The next day, knowing that both our victims frequented it, we decide to go to The Chapel. Stripping off anything that might identify us as belonging to any particular organization and leaving Flare in Igni’s room, we head to the common area of the church to find Brother Burra.

“Well good morning, friends!” His greeting is warm, chasing away the chill of the winter air seeping through the walls. “What grand adventures will you be embarking on today?”

“We were thinking of going to The Chapel,” Igni answers him. “Can you give us directions?”

“It is an open secret that The Chapel exists, but…” He looks at me sideways, much as I expected. “Why on earth would you want to go there?”

“It appears that Umbardo’s death and the death of the Barbarian Witch are related,” I answer. “We’re hoping that finding clues in the murder of the Witch will lead us to answers in the murder of Umbardo.”

Brother Burra narrows his eyes slightly. “Sister Agathara,” he says, “you absolutely cannot be seen going there in your church robes.”

“Of course, Brother Burra, I will be discreet.” I motion with one hand to the non-descript robes I have chosen for the day.

“There is a lot of unrest here, right now, with the continuing deaths, and…” His voice trails off, sadness darkening his eyes. “Torga is a decent woman, but… Tensions are high. Just be careful.”

Brother Burra’s directions take us right to The Chapel. It’s a fairly non-descript building, bearing no outward signs of being a religious building, built with stone and overgrown with ivy. There is almost no one around, everyone too busy celebrating the feast in the rest of the city.

“Oh, wait, we should go ask about large quantities of fire oil!” Aticus interjects, clearly looking for a way out of experiencing The Chapel.

“Yes! We should go ask about large quantities of fire oil! I’ll go get Flare and we can go to the docks!” And just like that, Igni and Aticus are gone, leaving me and Coriol to face The Chapel alone.

Part of me is relieved that Coriol and I are the only ones walking into The Chapel. Although I don’t believe in the gods the Barbarians worship, there is still something solemn and sacred about the small building - something Igni and Aticus don’t quite understand.

As we open the door to the small building, I first notice the peaceful atmosphere. There is a welcoming hearth in the central area with a couple tables scattered around and more private booths lining the outside of the room. There is a doorway on the left side of the room that I guess leads to offices and a stairwell on the right leading to a lower floor. Only a few people occupy the homey space - a handful of worshippers reading, meditating, or praying in various alcoves dedicated to various gods, a handsome Barbarian man who is weeping softly, and a Barbarian woman, patting the shoulder of the crying man and murmuring words of comfort.

The comforting woman tenses when she hears our footsteps at the door and glances up in fear but visibly relaxes once she has taken in the sight of us. Perhaps she has been expecting the Black Cloaks? She returns to comforting the man, and Coriol and I make our way quietly to a table, gazing around us curiously. I can tell that the woman is torn, recognizing that we are here for her but also needing to tend to her distraught visitor. She glances our way apologetically, and I give a small wave in her direction, pulling a small notebook from a pocket in my cloak to signal that we aren’t waiting impatiently for her.

A few minutes later, she guides the handsome young Barbarian to an alcove dedicated to The Executioner, according to the ornate script on the wall, and hands him over into the care of a young woman kneeling there. She makes her way over to us hesitantly, her expression curious but betraying her distrust.

“Thank you for your patience, I really appreciate it.” She inclines her head politely. “My name is Torga, I am the Temple Master here. How can I help you?”

“We’re investigating Yarmar’s death,” Coriol answers in a low voice. “We discovered that he came here often, and we would like to find out more about him if we can.”

Torga hesitates for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I don’t… I don’t have any information about the deaths. I mean, I’ve obviously heard about them - the whole city has - and it’s a bit of a tense time. … You say that you believe he was a frequent visitor here?”

“We received a letter from someone we knew that mentioned Yarmar by name. It said that he and our friend came here often to speak upon things. We were hoping to find some information about him here.”

“Yarmar was a frequent visitor here. He was a good man, we miss him greatly.” She speaks without hesitation, but it’s clear that she’s hiding something.

“We;’re looking into Yarmar’s death with the hope that we can prevent further incidents,” Coriol says gently. “Anything you can tell us about what he and our friend spoke about or anything else that you can tell us would be most helpful.”

