" to curry favour from. Naturally, this did not quite suggest their actual existence yet, but the large mobs of fervent followers implied they did. Gormog was the counterpoint to that argument however: Salvius had never seen any sign that the big brute connected to some higher being or power. He just liked to punch and shoot repeatedly people until they stopped being fun.

Speaking of punching, it seemed Gormog had already found some creatures and people to apply his fists to. He even seemed to fit right in with some of the other spectators and contesters. After talking with a young fellow, who didn't exactly fit in, Gormog indicated he was going to have some fun and jumped into one of the fighting pits. Salvius' suspected he might just befriend the giant orc he was facing now: They tended to be impressed by brute strength. On the other hand, the orc might also be dead soon. Placing a sizeable bet on Gormog's victory, and, incidentally, future victories, Salvius headed for the bar. With a final glance back, Salvius sent: Don't die Gormog. I'd hate to lose my money.

Walking towards the bar, another spectacle was to be found. A man of similar size to Gormog, but considerably less... brutish. He seemed to be engaged with two others at the bar. One, a chem user in the process of leaving, intending to follow the second: a hunchbacked figure. Weaving through the crowd, Salvius only saw snap shots of what transpired. From one moment to another, the big man is standing behind the hunchback. Elbowing someone aside, the next thing Salvius saw was the hunchback's impression of an owl: his head was turning at some odd angles. Losing sight once more, Salvius only saw the hunchback leave shortly after: His imitation of an eagle's graceful flight could use some improvement. All this had taken only seconds. Arriving at the bar, Salvius confirmed his suspicions with a brief glimpse of the big man's presence in the warp. Oddly shaped, the soul seemed to simply flatline where others would have fear. Only a little had Salvius learned of Space Marines, but three things stood out: They were huge, possessed incredible fighting prowess and were fearless.

As the Space Marine sat back down Salvius quickly looked away. he sat himself down at the bar and ordered a fresh mint tea, never having liked the intoxicating effects of alcohol. Receiving the drink after a few moments, Salvius enjoyed a few sips. It was definitely mint tea, but it had a peculiar quality to it. It seemed to sharpen his senses more than usual and to excite his mind, perceiving clearer, deducing faster. While drinking, Salvius kept an eye on the odd pair to the left of him. They seemed to be engaged in conversation over some book which the Marine was currently perusing. It reminded Salvius of why he was here.

Looking at the barman over the rim of his cup, Salvius said: "Dear barman, I am in need of some directions I fear. I'm looking for someone knowledgeable about books of a certain kind and..." Salvius now caught a glimpse of the book as it was being handed back to the chem user by the Marine. An eight pointed star was inscribed on it. As he was looking, Salvius' black bird skull talisman began to rattle against his chest, seemingly being pulled in the book's direction. Salvius quickly grabbed his trinket before it pulled itself out from under his clothing, dropping his tea cup in the process. It shattered on the ground with what seemed to Salvius an earsplitting noise. "Looking for... uhh.. for uhh... nevermind."

With an apologetic glance at the barman, Salvius stood. Sliding over a few chairs, Salvius caught the last few words of the conversation. Something about a search for knowledge concerning the star. Now this was an excellent opportunity. Making eye contact with both in turn, Salvius intruded using every ounce of charismatic charm he could muster: "Good afternoon gentlemen, care for some company? I couldn't help but hear something about you looking for some information, and I happen to be something of a scholar. Perhaps I could be of some use to you? My name would be Ersus. Ersus Tulfon. A pleasure."

@Lord Coake @BCTheEntity @Jbcool

"I." Came Harkin's raspy voice almost immediately, the corpse-like Mutant shouldering his way past the others. Some looked ready to challenge him, but at that moment he'd kept his hand close to his knife. He stood before the Mistress and bowed, his cybernetic eye glowing in the dim light.

"Ahhh...." The Master began, a thin smile crossing his pale lips. "I know this one. He is utterly devoted....to the...gods. You will not be disappointed with him." He nodded over to Atella before stepping aside to observe the little drama before him. The look he flashed over to the woman spoke volumes. His own opinion of the wretches was little better than her own, though he's found them easy to manipulate and mold to their purposes.

Harkin stood as straight as he could when he rose, a low snarl at his lips as he looked right into the eyes of Atella. If he fealt any fear, he did not show it.

"Harkin is name. Have served for many years, killed and stolen for Master and Mistress." He said, his hand finally leaving the handle of the knife. "Who's skull will I give to mighty Khorne? Soul to Slaanesh? Body to Nurgle? Change for Tzeentch?" He always remembered to offer something to each of the gods, hoping to catch the attentions of at least one of them. He knew this task would be it. The one that would finally earn him their blessings. He was eager to serve.

Sanath was utterly terrified that the Astartes had slaughtered Raoul, and then addressed him. His mind began to run through every possible punishment he could have inflicted upon him for being found in such a place with such a book. They'll have me hanged or boiled alive or whipped and flayed or burned alive! He was very visibly panicked, and knew for a fact the Astartes could see it, and likely everyone else in the area was well. Instinctively, he went to reach into his bag for the chems stored within, but stopped himself. Slowly grasping into the will to speak, and quickly downing the drink purchased for him, Sanath managed to breathe out his name, loud enough to be heard. "S-Sanath Marko M-My uhm...Lord."

The Fallen does not laugh, for he is not the sort of person inclined to do so, but he is nevertheless somewhat amused at the distress caused by what he has done. It comes as a mild surprise, then, to find himself being called "Lord" by the mister Sanath Marko, though it is pleasing to him to hear that- and he reminds himself to reign back his arrogance once again, that he is no more in the eyes of the Gods than the hunchback he just executed. In contrast to the chem-user's rapid chugging of his brew, Lucius sips at the beverage purchased for himself, enjoying the flavour more than the intoxication that his Preomnor will ensure never comes. This is, in part, why he purchased the drinks in the first place - he would remain sober, whilst the man practically prostrating himself before him should quickly succumb to the excess of alcohol in his system.

