We followed the preacher, Obadiah Salter, to his makeshift chapel, now desecrated with foul sigils of chaos across its doors and outer walls. I signed the aquilla before crossing the threshold and my eyes witnessed even worse. The benches and pews were speckled in dried blood, and more unholy daubings festooned the interior, as if heinous rituals and ceremonies had usurped the proper worship of the Emperor. I felt for Salter, who had sought to plant a seed of faith among the ostentatious masses of this forsaken planet and curb their licentious behaviors. His work had ended abruptly, hijacked by the one who wears the heron mask. p. As we approached the profaned altar to cleanse it, a trio of murderous warp fiends set upon us, seemingly out of the reeking climate of corruption that had settled into this chamber. Their gibbering maws and clawed, twitching limbs scampered towards us, imperiling our meager faithful that sought to undo the works of the heretic. We engaged them in fierce combat, and prevailed, sending them back to the nether-hells that spawned them. I ministered to our many wounds inflicted by these demons as best I could. p. Sister Persephone and I also sought to effect the best reconsecration of the tarnished aquilla with the strongest litanies and prayers learned from our convents, but, I fear, the taint of warp-worship is far too deeply ingrained into grounds of this place for even the most reverent Obadiah Salter to overcome. I am forwarding his good name to the Ecclesiarchy for ranking and the authority, as well as the material means, to shepherd this world back into the fold of the Emperor. With the worthies such as Salter seated in a proper cathedral, His light will fall again on the people of Quaddis.