Spoiler: Gunn
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You speak of many things - of your past and hopes for the future, of your present endeavours and frustrations - but are careful to keep the conversation away from the conflicts facing the temples and the nation. For her part, Natalia seems glad to follow your lead in the conversation, apparently enjoying an evening free of the cares of her office.

She answers your questions about her life with remarkable candour. You learn that she was born into poverty, to a mother trapped in a life of prostitution and vice, and a father she never knew - who could have been any of a dozen clients. She had many siblings, but most died early, from malnutrition or disease or from walking into the wrong alley.

She learned early on that the only way to avoid their fate was to cultivate the favour of those in positions of power and influence. She was blessed - and when she says the word, it is clear she considers it a literal blessing - with several advantages: beauty, intelligence, charm, and a gift for deception. Not for her the life of the gutter; she soon realised that smiles and subtlety could get you far further than a willingness to spread your legs for coin.

She speaks of her mother with contempt, mixed with sadness. It is clear her feelings there are complex and unresolved.

Seeming to feel the conversation has taken a wrong turn, she skips ahead to life after she found Valacles. She offers wry character assassinations of several nobles and merchants, and over dessert tells an elaborate and probably exaggerated tale of having to quietly make her escape when a politician she was trying to influence received an unexpected visit from both his mistresses at once. Needless to say, they were not happy to learn of one another, and Natalia claims to have masqueraded as a kitchen maid to make her escape, with increasingly comic consequences.

The conversation lapses as you pour the wine, but underlying that silence is a growing tension, a sense of expectation and excitement that quickens your heart. You catch her watching you, and you meet her eyes, dark and filled with desire. A slow, sultry smile animates her lips, and you feel an answering surge of need that pushes aside all rational judgment.

The two glasses, one empty, the other half full, remain untouched as the candles patiently burn away the evening. For yourself, you are lost in a different fire, blood singing in your veins, and nothing in the world but the warmth of flesh against flesh, the ardour of her mouth, the haze of shared passion.

Afterwards, lying together with your limbs entwined, you offer to walk her back to the Temple. She grimaces, her free hand toying with the silver pendant still hung around her neck. It is the only thing she is wearing, and your chest carries the indent of the silver above your heart.

“Let us stay here tonight, Thomas. The world can take care of itself for a little while, and I’m not finished with you yet.”

But even as her hand traces a playful line down your chest and stomach, Lydia’s Sending demands your attention:

“It’s starting. Shroud and a small army are inside the Temple. I'll gather the Council and meet you there. Bring Theo, Rosalind and the rest.”


Spoiler: Rosalind
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The priest of Kaithrax laughs aloud in genuine amusement at your words. “I doubt there is any benevolence in Kaithrax, Sister. There is a reason why we call Him the Blight, not the Blighter as you phrase it. He is in and of himself a cancer in the heart of the Planes, an evil that must be endured because it cannot be cured. His existence alone is a plague we all face. We suffer His gaze willingly, so that others do not have to, but never think that we do so out of love for Him. Well - most of us don't, anyway. The sane ones.

“Was there a time before He succumbed to madness? Our records do not speak of it. As far as I know, He has always been as He is now.

“As for the demons, those whose whispers reach my ears know no more than I have shared. They are the lowest of the low, seeking to curry favour where there is none to spare. They hear only what all demons have heard, what none trouble to keep secret.”

He starts to leave, then pauses. “I hear you fought an Angel of Decay? We take note of such creatures, for they spread disease wantonly in their wake. With that one destroyed, there are two left in the city. If I were you, I would expect to see them both tonight.”


Spoiler: Yara and Hesa
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Katraya looks thoughtful at the question.

“It would depend who created them,” she muses. “The magic of the Staff’s bearer is specifically exempt. So it stands to reason their own constructs would be unaffected. Similarly, those created by someone wearing a pin. But any other constructs… I think it would depend. My guess is that anything which would function in an antimagic field should be fine. But I'm hardly an expert - I'm basically a brawler, not a scholar.”


Spoiler: Theo
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Niall shook his head.

“Neutrality is absolutely central to what Charis is. To try and alter that is heresy. And I cannot simply ‘look past it.’

“Still, I will agree to privacy.”

Leading you inside, signalling for the other Templars to wait without, he shows you to a small parlour decorated in outdated, garish style. There are two oversized armchairs, each reeking of tobacco, and he signals for you to take one while sitting in the other.

He listens to your plan, and rubs his chin thoughtfully. You note that a coarse layer of stubble now covers his jawline; it makes him look older, but also less civilised than before.

“The basic plan is sound,” he agrees. “But it seems to me that keeping them guessing where the relics are serves little purpose. What is it you hope - that they will divide their forces? Well, so must we. That they will not attack at all if they cannot be sure where the relics are? That depends how desperate they are, how likely they consider discovering the true location in time to be.

“Suppose you do encourage delay by this tactic - does that serve you? Will a sufficient delay increase your strength, diminish theirs, or provide a chance to avoid a fight entirely? No, no, and no. Our forces only weaken as we face ever-escalating threats. Theirs grow with every new corpse added to their ranks. And unless we can ruin all hope of performing the ritual, or perform it ourselves in favour of Charis, the danger will remain.

“Unless… is that your plan? Not to destroy the lich, but to seize the artefacts? Bold - even for you. If only the ritual did not have the potential to be abused, to be an instrument for maiming Charis to reflect your twisted ideal, I might support it.”

He pauses, thinking, then looks you in the eye.

“Asoryala tells me her price for helping you is that you entrust one of the artefacts to her. I will add my help to hers - in whatever role you want me - if I get to specify which artefact it is.”