'You must be quite knowledgable, to have awareness of me and mine. Tell me, Sanath Marko,' Lucius continues calmly, taking another sip between words, 'precisely how much do you know about the Astartes? And, for that matter, what brought you here today in the first instance?'

Sanath felt the warmth of the drink wash over him, relaxing him slightly, though he was still very much worried about the events unfolding. His physical features becoming more lax and eased, his face regaining some of the color lost in his fright, he opens his mouth and begins to offer his explanation. "W-Well, sir...My uncle was in the Guard long before I was born, and would regale us with stories about his time fighting. His favorite was about how a group of Space Marines called the 'Dark Angels' had arrived to help them fight off some xenos on a world called Xarcus III. He had told us about their massive size, great strength, and honour. He told me that he knew of other such groups with different names, and that they travel the galaxy helping the Guard when they most need it..." With this he swallowed yet another massive quantity of the drink, forcing it down, and regaining yet more strength to speak. "As for why I'm here...I found this book the other day. The symbol was familiar, so I brought it to a friend who collects unique objects. He guided me to here, so I could learn more." Sanath intentionally left out the details of his dreams and the voices, for fear of being slaughtered there on the spot. He downed yet more still of the drink, and looked up at the Astartes.

Of course it was the Dark Angels the addict had been told tales of. Lucius wants nothing to do with them. He lacks the exact knowledge of how they treat those who have fallen to Chaos, but he surmises that, given his Legion's attitude prior to his dislocation in time, they are not particularly fond of traitors in the first place. Then again, he has wondered and now wonders again, are they the descendants of those who served under Luther, or the Lion? Either way, the damned Astartes cannot return to them, tainted as he is. 'Your uncle wasn't wrong,' Lucius concedes, 'though he was a fool. We both have our reasons for being here, and the fact that we are here, calmly drinking in a bar surrounded by perversion and bloodshed, suggests that neither of us are likely to return to the Imperium's chill embrace.' He deliberately excludes the qualifier of "...because we rejected it and its dead Emperor," since he knows not of Sanath's circumstances, and is all too aware of his own. 'Now, regarding the book, do you happen to have it with you still?' he asks. 'I wish to examine it.'

Sanath was chilled to the bone from the words spoke to him by the Astartes, and even the intoxicating drink did little to ease this torrent of cold washing over him. When the Astartes asked to see the book, Sanath shivered and nodded, slowly reaching into his bag, shifting his hand around the various chems and drugs to grasp the leather-bound tome. As he did so the voices began to whisper once again, telling him to worry not about the Astartes, that he was under their command. With some hesitance, he placed the book on the counter, and shifted it to be presented to the Astartes. "H-Here you are...The start of it makes sense, but further in it got far too confusing for me to understand."

It seems, from how readily his request is obeyed, that the man called Sanath is now utterly under Lucius' spell of power, through no deliberate design of the Astartes. Not strictly uncommon within his web of contacts, but he expected somebody with enough influence to get into this place would have a stronger will than that... though the late Raoul proved that this was not at all necessary, he supposes. He'll establish how true Sanath's indenture is later on, he decides, and whether or not he'll make use of it; for now, he draws the book over to himself across the table, examining the cover and the eight-pointed star upon its surface, then opens the book's cover, prepared to slam it shut should it attempt to enthrall his mind in some way. It does not seem to do so immediately, and so Lucius begins to read through the first few pages of it.

The first several paragraphs cover the falsity of the so-called "Corpse-God", and the willingness of the Chaos Gods to support their followers should they please them, albeit in a far more benevolent tone than what Lucius' experience with them has indicated. Continuing to imbibe his drink whilst skimming through the rest of the tome, his suspicions are further confirmed by the few undestroyed paragraphs of information, in particular a dedication to Slaanesh involving the violent, simultaneous sexual assault of six untainted virgins with a multi-pronged weapon of some sort, whilst imbibing copious quantities of a drug simply called "Heartbeat". The name is new to him, as have been a fair few extra-terrestrial terms he'd picked up over time, but for some reason, he's quite sure it'd induce horrifically painful heart attacks in the user. Other than this, he gleans little to no proper information from the book that he was not already party to, or that he could later utilise for his own ends. He decides it is useless to him in that state, and promptly closes it and slides it back over to Sanath. 'A copy of that could be extraordinarily valuable to the right people, if it were more complete,' the Angel informs the addict, little inflection in his voice. 'Do you have plans to acquire such a copy, or are you perhaps content with what is presented to you there?'

Sanath took the book from the Astartes' hand and stowed it back into his bag, still facing the massive hulk of a man. When the Space Marine presented to him the question of whether he would look for a book with more intact information, he shrugged and said "Well, I only took this book because I had seen the symbol before, and wanted to know more about it. That search led me here..." Just as Sanath finished speaking, a bookish man had approached them, and introduced himself as Ersus Tulfon. This man was rather energetic for someone in such a dark and brooding place, and it put Sanath on a slight edge. He looked to the man and said "I'm Sanath Marko.", glancing to the Space Marine to see how he handled the sudden introductions.

@Hank

Urg of Murr, former bodyguard of the Grand Despoiler of the Kerzun Helix, blinked his deep-set eyes rapidly as he was shoved forcefully into the bright light of the arena somewhere deep in the bowels of a Human city-continent; he had been taken by raiders, but not before slaying a few, remembering very little of their proddings and injectings into his toughened hide, feeling a sense of loss and distance as he was taken further away from his own kind and bought here to fight.

As he ceased his observations, green lips pulling back into a snarl to reveal rows of sharp teeth, his most basic instincts allowed him to avoid the first blow from a fist almost as large as his head, the Ork rocking back and blocking the next haymaker with his own arm. It was only then that he even realised he was under attack, under attack from a huge pink 'umie by the looks of it! This one was similar in size and build to him, and probably in strength, but he was an Ork and his people knew nothing but bloodshed and battle, it ran in their very genetic coding.

