With confident strides, Viator made his way into the city, going in the front now that the most of his new comrades decided to join in his effort to find a proper feasting ground and regain their strength before moving on to the next objective. He offered not a single glance to those of the prisoners who went the other way although he smiled with satisfaction during the argument - arrogance, self-absorption and emotional outbursts, all creating sweet sounds of discord upon the plane reigned by the Dark Prince which gave Viator a great pleasure.

But now was not the time to gloat but to lead - by an example, if possible. "Alright, my beautiful band of convicts, here's what I'm thinking. I'd leave venturing into the alleyways of this daemon-infested place as a last option least we stumble upon something more than we could chew. At the moment of course! Following the Betrayer is a no-no, we agreed upon that before, so it leaves us with either trying to find a path through the bridge itself, but you know what they say as to just who lives under such places, or, being the sensible warriors we are, knock on the church's door!"

With that said, he approached the small chapel, laughing on the skeleton in front of it and kicking it away, clearing room for his (current meager) frame. "If I was a cultist trying to hide from a rampaging maniac, I would definitely try to hide where I think my Gods will protect me. And what does Sicarus have in the most abundance? If you are thinking religious douchebags or finely crafted papyrus, you'd be wrong! The right answer is chapels of course!"

"Now, let's see what hides behind the door number one..." he said and used the edge of his sword to try and push to door to open... (OOC sword because he lacks one arm and I'm not going to disarm him just to try and open the door )

"You must be a Slaaneshi then, judging by your eccentric attitude." Kaleidos stated as a matter-of-fact, chuckling even at Viator's spirit. "Just try not to start any orgies, will you? Else I might be quite tempted to summon a horde of maggots, and I am not talking about the rest of our group."

Nurglites were not known for their humor, but perhaps insanity drove him far enough to the edge to attempt it, enjoying the lightheartedness of their current leader. It helped to fight the insane pain, terror and torture they had undercome over the last... How ever long it actually was. Though the faint smile that had build up went into a frown as he thought of what might had become of the Blightful Church after he left. He shuddered at the thought if one of the other Astartes who belonged to it would know he still lived. For his own sake he hoped that if they were alive, that they were anyway but on Sicarus.

Without another word Kaleidos walked up to the Slaaneshi joker and helped him with the door.

Arnok let out a slight laugh at Kaleidos' comment about orgies. Regardless, it seemed this loud-mouth, one armed human wanted to take point and from what the son of Lorgar knew about this place, he would not argue. This was a place of worship, a place where the strong seek guidance and the weak seek power. So, in his own opinion, this was not a good idea, simply because he doubt that there would be any favor for them to find. Instead he would guess there would be a chosen follower or a group of followers within seeking guidance, and to interrupt that would be a sure way to die. So, as the one armed man tried to pry his way in, Arnok faded toward the back of the group and kept his flailing knife near his waist at the ready.

<Kharn's Wake> @Draconion @Keidivh
The other sorcerer rumbled quietly as they stood beneath the shelter of a flimsy wooden scaffold. His eyes tracked out toward the combat taking place in the streets. Gorechild had already supped from the blood of another Word Bearer whom was struck so hard as to fly into and through a decrepit chapel's stained glass window. Mutants shrieked as they fell upon the corpse that laid half in and half out of their sanctum, inhuman hands dragging the dead legionnaire into the darkness.

"Tyre of Magundek, son of Hurluk, adopted son of Magnus and his legion tribe. "

Now that they had moved into the chapel, Aphael also started to look around for what it might have, he had purpusefully not taken anything from within the prison, the items would carry with the spirit of the vile place, its psychic imprint was bound to whatever lay within. So now in this chapel of the gods, they sure had to have atleast something of interest, though this might just be the slums of Sicarius, given its proximity to the hold of the damned.

@Keidivh @DeranVendar

"Explains why I haven't seen you around before," murmurs Silim, looking intently at Tyre.

Just then, the unfortunate Word Bearer goes flying to his ignominous end at the hands of mutants.

"There," says Silim, pointing at the derelict chapel, "The beginnings of wargear. And meat, to sustain us. We move."

With that, Silim begins creeping as rapidly as he dares towards the chapel, using a passive Corvidae cantrip to calculate best approaches, enemy strengths and combat manoeuvres based on mundane observation alone. Motioning to Alpharius, he makes old Crusade-era Legion field sign for,

Get eyes on. Stay in concealment.

Astoro smiled a little at the joke about orgies. He could use some humor after what seemed like decades of torture but then he frowned heavily and said "The time for jokes has not yet come to pass. I would appreciate it if we stay focused on the task." He stays near Arnok and has his saw at the ready.

