*cannibalizes you anyways*
*Begins speaking aggressive Vietnamese in a tree*
No, those were my midnight snacks.
Sygarius during one evening in his room. Sygarius can be seen kneeling on a black quarted floor with his Lovecraftian blade in front of him praying to the divines. He was in a Templar praying stance before his blade began to emit a dark greenish glow and within the matter of minutes the Emperor opens his eyes to find himself inside a Ominous Lovecraft temple, slimy green tentacles could be seen swaying above water, but is highly unclear of where they come from. Sygarius proceeds to walk down a set of stairs before noticing his green ghastly form. He began to feel uneasy as if something was watching him.
This is fine.
So, another seeker after knowledge enters my realm. I am Hermaeus Mora, Prince of Fate and Lord of Secrets. This is Apocrypha, where all knowledge is hoarded. Perhaps you will prove clever enough to uncover the secrets hidden here. If so, welcome. Perhaps you are a fool or a coward. If so, you are in peril. Read your book again and escape before Apocrypha claims you forever.
eats your gallbladder.
Mother Charity doesn't visit Stormcloud often these days, though it's hers -- actually because it is hers. The city's Warden is supposed to be respected, and no one does that with his predecessor around. That sort of thing has worked before, usually works actually, but the retired Wardens in those cases aren't called things like Incorruptible Heart (nor are they outright revered). Besides, she's worked tirelessly for decades . . . it's time to be with her family, and they're in Thriwich. It's time to rest.
"Arrangements" for the war criminals from the Imperium require her expertise. Warden Sturm, after all, does not come to the position with a history of rehabilitating people -- he's a capable city administrator, not a canny old Empty Hand.
The upshot of all this is that Mother Charity gets to watch the ex-members of a rabidly anti-nonhuman government realize the crops they've tended are going to Thriwich Underground. The city of bugs.
Wheatley bounds into the hive ahead of Mother Charity. He's an exceptionally large dog with long, shaggy hair and an endless desire to make friends; he's also been with Mother Charity since he was a puppy. Now he's barking excitedly and sniffing around for fortiscarab friends (at least the packs of bug food strapped to Wheatley don't come off).
Mother Charity brings up the rear with a wagon of more food for the hive, chuckling softly. "My good boy."