“Yarmar was a great student of history - of all the faiths and beliefs and how they related to each other. It’s fascinating, how one faith can grow into another faith, and all the gods seem to be facets of one another.” Grief clouds her expression. “Yarmar will be greatly missed in our discussions. You don’t think his death has anything to do with those discussions, do you?”

Coriol looks at me out of the corner of his eye and quirks an eyebrow. I catch his meaning immediately.

“Brother Umbardo was well known and well loved,” I say quietly. “We think that their deaths are related, not at all by any fault of The Chapel. If there’s any information that you can give us to help draw connections, we would be very grateful.”

It’s impossible to miss Torga’s reaction to the name of Brother Umbardo - she stiffens as soon as the name has left my mouth and adopts an expression of stone. All she says is, “I don’t know who you are talking about.”

I lower my voice even further. “We know that The Chapel didn’t kill Yarmar and Brother Umbardo. We know who did kill them, but we lack tangible proof.”

“Certainly, we would have nothing to do with anything like that. Do you think any more of our patrons could be at risk?”

“We don’t know,” I say, one corner of my mouth dipping into a half frown. “We hope not, but we do know the one common thread between the two was this place. Do you have any information you could share to help us get closer to answers? Do you have anyone in mind that may need extra protection?”

“I don’t know for certain.” Torga wears a full frown. “But if we’re in danger, what do we do? How do we protect ourselves? Are you offering to be hired as guards, to stay an protect us?”

“Watch out for Black Cloaks, especially right now,” I offer. “Don’t be alone if you can help it, and be extra watchful in the middle of the night.”

Torga sits in thought for a moment, raises a finger as if she’s about to say something, then puts it back down. “Would you be willing to wait here for a moment?’

Coriol and I look at each other and shrug before I answer, “Yeah, we can wait.”

Torga rises and hurries down the stairs to the cellar. I’m just turning to give Coriol a nervous look when she returns.

“Would you be willing to come talk to someone? Downstairs?”

Coriol doesn’t miss a beat. “Did this person also talk to Yarmar and Umbardo?”

“I think you might get some answers.”

Torga leads us down the stairway to a desolate cellar. Across the long, empty room, double doors lead into another room furnished by a large wooden table. Many other rooms branch off of it, doubtless minor storage rooms. We follow her into the room with the table, then into one of the smaller storage rooms. She turns to the left and knocks hard on a bare brick wall. A couple seconds later, bricks start to slide to either side of the place where she knocked, and a secret door opens in front of us.

The dark, cramped room the door reveals is simply furnished, containing only a small oil lamp on a simple wooden table inside the door and a chair. In the chair, though, sits a stooped figure in a cloak. :ong, thick braids adorned with pearls and feathers cascade from a thick embroidered headband and mostly obscure her face. As Coriol and I step gingerly into the room, she raises her head to speak to us, her voice steady and clear.

“It was I. I who took the life of the priestess.”

I do my best to conceal my shock, but I’m not sure that I succeed as I ask, “Armanda?”

“Yes. I killed her.”

I take a few steps closer and kneel gently next to the chair. “Will you tell us why you killed her?”

“Certoinly. She deserved it.” In her clear voice, she goes on to explain that up until eight winters ago, Armanda took place in a number of massacres, killing anyone she believed to be a heretic or an evil-doer. Even after the Queen took dominion, she continued her ruthless hunting. Five months ago, the Witch had arrived in Ravenia. Two months passed before she saw the priestess and knew she had to pay for her crimes against the clans.

I am horrified by her story, moreso by the cruelty of those who claimed to love the god of light than by the retribution dealt by this old woman. “Will you tell us your name?”

“I am Algaya,” she responds. She doesn’t look guilty, but not quite proud - more like resolute.

“Do you know anything about the deaths of Yarmar and Brother Umbardo?”

She sighs. “That was truly unfortunate. Yarmar was a Witch, as you well know, but what you might not know is that he had recently been assigned a master to teach him - me. I was his master. Umbardo was a particularly clear-sighed sun priest who regularly visited us. I only met him once, quite briefly… I assume that Umbardo was killed and led them to Yarmar, and Yarmar was killed to lead them to me.”

