Geron's interest in the old man's story rapidly increases as he hears the effects of the picts. They don't sound particularly interesting, maybe these doddering fools just lived lives so devoid of joy that animals playing each other was all it took to cause addiction.

But if there was the slightest chance to experience something he never had before then clearly they had to seize this opportunity. A spectacular sapience such as his, scoured and seared by the sacred sensations of Slaanesh, shan't sink into sloth like these stolid suppurating sabotaged simpletons. Still, seeking these screened stories would be better served by sacrificial soldiers, not superior speechgivers such as himself.

"No sense in staying still, we should sojourn soon. Sequester the survivors, then we set out to slay all who suppose to supplant us! Their spines shall be shattered, slashed, and stomped, their souls savaged and slurped by Slaanesh! None shall survive, so I say!"

He points to the crowd and makes a gesture at his silent sentinel.

"Now stand and salute! Squarehammer!"

The towering giant brings his hammer down on the ground, indicating to those present that they should applaud.