"Waaagh!" Came the roar from deep in his gullet, a primal reflex which would have been answered by others of his kind, had there been any there; allowing a blow to his midriff, he stepped forward and thrust forward with his head, his thickened brow connecting with an opposite of equal density, both hands then shooting out to wrap Gormog in a crushing bearhug that slowly increased in pressure.

Urg knew that he would not survive by fighting like this, but it was as a good an opening gambit as any.

"Harkin...yes..." Hissed the slender form in acknowledgement, not really paying attention to anything he or the Master of the mutants had to say, far too busy watching the death of her creature at the hands of the super-human warrior from behind her multitude of veils; she had known for quite some time that Raoul was serving only his own interests, that he was mixed up with both the owner of this establishment as well as herself, but to see him broken and flung away like so much weightless garbage was both alarming and titillating.

Beneath her flesh she could feel a warming sensation as she watched, feeling a familiar hardening of excitiment within her underwear - what their was of it anyway - as her eyes attempted to follow the shape of the moving and stationary Astartes, a shiver of lust that was not merely sexual running up her spinal column and her mouth becoming drier than a Tallarn summer.

"Harkin," she repeated a moment later, turning her full gaze on the misshapen creature before her, "I would like you to remain close by me, and keep your eyes open, for now; there will be much use for you later. Mark my words." A moment passed, a moment of thought, and she was moving, dismissing the rest of the mutants back to wherever it was that they sprung from, "let us go and speak with these enchanting fellows."

An Astartes, a scholar and a drug addict by the look of it - all potential servants of Slaanesh, and all capable of being twisted to his will.

Meanwhile, gazing intently from his balcony, Trant gave a slow and appreciative nod of his head - his tentacle tightening on the metal and a thin sigh escaping from between his sharpened teeth - "so be it," he spoke to no-one but himself, "let the pieces fall where they may...for now."

@The Whacko@Lord Coake@BCTheEntity@Keepvogel

Lucius silently eyes the man who he had previously surmised was an ally of the Ogryn, now just another contestant in the pits, apparently- if he inclines his head just right- fighting against an Orc of some size. Impressive. Maybe he'd head over for a closer view if he felt he was being crowded within the next few minutes. And with the arrival of one Ersus Tulfon, he starts to imagine that that could end up being the case. If his previous assessment of the man was right, he is a follower of Tzeentch through and through, a consideration backed up by his blatantly over-charismatic opening, and so Lucius highly suspects that his real name is something rather far removed from "Ersus". Sanath, by contrast, is more than willing to give his name over to the scholar, and unless he happens to be an even more masterful manipulator than the scholar he'd only just met, the Astartes finds it highly unlikely that Sanath is anything other than truthful. A mistake around those you don't know in a hellhole such as this, in the Angel's mind.

An even greater mistake the more company makes itself known. Over "Tulfon"'s shoulder, Lucius spies the veiled androgyne who had previously approached him with offers of their company, alongside an even more hideous companion than the one he had just executed. Apparently, they made themselves feel better about their appearance by hiding under layers of silk and acquiring minions more gruesome to behold than themselves. Alternatively, happenstance; they had just addressed a very small army of mutated creatures, after all, though perhaps this was even more proof of their hidden foulness. Still, he ponders, it seems likely that followers of Slaanesh tend to be more attractive than most, at least at first... a thought apparently confirmed as new thoughts of fornication enter his mind and are viciously quelled once again. And with that last turn of phrase, he comes up with a false name to call himself by.

'Call me Thorn,' he says, both for the benefit of the two sitting by him, and to be overheard by the two approaching him. 'And as it happens, Ersus, there is a very good chance that you could be helpful. Pray tell, Ersus, what skills and assets could you bring to the table if we happened to join forces? You must be very learned, Ersus, to have become a scholar; what sorts of knowledge might you possess, Ersus? I am simply dying to know, Ersus.' Whilst on the surface far more amicable than he is used to sounding, the Fallen Angel's voice and speech patterns are quite deliberate statements to the man before him. You are a liar, Ersus, in one way or another, is the unspoken message, and Lucius has done what he can to make quite sure that "Ersus" receives it.

@Jbcool@Lord Coake@The Whacko@Keepvogel

The Gentlemen's Boutique of Intriguing Antiques.

The place held some fond memories for Draco. While he had been happily guided to the light of the gods by his own means, the Boutique had been the first place that he could go to as a worshiper without having to worry about hiding his faith or having to sing false praises to a corpse on a chair. It was a place where the enlightened could go to let their hair down... through not to far down. On his second visit he had seen a woman get strangled to death with her own hair because a visiting member of one of the Princess's cults had wanted to try something new while on a drug high.

He didn't get to visit the place as often as he would have liked; Before he had founded his own cult, Draco had to visit several other businesses that sold antiques in order to build up a reputation for antiquing so as not to draw unwanted attention to himself or to the establishment if and when he visited it. After the cult was established, he had simply been to busy to go that often. He had sent a couple of people in its direction before through; Occasionally one of the members of his cult tended to lean towards one of the gods more then the others and needed somewhere to properly indulge in their worship and he was more then happy to give them a card and tell them where they needed to go.

As the small group consisting of himself, Rosalux and two of his guards approached the antique store, Draco felt the need to address a concern of his. "Due to the fact that I am granting you entrance via vouching for you, I feel the need to impose a request. If we discover Mr Yidara here I would like you to so some restraint and subtly in how you handle the situation. I don't want someone I'm vouching for causing a scene the first time they are there. I'm sure you have plenty of ways to get him to leave with you quietly without causing a ruckus or an incident..."

Decorum had not completely decayed from the once pampered girl, and as a guest she felt it would be apt to request a reprieve in which she could freshen up. Of course, it wasn’t entirely for the benefit of her new found companion; doors fell away easier when you possessed the air of someone accustomed to having them opened for you. She stood beside him and his guards with a more subtle exaltation of Nurgle, something she had apologized for in the shower. She would make it up to the Father though. Blonde curls had regained some of their bounce, enough to cascade about the lingering dread knots to disguise the disarray. A pair of dark glasses perched on her nose, shaped by nobility, and completed the minute makeover to normalcy. Hopefully Nurgle would see past this facade to her diseased heart while others would be dissuaded.

