Muttering a soft prayer to Tzeentch, Lukas glanced around, taking in the people surrounding him.<br/><br/>"What a motley crew we have here . . . unless I'm much mistaken, the only thing we're missing is a diseased ball of rot and friendliness to liven our day and shorten our lives." He casually mused, letting his autorifle hang from its strap as he reached up, running his gloved hands along his shaved scalp. His skin was adorned with elaborate and interlocking tattoos, symbolic of the pacts he'd made with his dark lord.<br/><br/>"Tell me, my friends, what deity shall we devote this place to? Or would you rather play it safe and pay fealty to all?"<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>