I later learned of Igni and Aticus’s activities while Coriol and I were at The Chapel. After going to the docks to inquire about which families were selling large quantities of fire oil and rousing plenty of suspicion, Igni and Aticus decided to split up for a while.

Igni and Flare headed to the Ordo Magicka tower to see if they could see into the Black Cloaks’ temporary headquarters from the tower. They made their way to the roof and used a telescope to peer into the windows of the late Priestess Armanda’s home, which was conveniently located right next door. They were able to spot a group of Black Cloaks in the front room of the house, strapping on weapons and armor, clearly nearly ready to leave their headquarters heavily armed.

Igni and Flare followed them as they left, slipping along so quietly that they may as well have been a “fart in the breeze” (their words, not mine). The Black Cloaks were moving with purpose, north out of the city and towards the Barbarian dwellings.

Aticus decided to wander around the city and see if he could spot any suspcious Black Cloak activity. As he wandered, he happened to see a very short cloaked figure and a very tall cloaked figure hurrying along the streets side by side about a block and a half away from him. He turned to walk parallel to them, checking at each intersection to make sure that they weren’t pulling away from him. After a couple of intersections, he was sure that the figures were Igni and Flare.

By the time they were nearing the north wall of the city, Igni’s short legs were struggling to keep pace with the relentless speed of the Black Cloaks. By this time, it was obvious that they were heading in the general direction of The Chapel. Sprinting footsteps started behind him, getting closer each second, and One hand flew to his sword, the other raising his staff menacingly. Just as he was about to start unleashing fire on the entire street around him, Aticus skidded around a conrner, and Igni sighed with relief.

“What’s happening?” Aticus asks as he stops beside Igni and Flare.

“Black Cloaks,” Igni wheezes. “I think they’re headed to The Chapel. You go on ahead, we’ll catch up.”

Aticus sprints down the road, Igni doing his best to keep up.

As they run, Igni starts to hear troubling whispers, rumors of the Duke postponing his speech for the first time that anyone can remember…

“Is there somewhere safe we can escort you to?” I ask Algaya.

“No. I feel quite at home here.” She gestures to the sturdy latch on the inside of the door. “If I feel unsafe, I can always leave.”

“Is there anyone else who may be in danger?”

“The poor Duke,” she murmurs, fierce loyalty seeping into her voice. “I fear that whoever is doing this will be able to follow the lines back to him. If the Duke falls, I fear retribution on the Barbarian clans.”

Coriol and I share a look, agreeing without words that it’s time to go find our comrades.

“I have opened up and told you everything,” Algaya says. “Would you do me the courtesy of telling me what you plan to do with that information?”

“Your secrets are safe with us,” I answer with a respectful bow. “We will share what you’ve told us only with our comrades and do what we can to keep everyone safe.”

We hear a sudden crash followed by a shriek that ends as suddenly as it started.

Coriol visibly tenses. “Is there any other way out of here?”

Algaya shakes her head and answers, “The only way out of this room is the secret door.”

I can hear the squirrels racing in Coriol’s mind as he looks around the room, examining the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The heavy footsteps we’ve been hearing upstairs are now at the top of the stairs.

“We should go help Torga,” I whisper to Coriol.

“Did Umbardo or Yarmar know about this room?” he asks.

Algaya shakes her head. “Not that I know of.”

Coriol nods and steers me towards the door. Just before we step through, Algaya stares into our eyes. “May the spirits favor you. Protect the duke.” Without another word, she sinks into the ground.

We do our best to close the door behind us. Torga screams once more somewhere upstairs. Then the only sound is the footsteps coming down the stairs. I pull out my Thundering Pike and Coriol pulls out his spear, and we take defensive stances in front of the door as the footsteps draw steadily closer.

The door in front of us slams open with a loud crash to reveal a Blackcloak holding a beautiful sword. He stares at us and our weapons for a moment before taking a step back and demanding, “Throw your weapons down and come out!”

“Who are you, and why are you here?” I try to look as threatening as possible.

“I am Brother Goldum. I am purging the city of a nest of vile heretics and darkness. Again, throw down your weapons and come out! Or we will kill you where you stand.”

I can’t help but smirk, even as I offer up silent prayers and Igni and Aticus will return in time. “Well, you can try.”

