“Grab the Azlanti funerary urn on the top shelf, there’s an enchanted dagger in there.”

Okay Orgull didn’t actually know that part.

Shit, which one was meant to be Azlanti?

The ugly grey one probably.

The older priest continued ranting while he struggled with the straps on the armor.

“Seems the Galtans got bored of waiting for those lazy bastards in the Admiralty to come tidy them up, what! So they’ve come here to get their kickings from us in person. Splendid!”

“I’ve told you before boy. Cyprian may have polished them up and taught them to walk in straight lines, but the Galtan can’t stand the taste of good Chelish steel! Mark my words boy, we’ll march out to them on the field and they’ll scatter, just like when we put down their stupid rebellion.”

After a brief moment of frustration shaking the urn Orgull dropped it on the floor, and fished out the dagger from the shards of pottery. 

“The reports say there’s quite a few of them sir. Perhaps we should rally to a more defensible position?”

“Ha! Maybe they’ll put up a proper fight this time. Don't worry boy. Any men you kill will be your first slaves once you're a devil. We'll take a few hundred with us and be toasts of Mammon’s court tonight!”

Holding the dagger in his hand, and looking at the back of the man as he scrabbled to do his armor straps, Orgull made a calculation. 

If we fight today we are all going to die.

I don’t want to die.

Because Asmodeus doesn’t want me to die. He put me here to serve Him. He has untold devils in Hell and I’ll reach him soon enough.

This man is going to get us all killed. Which would waste Asmodeus’ property carelessly.

This man is an enemy of Asmodeus. 

“Sir, let me help you with that.”

He stepped up behind the older man. 

“Looks like the chain on your Symbol is caught in clasp of the gorget, here see... 

Okay, I think I've got it, lift up your chin for a moment”

Higher circle Priests are harder to kill, like priests and nobles are stronger than commoners. The Church teaches this is a blessing of Asmodeus, illustrating the Divine Order. Its also a large part of what keeps the Church hierarchy at all stable.

But it turns out that if you have their items, their holy symbol, a knife to the neck, a moment of surprise, and the blessing of Asmodeus you can overcome such barriers.

So, right. Now what.

The Galtans are not stupid. They would not attack a heavily defended city if they had any expectation that they would lose.

And appearing out of nowhere inland of Ostenso implied some great miracle in their support from whatever gods it was they worshipped there. (Milani maybe? She had something to do with rebellions and anarchy right.)

Asmodeus was of course stronger, and could repay them thousandfold, but unlike other Gods he did not waste His resources frivolously because he had actually competent subordinates on the material, who knew not to waste His resources. So they would be expected to look after themselves for the time being. And it was Orgull's duty to stay alive so he could continue to serve His Lord on Golarion. 

The staff would be a liability more than a help in a city being sacked. So he should get rid of them first.

The Senior Presbyter had been the kind of relatively lax superior who acquired some distant affection from his staff but little actual loyalty. Under other circumstances they’d be upset at the loss of relatively cushy opportunities for self-enrichment, but right now they had other concerns, and would respond to a firm hand.

He called in the “Combat Wizard” and looked her levelly in the eye while passing over a small selection of scrolls and the spare ring of protection.

“The Senior Presbyter unfortunately took leave of his senses in the excitement. And as such was relieved of command in accordance with commands from above.”

“I would appreciate it if you could prestidigitate the blood off of my robes before I address the rest of the staff.” 

He told them that he was in touch with the wider Church hierarchy, and the Queen and her army were expected to retake the city within the week.

Their orders were to scatter and hide, so be ready to assist when the time came, and in the meantime, note the names of collaborators.

He ended with a pious invocation that their lives were property of Asmodeus and the Queen, and they should not waste them frivolously, however strong the temptation to punish the heretical invaders.

Whether they believed him or not, they needed little encouragement to leave. He handed out some of the remaining potions to the wizard and other senior staff, for verisimilitude (half had probably been replaced with water by enterprising predecessors anyway).

Then he was alone in the office.

His rooms were near the Cathedral. He had secreted food and small valuables there, along with his non-priestly clothes, just in case.

He remembered how excited he had been to have rooms, rooms plural, all to himself. A whole room just to sleep in, with a soft feather bed. A tastefully decorated room for entertaining. And a slip to keep it all clean.

His gut twisted at the idea of his possessions all going up in flames, or being stolen by some Galtan, or his slip, but going there would be foolish. He’d have to make do. 

He methodically looted the Senior Presbyter’s body and the rest of his office, smashing any other antiquities that looked like they could fit things in them, but no luck. His robes would look comically large on Orgull, so using them to pass as a higher grade of priest wouldn’t work. But his jewelry was light and portable, and would give the impression of wealth and seniority.

