Almost ten hours later, Vorlag was back in the mess hall, a tankard of ale in his hand, his laughter echoing through the chamber. The mess, the chaos, the overturned tables and spilled food… it was all… normal.
A crowd of Agra worshippers had gathered, their faces painted with the usual grotesque symbols, their eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and… something else. Fear? Reverence? It was hard to tell with these guys. Many of these were new recruits, eager to prove their loyalty to the God of Chaos. They'd heard stories, whispers of Agra's power, his… unpredictability. And they were… fascinated. Terrified, but fascinated.
"So, Captain," one of the younger cultists asked, his voice a mix of awe and apprehension, "what's he… like? Agra, I mean."
