As the three of them walk inside, one after the other, Gwenhwyfar passes out of everyone else's field of view.

It is almost impossible to cast most spells without the person next to you noticing what you're doing. Most spells involve mystical chanting and bizarre gesticulation, even for spellcasters who have the knack for casting without material components. Metamagic can circumvent this problem, but only at the cost of occupying higher-level spell slots, a price rarely worth paying when spell slots are at a premium.

Gwen does not have any Silent Stilled spells prepared. What she has is Auditory Hallucination, a spell that does exactly what it sounds like it does. Auditory Hallucination has no mystical chanting, and little enough bizarre gesticulation that it can be cast covertly.

She targets the cleric. They typically have strong Will, but whether he believes or disbelieves the illusion is irrelevant. She's not planning to be subtle.

PLEASE TRY NOT TO REACT. MY NAME IS LIEUTENANT GWEN. I AM THE SHORTER ONE. MY PARTNER HAS BEEN BEHAVING ERRATICALLY SINCE THIS MORNING, AND CLAIMS UNDER TRUTH MAGIC TO HAVE LOST ALL OF HER MEMORIES. SHE HAS BEEN IN ESCADAR FOR AT LEAST THREE DAYS AND CANNOT ACCOUNT FOR HER WHEREABOUTS OR ACTIONS DURING THIS TIME. IF YOU HAVE PROTECTION FROM EVIL PREPARED, MAKE A COMMENT ABOUT THE WEATHER.

There's a mirror mounted to the wall of the foyer, angled towards the door. It's hard not to get a good look at herself on the way in.

She's… seen better days? No, that's sugarcoating it. She's a botched taxidermy job with fluff leaking through the stitches. Diseased, intemperate, bloated. Even the minuscule imperfections smoothed away by positive energy are conspicuous in their absence.

Her face is doing something that does not correspond to a normal emotion. She tries to adjust it. Fails.

"How'd you know to come here for healing?" the cleric asks.

"Divine revelation."

She tugs fruitlessly on a tangled knot of hair hanging over her shoulder. Her hair, at least, is redeemable. Five minutes with a brush and she'll be able to masquerade as presentable to anyone standing behind her.

"Is that what the kids call it these days? Hmmph."

Merlus fetches a tinderbox and a carton of tea from his pantry. Once the fireplace in his kitchen is lit, he empties a jug of water into a kettle and hangs it from the trammel, talking all the while.

"You two must be provosts. Like I said, I don't imagine I know much about this business that you haven't heard already."

She should probably give this man her full attention instead of playing with her hair, but she's almost got it… just about… perfect. All she needs is a ribbon to tie it back.

"Absalom city watch, and it never hurts to get a fresh perspective from a local."

Gwen shows him her commission. The biographical information on it is sparse – name, rank, species, service number – but below the enumerated powers of officers of the Eagle Garrison is Gwen's Arcane Mark and the Primarch's signature. While any competent rogue could forge that signature with their eyes closed, the penalty for doing so is stiff. She doesn't really expect to be challenged on this one.

He's seen these before. It's either legitimate or a polished hoax with an unfathomable purpose.

"Long arm of the law had to reach a bit further than usual," he muses, making eye contact with Lieutenant Gwen. "Safe travels over the channel, I hope? We've had calm weather for weeks. Overdue for a storm, I reckon."

"I enjoyed the journey. It gave me time to catch up on my correspondence."

IF YOU HAVE ANY OTHER AVAILABLE SPELLS OR TECHNIQUES FOR ENDING COMPULSIONS OR POSSESSIONS, CONTINUE DISCUSSING THE WEATHER WITH ME. OTHERWISE, CHANGE THE TOPIC.