@Draconion
Alpharius watched with mild amusement as he watched the not so glorious end of the Word Bearer, left to be feasted upon by decrepit mutants. Of course they themselves were little better, truly only vultures picking off the the remains of Kharns bloody trail.

He gave an affirmative nod towards Silim as he moved towards the mutants, deathly silence being his only companion. Perhaps Tzeentch had finally turned his ire from him? Maybe he had become bored? Or perhaps this was lining up to be his greatest failure yet. Regardless, it promised true battle, true hope. Being eaten alive by mutants was a small risk in the face of such a chance.

And so Alpharius moved into the shadows, ready to strike where least expected, looking to cause as much terror and confusion as damage.

< The Mutant Faith > @Draconion @Keidivh Tyre
Splitting away from the crowd all three scorned of Tzeentch made their own paths toward the chapel lest a single spell of ill fortune cosign them all to death. Tyre took to what cover he could like a primitive huntsman working his way through cursed territory, suspicion birthed by superstition visible plainly on his face as eyes darted about restlessly. Silim found his subtler attempts at charting a path directly through the crowd working, if only just. So near to Gorechild and a suitably enraged champion like Kharn the warp wasn't flowing as kindly into his cantrips and the air fizzed and popped around him. Brain stinging from the sensation there wasn't going to be much use trying to work things with the ease he was familiar with, not without a ready and willing battery. In truth what were they going to be able to do with weapons and armor? It was a struggle enough just to move at any decent pace, skeletal arms with sagging curtains of flesh weren't likely to hold the power necessary to lift, let alone control, a bolter.

While Silim and Tyre might be reflecting upon such finer details Alpharius was back in his element. Like a shadow he drifted from cover to cover and broke across the road without even being noticed. A snap caught his attention and head peered around a window looking directly into the chapel. Four mutants were working feverishly to strip down the Word Bearer so they could feast. They were pitiful gangly creatures, just as starved as they and neglected by the gods for their weakness. One was using a sledgehammer to little effect against a pauldron, trying to smash it apart. The wielder appeared to be the strongest among them, others simply clawing for scraps of the face or using twisted limbs to try and pry off the skull and neck so that they could wedge dirty nails down into the suit itself and skip the can opening. Taking note of the environs it was obvious that once inside there wouldn't be much room to move around. Part of the roof had already been knocked in and infernal sky light glared down on the grisly struggle for food. A broken statue with features to obscene to even describe lay scattered about in half a dozen torso sized pieces within the small structure. Bolter fire occasionally ripped into the room and sometimes streaks of wet blood painted the intact windows or outside walls, honestly Kharn and co might not need their help just yet. Which was probably for the best as even wretches like these could prove a threat to the once proud legionnaires in their current condition. There was only one way to find out though, and that was through action. Silim and Tyre were both in position now, former having found a way around back and a crumbled section of brick wall to climb through while Tyre wasn't far behind him. Initiative was theirs.

The Damned:
Silim: 8 Alpharius: 8 Tyre: 8
Conditions:

Mutants:
Starved: 3/3/3 Starved Alpha: 5

< Where Dragons Dare > @Virgil_Corbec @Colapse @Uriel1339 @Redthirst @Grall_Stonefist @matt23
The door would take a bit more effort than a poke to open, however once sufficient force was applied the weight of the skeleton was enough to open it half way. A mist of disturbed dust rode out to meet them and swiftly passed away on the irregular winds of Sicarus. What wasn't so keen on leaving their presence was a rancid stench that left the impression of rotting food, abandoned corpses, fresh death and every other miserable stink under the son. Burning light filled the room around Viator's outline and initial visuals confirmed it was empty. Cobwebs of corroded and rusted pipes were threaded through the room in a dizzying assortment of patterns and paths. At the center of it all was a filthy ringed hole that seemed to be the source of all the stink. If anyone were brave enough to stick their heads over it they would note the upper rungs of a ladder clung to the side of a manhole, about thirty feet deep and with ladder only running down seventeen paces. There wasn't enough light down below to confirm what this was, but by all rights it was probably a sewer passage and this some sort of maintenance station.

Outside those of the group who had been content to sit back and let the Slaaneshi take the lead were treated to the distorted scream of a jet engine mingling with a mangled roar. A shadow with spiked flanks and a long neck passed over them as a Helldrake neared upon the gutted prison. Their position on the opposite side of the bridge had spared them discovery on the initial pass however the daemon engine was flying out and beginning a slow turn signifying it was going to make a thorough pass over the area. Now was the time to decide if they wanted to risk the manhole or one of the other pathways.