Well, if these Yharnamites didn't know how to build to impress! Cathedral Ward was, without a doubt, designed with shock in mind. Tall spires and grand windows of stained glass adorn the palace-sized churches and chapels, many times the height and width of the men who laid them in their place. The many roads of the city stretch out from this quarter, like the many arms of an octo-pod creature. It was obviously purpose built to serve as the nexus for the Yharnamite society, and hold the splendor of the Healing Church. There was certainly no shortage of that here, where even the cobblestones beneath have been cut and arranged into patterns. Dustless and solid they were, her boots made solid clops and taps as she stepped over them, which bounced off the stone walls around and resonated throughout the entire vicinity. Walking here was going to be a nightmare for certain.

Every street was flanked by those pale Church agents. Hard, blackened eyes followed Victor as he led Morgaine past them. Were they plotting something, these unscrupulous creatures? The Church had a reputation about it, for grim pragmatism and a very heavy-handed approach to slighting. If Victor had made some sort of transgression, the Churchmen would no doubt ambush him at any corner and have his head. It looked almost like the two hunters were being sized up somehow, or perhaps measured for a silver platter. Maybe it was simply the inhuman nature of the Chruch agents leading Morgaine's mind to playing tricks on itself. Nonetheless, she decided to stick a bit closer to Victor, and pull the hood over her eyes. She didn't need to look at them if she didn't want to. 

The White Church Workshop was a bit of an odd duck, squatted among the chapels like a stone toad. It was large and grandiose, certainly, but lacking in the ornate nature of its surrounding buildings. Indeed, it was the only structure in the quarter, perhaps, that didn't look as if it would topple over at the mere push of Morgaine's hand. The clip-clopping of boots was more pronounced here, as hunters of the Church went about their business, milling about with weapons and blood vials in hand. That could be expected, she supposed. This was a bastion against the beasts, and every night it went to war until the sun returned in the morning. Weapons and armour she would certainly not refuse. 

"So, when I see this 'Dietrich', how am I to know him?" She said, passing up from behind Victor to stand aside him as they approached. "He tall? Short? One-legged? Does he have a walking stick, or wear a feather cap?"