The Sump. Approx fifty feet above the black chemical waters of The Sump itself on a wide but broken elevated walkway. Many bodies of former cult members lie scattered in a charnel house of bloody horror. A swathe of carnage surrounds the Acolytes. Cooling piles of entrails, scattered organs, severed heads and limbs makes walking tricky. All feel relieved that as the pitch darkness means that all have to rely on optical enhancement equipment which makes witnessing the true gruesomeness of the spectacle thankfully impossible.
A few of the burning firebrands still burn where they lie atop the bodes. The flickering flame makes the shadows dance.
Four cultists lie at Thaddius Constantine‘s feet, having been heavily ’suppressed’ by blows of his Justifier Gavel, bruised and a little bloodied but still able to speak. The grim visage of the Arbitrator maintains a vigil over the cringing figures that squirm in the vile muck in which they lie.
A lone cult ‘priest’, dressed in red robes edged with gold kneels praying to whatever foul gods as the Psychic Power of Drake Mallear had broken his already deranged mind. The Psyker, having narrowly escaped death at the hands of a crazed cultist, watches the priest warily as he contemplates his lucky escape from the jaws of the gargantuan beast that dwells in the toxic waters below.
The massive creature has not been seen since Mallear eluded him.
Largely responsible for the bloodbath, Strang stalks about the murder. With studied efficiency he moves amongst the dead, ending the lives of the dying and wounded and whispering a benediction to the Golden Throne for doing so. Impassive to the bleating cries for mercy from those beneath his Power Blade.
Maloric stands a little apart from the party, his Boltgun smoking, watches the other Acolytes. His Inquisition Stormtrooper Carapace Armour reveals nothing of his thoughts.