She followed along with Draco's gait, glancing towards him as he warned of behavior. It was an honest request, one that was answered with a curt nod and flashing smile that proceeded vocalization. “Of course. I would prefer not to draw attention to either of us. Thank you again.”

Satisfied with the answer that he had been given, Draco nodded his head before passing through the threshold of the Gentlemen's Boutique of Intriguing Antiques with his guard detail in tow, followed hopefully by Rosalux as well even if there wouldn't be any skin off his nose if she didn't.

Making a short show of looking through the official display of merchandise on the very real chance that there was someone on the payroll of one of the other noble families watching him while trying to find some weakness to use against him in the great game of politics, Draco finally approached the guarded door marked 'VIP' before reaching into a pocket of his jacket and removing a small card and a stone. A small wave of the stone over the card reveled the pointed star that served as the universal symbol of the true gods. Pointing out his two guards and female companion, he simply said "They're with me." to justify their presence as he stepped through the door that would lead to the real reason people came to the store.

((Collab between @Noxious and @Bright_Ops ))

Approaching the group, all swaying hips and seductive glares, Atella hissed at Harkin to keep up and to keep an eye out for any signs of trouble; this didn't include the Astartes of course, who was clearly more than capable of killing most anything inside the VIP club, something that the many Khorne worshipers had no doubt picked up on. Even now she could feel the attention of more than a few of them, the actions of the Fallen Angel having attracted an immediate cult following of bloodthirsty admirers.

"You may all call me Atella," she purred once within earshot of the huddled conspirators, "because that is my given name at birth, and I appear to be the only one here brave enough to use it."

Placing herself gently down on one of the chairs, deliberately chosen to be mid-way between 'Thorn' and 'Ersus' and as obvious as possible, ignoring the only other who had given their honest name and opinion - perhaps even naively so - to these two figures he did not even know, she twisted about to cast a narrowed gaze over Lucius and then at this man who presented himself as a scholar.

If there was one thing that worshipers of the Dark Prince knew how to do well, it was to lie through your teeth and get away with it, conversation and seduction being only two of the more human gifts one could achieve through acts of devotion to Slaanesh, and Atella could tell from the moment she heard the false name slip from the lips of the Space Marine that both he and this 'Ersus' were attempting to play one another for fools; there was something about the more bookish of the two though, something...malleable...changing all the time...she could smell it on him as easily as she could smell the lust of a man or a woman. This one was, in his own way, more dangerous than even the hulking warrior opposite him and she would have to be careful.

"Thorn, is it?" She questioned in a neutral tone, spinning the chair about to face Lucius with all the glee of a child, her eyes boring into his own though they were feet above her own, "well Thorn, why did you have to kill poor Raoul? He could have been useful to me, and now he is all broken and dead." Beneath the veils of silk her expression changed to one of mock regret, reflected in her eyes and by the short sigh that escaped her black lips.

"But lo'! I seem to have missed someone," a cry of mock amazement leaving her as she stood from the stall and sauntered past Salvius, extending her arm only briefly to run two fingers over his cheek, a languid and non-threatening gesture if there ever was one, her steps carrying her over to Sanath and his book.

Here she decided to stand, taking in the remarkably average person before her, "my favourite..." she cooed, leaning forward until her face was barely inches from his own, "...the unititated," for more than a few moments she did nothing, not moving or even seeming to breath, but after what may have seemed like an eternity she took the rather unusual route of getting as close to Sanath as she possibly could, pressing herself to him and rubbing a hand over the bag at his side, "so, what do you have here? It must be very important to you," her voice dropped to a whisper now, so quiet that possibly only the Astartes could hear over the noise of the club, "but it is also important to them, better you let me take a look at it now, yes?"

@The Whacko@Lord Coake@BCTheEntity@Keepvogel

'I gave him ample warning. It just so happens that your late manservant is incapable of following orders from any master.'

This is all Lucius says to Atella, their complaints and apparent sadness about the hunchback's murder falling on a mind deafened to pity and regret. Not a moment later, the androgyne's attention has passed to her next target, the most likely member of the group to become her newest thrall: the addict. The predictability could make lesser men roll their eyes; in Lucius' mind, those of weak wills were the most likely to fall to Nurgle or Slaanesh, the former for how easy it was to stagnate and despair in an empire already used to both, and the latter simply because it provided more of what many were used to... albeit to ever-heightening degrees of depravity. Judging by Sanath's own addictions, and the veiled character's excess of attentions toward him, it is simple logic to establish that they are a worshipper of Slaanesh after all. Unless, the thought occurs, they are dedicated enough to passing on Nurgle's so-called blessings that acting like a follower of another of the Four without passing into their worship is utterly simplistic, but he doubts the androgyne is quite that deep.

They are, however, tricky, as their barely-audible mutterings into the addict's ear can attest. A manipulator if he's ever seen one. The Fallen Angel understands that human psychology is exceptionally complex, and that no number of categories could ever wholly contain it; however, he has found that three particular categories have done quite well so far, and briefly recalls the basic traits of each: followers, those who do the bidding of their masters; leaders, those who exert their will upon others; and manipulators, those who attempt to twist leaders into doing what they want, rather than what the leaders truly want. Following is easy, leading is much harder, and manipulation is harder still, especially when pitted against a smart leader; whilst overlap and transfer between categories is more than feasible, it is a universal truth that the majority are followers doing what others tell them, with comparatively few leaders and manipulators vying for the top-heavy amounts of power that come with ruling the masses.

