-----Contextual Post for Combat.-----

In your debates with the other guardsmen, you notice something most peculiar every now and then, a small scuffle, muffled talking, the sound of boots crashing down upon stone... Heavy breathing carries forth upon the winds, and the foul stench of chaos marks it's presence. As soon as Viber even begins to say the name of the Macharius Cross, several armed men burst forth from the ruins all around you, surrounding you and cutting off all escape routes. They are the sweaty bedraggled masses of humanity, clad in dirty, rune-laced rags and their faces dripping with barely contained bloodlust. They carry crude yet horrible blades, serrated with massive teeth and rusted beyond all belief. Their guns look like they barely work, horrible tin-looking things that look closer to blowing up in their hands rather than doing nay real damage to anyone they are pointed at. 

One of the two shiftier looking guardsmen soon straightens himself out when his comrades are slain all about himself. He stands to full height, his warped body seeming to even gain a foot of unnatural height while as his flak armour bulges and splits down the sides due to his grotesque musculature. His face is no longer human. A horrid gnashing maw is all that remains, alongside two lifeless black orbs that state in your very souls. He looks upon Viber like he is nothing but food, to empathise this he lifts the charred remains of the flamer-using Heretic and savagely rips off one of his legs began downing the whole thing like it was but a small morsel. 

His fellow heretics, they do number above five that much you know, are eternally coming closer, their stench and bloodlust equally apparent... make yourselves ready...combat approaches....