The man’s enchanted mace and shield were still hung on the wall. He hadn’t practiced with them since Seminary, and they were heavy as fuck, so he’d leave them. He had the dagger, rings, and most of the potions, that would be enough.

He took anything else that looked valuable and would be easily carried (thank Mammon for paper money, otherwise he’d be weighted down) and left.  

Fleeing inland would be obviously stupid, so he might as well head to the docks.

He briefly considered finding the ship of one of his friends the captains he had had a productive relationship with. But they’d as likely sell him out as anything 

But the Custodisce Break, the great pillars of stone the first Thrune Queen had raised from the sea to form Ostenso’s natural harbor, supported a vast warren of docks, warehouses and slums. They had accreted like barnacles atop each other, hanging above and below the vast metal braces between the pillars, stretching a half mile into the sea. He’d be able to hide there.

The street outside the office was deserted. The normal dockworkers, merchants and layabouts either pressganged into the defense or fled.

Heading downhill to the sea he sighted a barricade blocking off the end of the street, and slowed to a sedate walk to approach it.

“Halt! None may pass through by order of Harbormaster Cothos!

_{Oh fuck it’s a fucking priest.}

Chosen. I…”

He kept walking towards them without breaking stride.

“Silence. You were doing your duty, that is commendable enough. Now let me through.”

“I’m sorry Chosen. Our orders are to let no one through” said the same man, now revealed to be wearing the insignia of a dockwatcher sergeant, and a facial expression indicating he was regretting his career choices.

He raised one eyebrow calmly. “And do you think your orders apply to the Chosen of Your Lord?”

He waved the man away irritably and began to walk along the row of soldiers manning the barricade.

Solemnly chanting in infernal he placed one hand on the shoulder of each soldier in turn, while tracing a pentagram with the other hand.

“I eat. You are eating. Asmodeus. They is eating. I have ate. Asmodeus...."

The men stiffened slightly at his touch, but did nothing. After completing the front line he continued to the one behind them, the soldiers politely stepping aside to let him through. 

"I am eaten. Asmodeus. We alls eatings. Asmodeus. You have been eaten. Hell. They have been being eaten....” 

Upon reaching the back, he took a half step up on a discarded crate and proclaimed:

“Blessings of Asmodeus on you this day soldiers of Cheliax. I know you will serve our Lord well and keep your families safe this day.”

For some reason they stood straighter and prouder at that.

He moved on.

Orgull headed towards the Break, keeping to alleyways that ran roughly parallel to the shoreline, not trusting the portside to be safe under the circumstances. 

By one mechanism or another the message had gotten out to the common people that the Galtans were coming. He passed boarded up shops and hastily abandoned market stalls. A woman’s face, showing signs of hastily applied dirt, was briefly visible in a window before disappearing again. 

At first the city was silent, save for the occasional distant bass rumble. Mostly these came from inland where, hopefully, the bulk of the Galtans were still fighting. But increasingly he heard them from all directions, and distant shouts grew in volume and frequency. He routed around the sources of the noise as best he could.

Eventually he reached the end of the docks, where a relatively narrow pier extended out and connected them to the Break proper.

A broad open avenue of wooden slats held up by support poles in the shallow part of the sea. Until they joined with the mess of similar platforms hanging off the sides of the stone pillars. It was in retrospect an obvious chokepoint. 

From the scorch marks and bodies strewn around, it had already come under attack by Galtan strike teams teleporting in. But it still remained under Asmodean control.

These weren’t the scared and disorganized conscripts he saw earlier. They looked to be the best of the Dockwatchers, experienced fighters and veterans in their own right, alongside units of heavily drilled marines, and would likely have their own wizardly and clerical support. 

If he tried to bluff his way past them he’d, at best, be conscripted to help with the defense, and might be recognized and required to answer some awkward questions. 

He had Disguise Self and Invisibility, naturally. With the former he’d still need to explain his presence, even if not being a priest made him less conspicuous. And the latter only lasted a few minutes. 

The soldiers had constructed a solid looking barricade on the seaward side (unlike everyone else they’d drilled for this), taking planks from the boardwalk to build it, leaving irregularly spaced gaps to trip up charging enemies. 

Right now they were busying themselves with making more holes and clearing away any debris that could be used as cover, creating a clear killing ground for the arrows and spells from the barricade. As they went they checked which of the bodies were irretrievably maimed or dead, who could be tossed off the edge into the sea, or those who could be put back to work with a little healing.