"Hey, at least you know more than the people trying to murder the weird elf kid!"

"I am willing to evaluate your theology knowledge if desired! However, I have never undergone a formal catechism class, so my questions may lack depth. ...Or if I have, I forgot about it."

"What is the purpose of this questionnaire, ma'am - what is your name -"

"I am Nenio, scholar, illusionist, and future author of the Encyclopedia Golarionnica! I am conducting an experiment concerning theological knowledge of crusaders compared to that of cultists." She glances back in the direction of the Baphomet cultists. "Unfortunately, collecting data has proven... challenging."

"There's a cultist tied up back at the Defender's Heart, maybe you can ask him."

She perks up. "Thank you, boy! Perhaps I will."

"Your questions were scarcely theological at all. Trivia."

"Very well. In that case, would you care to summarize the position of the Church of Iomedae with regards to the acceptability of suicide, evaluated through the lens of her Eighth Act?"

...Seelah looks at Blai.

"I haven't read any commentaries on the Act or seen a catechism teacher, but it seemed to be of the opinion that suicide is not invariably Evil and can be undertaken in a redemptive fashion under some specific conditions. I don't know what the orthodox generalizations from the specific example in the Act might be though." For example, should Blai have killed himself twenty years ago? He just doesn't know.

Nod. "The Eighth Act is widely considered the single most misunderstood Act in the entire work! The Church of Iomedae considers it of paramount relevance that undead frequently find that their impulses towards behavior that the Church considers acceptable are greatly degraded, such that the Black Prince was unlikely to be capable of maintaining the trajectory onto which Iomedae had counseled him. However, this interpretation neglects to consider—"

She breaks off.

Count Arendae's manor has had the good fortune to survive the disaster mostly intact! 

However, more than a dozen demons — dretches, abrikandilus, cambions, and schirs — are in the process of attempting to change that. Their current efforts appear to involve a makeshift battering ram formed from a broken piece of the wall.

"...That's not good." Sigh. "The Count sounds like a piece of work, but we can't just leave him to die."

"Indeed. His gratitude could be invaluable."

".......There's a passage in through the servant's quarters. I can show you where it is, just so long as you don't try to ask how I know."

"That is not the correct order in which to secure that condition," Blai informs him. "But please."

"...well, I don't see how I could've done it in the other order."

But he can show them the way to the passage, which is not currently being assailed by demons. (It's locked, but it only takes him a few moments to disable it.)

"I am not trained in this but I believe that, in broad strokes, you announce that you have information that might be useful, don't specify what it is, and offer to share it conditional on this disclosure not being used against you."

That seems really easy to exploit? How are the paladin-types supposed to know whether it's worth it to agree if they don't even know what he's offering?

The lock clicks open. The servant's quarters are empty at the moment, but Woljif leads them through the building, stopping just outside a large, ornamentally-decorated bronze door. The sounds of music and conversation are audible on the other side of the door, though it's hard to make out individual words.

"The door's too thick. I'm not getting anything."

"Well, I've never known demons to play the harp."

Will the door open?

It will!

Compared to every other part of the city, the mood inside the ballroom is positively cheerful. Drunken nobles around a large table are feasting on roast pork; drunken nobles on the dance floor are attempting to keep their feet straight; drunken nobles are eyeing a group of nearly-naked courtesans. The whole room is filled with laughter and excited chatter. Glittering chandeliers fill the ballroom with bright light, and the ballroom's walls are decorated with velvet curtains dyed a rich red and elaborately-detailed paintings. In the corner of the room, minstrels are playing an upbeat dance tune. The harpist misses a note when she sees them enter, but quickly recovers.

Camellia identifies Count Arendae for Blai. He's sitting at the head of the table, facing away from the door, clad in a long silver overcoat that must have cost a fortune. His long hair is unnaturally metallic, and his ears come to a sharp point.

"Evil," pronounces Seelah. "So is that one, and that one... not that one or that one... the others are out of range."

"Thank you, Ser," he sighs. Has anyone noticed them yet or must he make introductions.