"With the thrice-damned renegades of lewd Slaanesh, your well-tried techniques of forceful inquisition will serve you ill. These voluptuaries and heretics that debase themselves before their so-called Lord of Dark Delights are not to be unburdened of their lisping truths by subtle pressures or the keen probing of your instruments. Conspiring against all decency even in such matters, these libertines take pleasure from our inquiries, debauching themselves with inhuman dissolution upon the racks and wheels of Verity. For these abominations, other methods are required..."
A faery buzzed up to her and bit at her. She ignored it.
Staring at the Laughing Sister as it clung to the smiling priestess, sucking blood, the sailor went pale. A moment later, his shoulders struck the crock-laden shelves of the back wall.
Smiling wryly, the Nightlash stalked toward him.
Grimacing, he raised a balled fist in desperation — and Dredra of Loviatar lowered her arms, whips and all, and thrust herself forward to take his blow. "Well?" she murmured, licking her lips, "I'm waiting for your contribution."