All around you are the victims of the Cult of Khaine in various states of disassembly and death. On hooks, on spikes, in cages with internal spikes, or sawing blades, or raised up on boards and peeled open, half of the victims all around you are still alive. Including one weeping man who's lower half appears to have been twisted about into a purpled and mashed mass, from which two trickles of piss and shit continue to flow out of cuts and slits made. You know thanks to Arthur that the Cult of Khaine in the Old World speak much of extending out their kills as much and as painfully as possible, and it appears to be something they share with the Druchii. It is not as if there are just humans here, either. You see and hear some dwarfs, their legendary stoicism ground down enough to make them scream and plead, a pair of ogres who are chained up just far enough away from one another that they cannot reach the other. Meanwhile, there are deep scars all over their bodies from where they are being slowly sliced away at, and as you watch, a Witch Elf laughs as she tosses the cut of ogre flesh from one ogre to the next.