More Punch! Bigger! More WAAAGH!

It wasn't long before—

Several green figures emerged from the swamp. They were Orks, but these ones were clearly tougher, clad in battered iron armor. They sized Alvin up with their little beady eyes. "The great Bonegrinder wants to see you, little runt. Come with us!"

Good. It looked like the first step had worked.

Alvin nodded and stepped into the swamp with his guards, following the Orks.

Soon, deep in the swamp, they came upon a camp built like a tribal settlement, cobbled together from discarded steel and other wreckage.

The air was as thick as congealed engine oil. Countless heavy cables coiled around the twisted metal structures like dying giant serpents, spitting dangerous sparks from broken sections every so often.

These ramshackle buildings bore crude welds in many places, along with the Orks' signature graffiti. Beneath their feet lay not only muddy swamp, but thick grime as well. Every step made a nauseating, sticky squelch.

Alvin's splendid robes had long since been soaked through with grime and mud, but he kept his back straight and walked on, step by step, under the Orks' stares—some curious, some openly hostile, others greedy. It was as if he weren't walking through a filthy Ork camp, but through one of the Imperium's magnificent palaces.

His guards gripped their Bolters tightly. In the field of view displayed by their Auspexes, red targets danced frantically, tracking the enormous green figures lurking in the shadows.

At last—

After they had crossed that stretch of muddy, foul-smelling camp, a huge, open-sided hall with a curved roof, crudely welded together from mechanical wreckage, came into view.

Thick cables, along with all kinds of World Eaters Power Armor and Chainaxes, decorated the crude hall.

Their target, Bonegrinder Saraka, sat upon a "throne" crudely welded together from thick armor