This leads further into his hypothesis about Atella's allegiances: the very nature of Nurgle's worship is such that those capable of anything other than following are exceptionally rare in his ranks (though followers of all the Gods and of Chaos itself are of course commonplace), whereas leadership comes more naturally to the Khornate and Tzeentchian masses, and manipulation is a forte of both Slaanesh and Tzeentch. In this case, the evident manipulation and its style would set them firmly into Slaaneshi territory, which brings him to why he is somewhat displeased with their actions: a drugged-up, sex-addled, and most likely heavily tortured follower, whilst happier in the short term, is far less useful in the long term. He takes in the small number of Khornate minions now paying attention to him, considers their worth as followers, then discards it. They are less useful than he likes, for they lack the subtlety with which Lucius prefers to work. Sanath, by contrast, is promising, and having him stolen from under his nose is something he'd rather avoid; thus, it is with a death glare toward the practically-molested addict that he mouths the word "no", a hopefully-obvious indication to not give the person pressing themselves against him the book.

@Jbcool@The Whacko@Lord Coake@Keepvogel

Once Draco and his little group passed through the various doors and hallways that lead down into the real reason anyone went to the Gentlemen's Boutique of Intriguing Antiques in the first place, the young noble couldn't help but feel like a great weight had been removed from his shoulders. Of course he wasn't fool enough to actually let his hair down because the people that flocked to chaos worship were the sort that would attempt to strangle you with with it, but there was a sense of freedom that came with discarding the mask of being a loyal worshiper of the corpse emperor.

As he and his guards passed through the final threshold, Draco turned to speak to his guest... only to find her missing. Glancing around for a moment, Draco clicked his tongue because deciding that his 'guest' had decided to go hunting for her target now that she was here on her own. It wasn't ideal, but by all rights he had accomplished his end of the bargain... if she held up hers remained to be seen however, but that was something to worry about another time. Finding himself with some free time to himself, Draco and his escort made their way over to the bar while glancing around to see if anyone stood out.

@BCTheEntity@Jbcool@Lord Coake@The Whacko@Keepvogel

Now here was something quite exquisite. This... creature, Atella, was a marvel in so many ways. First, and most obvious, he or she oozed sex appeal in such quantities Salvius' had to do his very best not to lay a hand on them right this very moment. Female curves and male muscle beckoned him, hidden behind purple veils and silks. Second, they showed a remarkable appreciation of the situation, and tackled it in much the same way Salvius' was: smooth talking, lies and manipulation. Finally, Atella seemed to be rather more... dedicated... than either Sanath and "Thorn". Looking over the rest of the room he noticed others in either purplish clothing, or more often very little clothing at all. What kind of entity did these people adhere to?
Temporarily distracted, Salvius missed the first part of what the Marine was saying to him. "I am simply dying to know, Ersus". Ha. Unlikely. Clearly the Marine had noticed that " Ersus" was no true name. Based on his previous behaviour, Salvius deemed the Marine unsuitable as his tool. Too stubborn, too straightforward. Why reveal he was on to Salvius? No, Atella could possibly serve much better. Salvius spoke to the Marine in a distracted manner, all the while staring at Atella. "Dying for knowledge, eh? It might come to that for you in time. Please excuse me..."
Standing up and walking towards Atella and Sanath, Salvius paid close attention to his own body language and expressions. The fact that the Marine, and apparently Atella as well, had seen through a part of his facade had made him more careful. He would have to take his next deception a step further. He would construct this one on the ruins of the old one. He dropped the boisterous persona of Ersus completely, instead adopting a soft spoken, slightly steely manner of posture and speech. To give this character life, make it seem more real than Ersus had been, Salvius consciously used his repressed lust to infuse his mannerisms: Holding his glass slightly to tightly, a little sweat on the brow, slightly too long glances at Atella.
"True names can be dangerous to give freely, my..." Salvius let his eyes flutter over their appearance for a second, as if slightly unsure of himself. "Lady Atella? Something you are undoubtedly telling dear mister Marko right now. I have to admit, I am simply fascinated by you." Careful with the flattery now. Salvius did not want to overdo it. Arriving next to Sanath with Atella more or less draped over him, Salvius' lust told him he should put his hand on Atella's shoulder and give Sanath a little jealous glare. Salvius glared at Sanath, adding some slight disdain to his expression to make it fit his character, then caressed Atella's shoulder, ending in a firm hold. Looking back at Atella, Salvius makes his words slightly reverberate in the warp: "We should talk about how we can be useful to each other... Maybe ask mister Marko here to share his story." That should be enough to gain her attention, thought Salvius.

@Jbcool@BCTheEntity@Lord Coake

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Hours? Vinicius' mind didn't know, he no longer measured his life in time, it had become impossible to after all those years in transit. No, now the nails ruled his life, and he measured it in bodies and blood. So, he tried to remember... not counting days or minutes or hours, but recount his path in corpses. On some mining world he had been, butchering Overseers and servitors until he came upon a ship. He stowed away and waited... why had he waited? He killed a few humans who had wandered into his part of the cargo bay, that had been when he ventured out. Then screams and blood, he butchered the crew one by one, making his way to the hangar... more killing. He hopped on a dropship, bound for the surface of some world. Slaughtered the pilot, ship went into a dive, hitting buildings, then the underhive... then he was walking again. wasn't a whole lot of killing then... the occasional gutter rat or unaware human or even a mutant... he was in an underhive. a hive world, lots of people. And then... it was the gangers! Yes that one had just happened!

Finally the seemingly bloody statue moved, stirred from his thoughts by seemingly nothing. The old World Eater looked about himself, 10 underhive gangers lie dead around him, cut open or apart by his chainsword, which quietly idled in his right hand, he switched it off to observe his handiwork. Seven had makeshift weapons, and the other three had been armed with slug weapons. Slug weapons- powerful personal sidearms using solid shot projectiles, simple and easy to produce, most often used by Gangers, Rebels, Orks, and PDF forces... why had he run through that? It was in his memories... the Gangers had attempted to rush the massive man, seemingly believing their numbers would overwhelm them, if they had all had autoguns, no... they hadn't stooda chance. The closest two were cleaved clean in half, the third closest had been disembowled and had spent the last few minutes moaning in pain before he died. After his was one who's head had been made red mist, then the one Vinicius had cut length-wise. The next one was kneeling, still gargling blood from the massive sucking wound in his chest. At his feet the empty eyes of the next woman, a hole through the middle of her chest, he had impaled that one. The three with guns had tried to run. Two were nearby, one had broken his spine when Vinicius had collided with him, and the next one was beheaded. The last Ganger was still in his hand, writhing against the wall, trying to beg for his miserable life... Vinicius grew tired of it, and drew him back before smashing his head into the wall, pulverising it.