Coriol waves his hands, and poof, the Black Cloak before us is a turtle. As he looks about dazedly, someone further up the stairs yells, “There’s a witch!”

“Take the witch alive! Kill the rest!” someone else responds.

A new shadow fills the doorway and Coriol and I stab at in unison. The tip of Coriol’s spear hits its mark, ripping through armor and sinking deep into the flesh beneath. We hear a groan filled with pain and agony, and the shape, revealed to be a Black Cloak as she steps into the light, swings her sword at Coriol. It skitters off Coriol’s cloak, just managing to knick him as it does. She steps back from the doorway, holding her wound with her free arm, and calls out, “Take them down! Take them down!”

Above us, Aticus bursts through the front door of The Chapel to find a grisly scene. With Coriol and I trapped downstairs, the Black Cloaks have been gruesomely murdering the civilians upstairs. Grimacing at the gore, he calls out for us, but there is no response. He pulls out his warhammer and steps menacingly into the room. The Black Cloaks turn towards him, approaching with drawn weapons and wary expressions. One leaps towards him, slashing first at his face and then at his midsection, barely scratching him. The other two leap in unison, trying to avoid the whirling of Aticus’s mighty warhammer until one manages to flick Aticus’s wrist, sending the warhammer thudding to the ground. Without hesitation, Aticus pulls out his sword, ready to do what is necessary.

The three Black Cloaks work in a terrifying unison, feinting and slipping in between one another to slash viciously at our strong man, but to no avail. He swings his sword and blocks with a massive forearm, managing to hold off all but a few hits, which slide uselessly across his armor.

At that moment, Flare arrives at the scene. A flaming sword materializes in his massive armored hand, and he leaps into the fray without a second thought. Igni follows a moment later, pausing in the doorway to catch his breath before raising his hands to call fire and brimstone from the sky. It rains down on the three Black Cloaks, and one stumbles backward with a cry of pain. Another lunges at Flare, just managing to stick his sword between the pieces of the flame spirit’s armor. The last one swings at Aticus, his sword hitting twice but skittering away uselessly each time. Flare slashes his attacker with his sword and swings his shield at him, his flames brightening menacingly.

I hear a deep voice from upstairs call, “Agathara! Coriol!” and respond, “We’re here!”

Mystical light flows from my fingertips, flowing through my body and pooling on the floor before reaching out to cover Coriol as well, wrapping us in a Blessed Shield.

Another Black Cloak leaps into the room and feints towards Coriol’s face, but changes direction at the last second to swing from below. Coriol blocks him with the butt of his spear, and the Black Cloak swings again, his sword meeting the Blessed Shield with a dull thud.

I stab at the Black Cloak with my pike, but the close quarters make it difficult to maneuver the long weapon. I am surprised to see him double over in pain and let out a scream of agony until I see Coriol’s lips moving and his fingers waving.

Infuriated by the larvae boiling in his stomach, the Black Cloak stabs at Coriol and manages to land a blow on Coriol’s arm. I can see the sharp edge of the sword press into Coriol’s arm, but it doesn’t pierce him. I sigh with relief, thanking Prios for the protection of Blessed Shield.

“Throw your weapons down!” another Black Cloak calls from the next room. “We will kill everyone else in the building - your friends, everyone. Surrender to us, or their lives are forfeit.”

I waver, my grip on my pike loosening, but Coriol calls back, “You’re going to kill them anyway!” and flexes his fingers.

He draws his dagger with his free hand and lunges forward to stab at the Black Cloak in front of us. The Black Cloak grits his teeth and backs out of the room, slamming the door behind him. A moment later, we hear a loud scraping, as if something heavy is being pushed in front of the door.

I pull the mirror from inside my robes, muttering a prayer and focusing holy light towards the door. The wood flames red for an instant before a large chunk breaks off, exploding into the room beyond with a loud crack.

Coriol peers through the hole to see the Black Cloaks backing away from the door and preparing to throw small leather pouches towards it. “Oil,” Coriol whispers, then cries, “If we’re going to burn, we’re taking you with us!” Large vines burst from the floor, wrapping around the legs of the Black Cloaks and pinning them in place.

Somehow, knowing that the Black Cloaks will burn with us doesn’t give me any comfort.