Best to avoid the area around the office. Too many who might know me. There's nothing left there for me anyway.

He picked up some bits and pieces about the battle from the conversations between the other men on the boat.

They were filled with the kind of credulity and superstition you’d expect from the rude laboring classes. (One man insisted he’d seen a red dragon attack the Galtans, then switch sides for no reason). But useful to know what was commonly believed regardless.  

Consensus seemed to be that the initial battle had been over quickly, with the sack going on through the night. The Break had weathered it better than landside, which had enough wine and women to keep the soldiers occupied. The invaders were apparently making a big song and dance about how they would respect the property of foreign merchants and traders, so left their ships in the docks mostly alone.

Apparently the invaders had announced there were “safe zones” for civilians during the sack. Where you could go for healing and “pay what you want”, (which seemed like a poor parody of how Good people spoke, but the men seemed pretty sure that was what they said.)

Honestly Orgull almost admired the Mephistophelian cleverness of it.  

Tell people there was a place to go if you didn’t want to be raped and murdered. Then if you don’t go there, we'll you were warned. And if you do go any property you left behind was obviously free to pillage.Then they'd set fire to the "safe zone" anyway.

(Maybe the Senior Presbyter was wrong, had been wrong, about them lacking the spirit to be worth bringing back into the empire.) 

The Galtans  were apparently saying some kind of exotic devil had materialized out of nowhere and set the fires. Obviously if the new (temporary) regime says that an outsider serving Asmodeus set His own city on fire, it was of course the case. And nothing to do with all those well behaved soldiers. Chelish people understood these kinds of things.
 

When the boat reached the shore he hopped off quickly, and made his way uphill towards the center of the city. The Galtans had set up checkpoints at major intersections, but there were enough alleys and roofs that was barely an impediment.

Almost by instinct his footsteps led him to the Cathedral. Despite the signs of combat it was apparently in use, the fucking Abadarians had taken it over. Hanging big banners with that weird curvy symbol of theirs to cover pentagrams. 

For all their sanctimonious whining about Law  they certainly hadn't wasted any time stealing it. Taking a few gifts to expedite paperwork seemed rather meagre compared to letting Cyprian buy you off with a fucking cathedral. 

Senior priests were hung from the battlements of what used to be the Lord-Mayor’s residence. 

The Prelate, in deference to his rank, had pride of place above the front central gate. Flanked by the other senior clergy as in life. 

Orgull's old boss, the Senior Presbyter, was apparently considered just important enough for a place on the walls.

Some enterprising Galtan must have found the body in their office and taken credit.

They’d tied a noose around his already cut neck and hung him. 

They must have added some extra blood for effect as well. Surely there hadn’t been that much had there. It had been a quick and clean cut hadn’t it. 

His stomach was hurting. Shouldn’t have eaten that bread so fast after not eating for two days.

More junior priests had only merited lampposts.  

He saw two he recognized, a boy and a girl, Màtic and Donia, who’d started at the cathedral same time as him. 

The latter was missing her robes of office, but someone had helpfully painted a crude pentagram and the words “HELL PRIEST WHORE” on a sign around her neck to avoid any confusion. 

They’d all been junior priests together so naturally formed a little gang and would go out drinking together.

The group had been full of little rivalries and jockeying for position. But those two had a particular enthusiam for sniping at eachother. So much so that Orgull had once, sardonically, suggested they fuck already and get it over with. Their reactions of simultaneous and nearly identical outrage had been funny enough it became a running joke in their group. 

There was no rule against priests fucking eachother, obviously. But them both being the same rank made it a bit embarrassing.

As far as he’d known they’d never actually gone through with it.

Maybe once they were devils they'd get over themselves and one would buy the other. And when he joined them they'd laugh about how long it took them.

His stomach was really hurting now. Trust the Galtans to give the shitty sawdusty bread out to their collaborators.