He let the headless corpse drop, and stared at his red gauntlet. Blood had splattered over his armor and he growled, ripping the shirt off the broken one and wiping some of it off, his white Maximus pattern chest and blue pauldrons still had a few smeared blood splatters on them, but the colors were clear again and that made Vinicius smile. But now the nails were at it again and so quickly. He groaned, bringing his empty left hand to feel at the coils driving into his skull as it throbbed. He shook his head... blood was calling to him, and he looked about himself. He felt the tug, somewhere violence was taking place and he needed in. He followed the seemingly spectral feeling, wandering down the twisting alleys and filthy roads of the underhive. He was not certain how long he traveled, but knew he killed no one along the way. That was when he heard it, shouting and cheering... for blood... a colliseum? He listened, hearing the scream of Waaaaaagh! an orc? a colliseum? Violence? This was it! He had been drawn to this! To the blood! He maglocked his chainsword to his hip, looking at the sign above the entrance to the place, The Gentlemens Boutique of Intriguing Antiques, but that hardly mattered as he worked his power armored bulk through the door, growling as he followed the winding passages and halls, the smell of violence drawing the massive space marine. At some point some unlucky fool had happened upon him going the other way, he was only able to contemplate his utter fear at the Chaos Space Marine for a moment before he was shvoved over and crushed beneath his massive power armoured boots. After what felt to Vinicius like an eternity he burst into the Sanctum proper, the room in the shape of an Eight pointed star.

Now, many worshippers of the Dark Gods no doubt passed into this room... but a fully armored Chaos Space Marine? A World Eater no less? He glanced about the room, so many bodies, Slaaneshi followers, Nurgelites, Tzeentchians all the gods followers could be seen... and the fighting pit. In the center a deep pit where the Khornates could let out their rage and worship Khorne... but that was not why it called to Vinicius, or rather he did not believe it was. He was not hear to shout for Khorne, he had forgotten that, he was hear for violence because the nails drove him. He charge at the pit, dropping into it between the Ogryn and ork already their, his powered joints squealing and whiirring as he collided with the ground, and pushed himself to standing. He ripped free his Chainsword, his eyes filled with glee as he locked eyes with the ork, his armored limbs tensed, and he charged the massive beast, chainsword revving up and ready to tear at the flesh once more.

Vorgen had spent his first few days on Ephron V wandering around, screwing with people, and locating places of interest. In his wake were half a dozen people potentially still tied up, and definitely still at least a little bit high, and he was still barely any closer to his goal. Someone had tipped him off to a drug called "Spook" during his travels, and they'd claimed it could be found on any reasonably large hive world. But now that he was on what he was pretty sure was a "reasonably large hive world", he still couldn't find any. That hadn't stopped him before, though. So he supposed he would have to just keep looking. Of course, all this skulking around looking for the sorts of people that might deal in that sort of thing got old pretty quickly, not to mention the stress involved with confronting such shady individuals. So Thale decided he might as well take a break for a bit. It wasn't like someone would sell all the drugs before he could get some.

It was while looking for somewhere to distract himself that the wandering heretic spotted the Gentlemen's Boutique of Intriguing Antiques. The title alone was enough to draw him in. He didn't expect to find anything interesting, but in a worst case scenario he could always knock over something expensive and get away with it. So he wandered in, bouncing a little to make anyone paying attention pay more attention to his breasts than anything else. The person behind the counter barely looked up when he walked in, so Vorgen started wandering around. He spotted a nice, fairly expensive-looking mirror and adjusted his hair a little, brushing it off to one side, and giving himself a wink before moving on. There really wasn't much of interest in here, at least until he spotted the big burly fellow standing in front of a door that had to be important.

"Hey handsome. What are you up to?" he flounced over to the man who was obviously guarding something with only slightly exaggerated cheerfulness.

"Working." the man growled his response remarkably well. Clearly he'd dealt with this before.

"Whatcha workin' on?" he tried, placing a hand on the wall next to the larger man and leaning forward more than was really necessary. He watched the guard glance down his shirt, but it wasn't enough, it seemed.

"None of your business." remarkable professionalism, really. It was such a shame, in Vorgen's opinion.

"Let me through." this time, as he opened his mouth, his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost completely black, and when the man turned to put an end to the shenanigans, he found himself horrifically transfixed as Thale turned his Voice of the Legion on the poor bouncer. Daemonic voices howled just out of sync with his words, while others growled an echo after the fact, and it all sounded much louder than it really was. The bouncer glanced nervously in the direction of the front counter, only to realize that no one else had heard anything.

"Uh..." he wasn't so sure any more, and the psyker pounced.

"Let me through." this time the words were whispered, but they came out strained as he turned the full power of his mind on the man in his way.

"Right this way, boss." the reaction was pleasantly immediate, and it wasn't long before the blonde bombshell was being escorted down a surprisingly large number of steps, and through a shocking number of security doors. He could tell the security guard was confused the whole time, as he just kept helping this strange woman through barrier after barrier, even though he knew she wasn't supposed to be down here.

"Don't say anything about me to anyone." again, Vorgen strained, turning his mental powers on the helpless bouncer, and he merely nodded in response. "Do you know where I can find some Spook?" this was a legitimate question, and not supported by any psychic manipulation. All the same, the heavily muscled guard had the answer half out of his mouth before he realized he wasn't being compelled.

"You could try the Slaaneshi section? I don't think there are any drugs they don't have." he decided it couldn't hurt to point out what would eventually be obvious, especially if he had to help this woman.

