Emmaline found herself beginning to calm down, thinking of the Justicar costume put her in a better head space than the feeling of dark magic and chaotic corruption that had lain heavy upon the manor house did. The last thing she wanted to do was get mixed up with a witch hunter but she was, at bottom, a loyal daughter of the Empire. Well loyalish.

"Ok, but it will have to be done quickly," Emmaline replied, squeezing Neil's hand to calm herself.

"I'm sure that cultists are every bit as good as thieves at covering their tracks if given any time to do so, but we can't talk directly to a witch hunter," she said, mind clicking into scheming mode as she ran down the mental pathways towards the various conclusions. She tapped on the roof of the coach and then leaned out.

"We are feeling pious tonight, take us to the Temple of Sigmar if you will," she called to the driver.

______

The Temple was a massive building that stretched towards the heavens. Its massive spire was rivaled only by the Cathedral in Altdorf in Emmaline's experience. In some ways the Nuln cathedral seemed more majestic, because it didn't share space with the Colleges of Magic and the Imperial Palace. Blackpowder week was not a church holiday, but Temple Square was not deserted even so. A few more enthusiastic flagellents shouted about the impending end of the world, though onlookers eyes were more frequently on the distant bursting fireworks than on the ranting holy men. Pillgrims walked from statue to statue, lighting candles or laying flowers or scraps of papers at the feet of images of Sigmar and, almost as frequently, Magnus the Pious as well as other holy men who had been immortalized in stone. Incense smoke wafted lazily into the darkness, ignored by various temple scribes and functionaries who lounged at outdoor wine shops now that services were concluded for the day.

Emmaline hopped out of the coach pulling Neil borrowed cloak around her body. It was finely made but less distinguishable than the white fur cloak she had lost at the mansion. Its hood allowed her to hide her distinctive blonde hair which was her primary goal. She hurried across the square and up the steps of the cathedral, placating a drowsy guard by pressing a silver piece into his palm as she passed. The inside of the cathedral was a dark expanse. Faint candle light reflected off the massive stained glass windows without adding much to the illumination. Emmaline hurried up the central nave, boots clacking on the worn stones. An aged priest turned from the alter to watch her approach, looking skeletal in fine robes which seemed to hang from his limp body.

"The Temple is closed my daughter," he began before his rheymy eyes widened as Emmaline ran sobbing into his arms, he was stronger than he looked fortunately.

"Father," she bleated pitteously, "I have seen a terrible thing, an unholy blaphemy!" Wrackign sobs shook her body as the priest got a hold of himself.

"What are you speaking of child?" he demanded, eyes wide with alarm. In between sobs she told a version of the nights events, in which she had seen through the windows a great and terrible blasphemy, using just enough actual description to prevent him from writing her off as a hysterical madwoman.

"This is a buissness for the Templar child, come," he lead her into a vestibule and sat her down on a chair.

"Remain here daughter, I will fetch a man who can deal with such things!" the priest hustled off, his step quicker than it had been in years, excited by the thought of stamping out real heresy. Emmaline gave him a few minutes and then hurried back out of the temple as quickly as she could. Better to let them find her gone and investigate themselves.