There stands before you, a rotten citadel, grandiose and yet decrepit all the same, held together by sheer will alone. As you enter, your senses are assaulted by a barrage of stenches you thought not even possible in their sheer terrible magnitude, although you attempted to ward your mind off of these dreadful stenches and smells. You found yourself in what looked to be a grand hall, somewhere between a church and a castle, with rows rotting cobblestone bricks and tapestries, cast over by the light of cracked stained glass windows, engraved with old testaments to a great and terrible lore of a ”Toxic God”, and filled with innumerable pews, carved of a rotten wood, jagged and held together by little more than wood pulp and other bits of tree waste, and looked over by a great throne, forged of metal scrap and jagged bits. While you initially thought yourself alone in this 'grandiose' hall, your eyes met the sight of a lone woman, stood there, staring out one of those cracked stained glass windows, just a bit to the right.

She looked youthful, and yet frail, in the prime of her life, and yet decrepit, waned away at by a deluge of “Holy Pestilence” made a part of her ritualistic diet. The High Templar, no doubt. Her armor shone no gleam, forged of the same metal scrap and jagged bits as her 'throne', with biohazard and radiation markers engraved like holy symbols upon her pauldrons and cuirass. Despite her youthful state, her skin was pale, drained of color and life, and her hair 'twas a soft white, turned so pale by stress. She took note of your prescense, and looked over your way...

“... The fuck do you want?”