"Oh, that sounds exciting. Thanks, darling." Vorgen replied, giving the bouncer a wink as they finally reached the end of their journey together. "Remember, not a word." he added, though he knew he didn't have to use any more of his powers on the man. It would last long enough for him to get up to some shenanigans, and by the time anyone concerned about him poking around heard about it, he was pretty sure he would be long gone. He just wanted some fancy drugs, though maybe there would be someone around here willing to help with his psychic powers, without getting all weird on him. Once the final door was unlocked and opened for him, Thale stepped through and gave the bouncer a wave as the door was slammed behind him. A quick glance around told him that the quickest route to where he wanted to go led very unfortunately around the fighting pits, and closer to the local Khornate cult than he liked. "Who thought this was a good idea?" he grumbled about the proximity of the four chaos cults, moving quickly toward his destination, and making sure to keep his tits bouncing happily the whole way. The last thing he needed was someone completely focused on anything to do with him that wasn't his sizeable chest. Once he had some Spook, well, that would be a different story...

Not a lot particularly interests the Fallen Angel these days. Something or other might draw his attention, as The Gentleman's Boutique of Intriguing Antiques had (hence his presence there), but actual interest is uncommon to him in the way that only ten years of prolonged, excruciating torture can ensure. By contrast, he often finds himself experiencing annoyance with the lesser beings that he is forced to interact with- he reminds himself to reign back on that arrogance again- and is rarely considerate of other people's agendas. Therefore, when of all things a Chaos Space Marine bursts into the room, fully armoured, then bullrushes the nearest pit heedless of the humans in his path and leaps in with no grand fanfare, he sees it as less of an intriguing circumstance, and more as an excuse to let the two manipulators have their way with one another (in whatever sense that indicates) and get his new minion away from them with as little harm done as possible.

Fortunately, it seems Lucius' intimidation has done the trick initially, with Marko refusing the insistent plea of the androgyne to read his incomplete book, if not as confidently as the Angel might desire. This is soured by the Tzeentchian's prompt request to know about Sanath's past, and the Astartes decides now is a good time to move himself and his minion away from them both. Rising from his seat, he grabs the addict's bag, checking to ensure the book is still intact in there, then lifts it under one arm, pries Sanath away from Atella with the other, and slings the man over his shoulder.

'We're going to see why there's a Space Marine here,' Lucius states bluntly, not caring overmuch what the Slaaneshi cultist thinks of their prey being snatched from them. He promptly turns and walks off, heading into and, where relevant, shouldering aside the crowd of presumably-Khornate worshippers of blood and death, until he stands as near the edge of the pit as he dares. Placing Sanath down next to him, he eyeballs the inhabitants of the pit in question - the Marine from before, in a suit of power armour that he roughly recognises as belonging to the War Hounds Legion before they changed their name and turned Traitor, though the lower half is unrecognisable for the bloodstains on it; an Ogryn, the same Ogryn in fact that had walked in with one so-called "Ersus" previously, at this distance noticably taller and somewhat bulkier than Lucius himself, though it is almost certainly less battle-trained than even him, leached of combat skill as he is; and a particularly large Ork of similar size to the Ogryn, probably a Nob or even a Meganob on that basis. Of them, only the World Eater is presently armed, chainsword already revving and making the charge toward the Ork, though the Ogryn's oversized weapon is strapped to its chest for easy acquisition, presumably not used so far to make for a better fight.

The Ork, Lucius surmises, is at a distinct disadvantage. Nevertheless, he is willing to wait for the time being, mostly to see whether the World Eater can provide any character traits beyond the habitual psychopathy that many followers of the Blood God show off. The odds, so far, would seem to be against him.

@Keepvogel@Jbcool@Lord Coake@The Whacko@agentmanatee@Hank

"You are certain that this is the correct location?"

The hustle and bustle of the 7th Arbites Fortress-Precinct was muffled, almost blocked out entirely, within the walls of the ornately decorated office-cum-study of Magistrate Arnaud Pellius; he was a gruff and grizzled veteran with over a thousand executions beneath his belt, a bull of a man with a shaven head of greying hair, his green eyes as sharp as the blade of a force-weapon and his mental faculties far beyond the intelligence that most would believe of a senior Arbitor.

Standing on the other side of his desk was none other than the ragged, but nevertheless menacing, figure of Father Wilbur.

"It is correct," replied the self-proclaimed clergyman, though what deity or pantheon of deities he truly served was something that the Magistrate had often wondered of this seemingly faithless snitch, "I was visited only recently by two individuals seeking something."

Arnaud gave a grim smile, leaning forward and propping his elbows up on the desk, gesturing for Wilbur to continue while he rummaged through a stack of holo-slates. What he was searching for was a mystery to the Father, who gave a quick shrug and went on.

"As I said, I directed two more of them to the Boutique - I imagine that should be enough for you to do as you wished?"

"Oh yes," chuckled the Magistrate, "more than enough."

For months now the Arbites had been working with local Enforcers on this level, seeking out and terminating all manner of heretical corruption - whether cults, sadistic orgies of bloodshed and sacrifice, or singular targets for kidnapping and interrogation - but only with the help of Father Wilbur and his less than savoury methods were they now able to put a large, shotgun round sized, nail in the largest coffin to be found in nearly the entire Hive. The Gentleman's Boutique had been a thorn in the side of the ambitious Magistrate for long enough, now it was time to put an end to the entire charade.

Applying pressure to a small button on his desk, a brief fizz and then a click to confirm that his voice was being received, Arnaud spoke into the vox-mic that opened a channel to his second-in-command.

"We have them. You know what to do."

No, they would not escape this time.

---

Blue eyes...blue eyes, speckled with gold.

"We should talk about how we can be useful to each other... Maybe ask mister Marko here to share his story."

"I believe Mister Marko is otherwise engaged," half-coughed the member of the third gender, rising as gracefully as she could to her feet, having been thrown pretty much to the floor as that oaf of an Astartes had spirited away that poor, gullible, young man, "but I do not doubt that you can help me?" It was a question, although she already knew the answer, her voice coming quietly from beneath the now lopsided veil. She carefully adjusted it without taking her eyes off of 'Ersus', the fact that he had caused her mind to grow fuzzy with words alone now causing her to remain on her guard - this man was not what he seemed, but then again she had known that too.

"Tell me..." she half-commanded, regaining her graceful poise and stalking the few steps back to Salvius with an exaggerated sway of her hips until she stood an arms length away, her eyes locking onto his even as her lips kept moving, knowing that a game of two manipulators had only just begun, "...in what way can you help me, Mister - I'm sorry, I never did catch your name, did I?"

---

Another enemy, and this one was seemingly not as keen on 'fair play' as the Ogryn was...

Urg had dispatched his fair share of Spikey Boyz in the past, although they all looked the same to him - any chance of telling that this frothing madman was a World Eater being pretty much non-existant - but even he could see that this one was not right in the head. Having seen his fair share of Weirdboyz, it seemed that Vinicius was also in the throes of some maddening spasm, the look in his eyes immediately telling the Greenskin that if he wished to survive then he would have to fight for it.

"Oi, ugly!" Came a shout from the same doorway through which he had entered, a group of squishy humans lifting an axe (or more correctly a choppa) the size of the largest of them, tossing it carelessly onto the sands of the fighting pit a few feet away from its actual owner, the thick door of metal then slamming shut once more.

Loud snorts of air came from the Orkoid warrior, his tusks gnashing together as he looked from the insane Spikey Boy to his beloved weapon, instinct winning out over caution as Urg threw himself in the direction of the weapon; landing heavily, he rolled into a ball as the reinforced wood of the choppas shaft slapped into the thickened skin of his palm, the Ork roaring as he came back to his feet an equal distance from both Ogryn and Berzerker.

It was an Eldar Stand-Off, 'cept they didn't have no Eldar.

@Keepvogel@BCTheEntity@Lord Coake@The Whacko@agentmanatee@Hank

If anyone had been looking at Draco, they might have noticed him suddenly go ridged. The hair on the back of his neck stood up straight and shivers ran down his spine, even if the exact source of why he was doing so wasn't visible or even accessible to the naked eye.

Draco could hear the sound of a sword being sharpened inside of his own mind... with its bloodthirsty wielding owner giggling like an excited school girl all the while. The sound alone was completely and utterly terrifying but it was the promise that it brought with it just by existing that truly caught his attention; There was going to be a battle here very soon and it was going to be bloody. Of course it didn't revel the context of the bloodbath to come, only the fact that a great deal of fighting and dying was going to occur very soon... far to soon to slip out of the area and avoid it altogether. That really only left one option and it was one that the bloodthirsty voice in his head was going to love...

Still shaken and pale from his 'vision', Draco sat down at the bar and waved over the bartender. Once the bartender arrived, Draco would get right to the point "I would like to purchase a mask that covers my whole face and the biggest gun you currently have on hand. Then I would like to purchase masks and weapons for everyone here and start handing them out. Put it on my tab. The Blood God has made his intentions known and there will be blood before the day is out."

If one can't escape the violence, all one can do is throw some fuel on the fire and watch it all burn down.

@Jbcool

Sanath was utterly terrified when Lucius picked him up and carried him off to the fighting pits. He kept a death grip on his bag of possessions, namely the book that the rogue Astartes was so keenly interested in. When he was placed beside the Space Marine, watching the fight between a large Ogryn, a rabid Greenskin, and now another Space Marine, Sanath swore to himself silently when the voices, of which he now fully believed to be of the four Gods, began to speak to him yet again...

Watching a fight is just so dull...why don't you just sit here, and enjoy a nice Lho-Stick, hmm?
NO! Engage yourself in their battle, bathe in the shed blood, and gorge yourself on the remains of the victims!
Do whatever you wish...just beware of what might be in store if choose wrongly...
Give in to your desires...fight, cheer, drink, be merry, whatever...just let yourself go.

Sanath shivered noticeably as the voices continued, and whimpered as they began to shout over each other. His heart beat like a war drum in his ears, and his breath drew ragged and raspy. He quickly dug into his bag, withdrawing an inhaler of Kalma, and breathing in deeply until the voices ceased. As he continued to watch the din of battle in the pits, and the crowd of onlookers, things seemed to slow. Sanath's heart rate dropped, his breath eased, and he slinked back in his seat. Though he felt far more relaxed, a small inner thought in the back of his head nagged at him slightly, thinking about the warning given by the Voice of Change.

Gormog had struggled free from the Ork's deathgrip and forced the creature back with a well-placed elbow jab to the sternum. The fight was rudely interrupted, however, when a fully-armored Chaos Space Marine dropped into the pit and revved up his chainsword. Interested in a fair fight, the spectators tossed the Ork its choppa. Now Gormog was the only one left that was unarmed.

Annoyed, the Ogryn roared, nostrils flaring and pupils distended. He unshackled his ripper gun from his torso and removed the magazine, turning the enormous shotgun into a large, metal club fitted with a 3ft long bayonet. To him, the Chaos Marine was just as much his enemy as the Ork, and he was decidedly upset at the Marine for interfering. "MY FIGHT!" Gormog bellowed and smashed his chest with his free hand, much like a gorilla might.

Alas, it was hopeless. The Chaos Marine flung himself headlong at the ork, chainsword screaming, and Gormog found himself charging after him, bellowing incoherently. Propelled by his massively thick legs, easily the diameter of an ancient oak tree, Gormog collided with the Ork at the same time as the Space Marine, and the three combatants frantically stabbed and slashed at each other. In the chaos of the struggle, it was impossible to tell who was inflicting the most damage, and who had received the least. The Space Marine had the advantage of power armor, of course, but Ogryn skin is remarkably tough, and Gormog was still dressed in extremely thick flak armor. Orks are notoriously hard to kill in general.

@Jbcool @BCTheEntity @agentmanatee @Lord Coake