Some of them need to think of it, but most of them seem to agree that a painful injury now is better than a certain death; how much of that is because they're holding out hope of being saved versus how many think they can cut a deal versus how many just want a few more hours to live is less clear. The exceptions seem to be of the opinion that they're likely going to die anyway so it might as well be here rather than giving Prelate Hulrun the satisfaction.

"Camellia, would you care to do the honors?" She seems like she might have more of a taste for it.

She absolutely does. Camellia is clearly taking pains to avoid disturbing them about it, but she definitely seems much happier once she gets started. She'll cheerfully go through the tendons in question one after another, then execute everyone who preferred that instead. Examining their legs will reveal that despite her enjoying the task Camellia has refrained from inflicting any extraneous injuries beyond what Kybele and the cultists agreed to, though she certainly wasn't being gentle about holding them when doing it.

Once the cultists are dealt with, their erstwhile prisoners will approach the group, keeping a respectful distance in case of any lingering worry about demonic infiltration; a few of them are clearly affected by the scene, but others seem cheered at what seems to them to be just desserts.

"Greetings captain Tirabade, lady Kybele. I am Klaem, leader of the order of the flaming lance. We've been out of contact since late last night; what's the most pressing business in the city?"

"Most of the work at the moment is rescuing trapped civilians and hunting down any roaming demons in the streets, but if you're as exhausted as you look you should make for the defender's heart. Rathimus will be able to confirm your identities there, and once you're better rested you'll be much more helpful to everyone."

"Understood!"

He snaps a salute, despite not being in her chain of command, and his men fall in behind him as he heads out to act as ordered. Remaining in the library now are only the cultists-turned-captives and the old elf. Once they're gone, Staunton Vhane heads over to speak with the latter and confirm they're the scholar here studying wardstones; after a short conversation, he returns to the group ashen-faced, guiding the elf with him.

"It's the storyteller alright, and he says the news isn't good. Apparently someone has been corrupting the wardstone in secret, and if it gets much worse the whole artifact will break. We might need to find a way past Minagho in a hurry or else she might be able to finish the job, and then it won't matter how much we've cleared out the city."

Ky constructs a sledge and starts loading cocoons on.

"So," she says to the rescued ones, "I hear one of you might be a storyteller!"

"I am he," confirms the wizened elf, although some of the impact of his age might be lost on someone unfamiliar with how elves usually age - or rather, how they don't. "I earned that title because I can tell the legend of important objects and people with just a touch of a hand. That's how I knew about the trouble with the wardstone - nasty business, that, very vile."

"It's that which we were hoping you could tell us about! What's the matter with it? Can it be fixed?"

"There are several ways it might be healed. A miracle out of heaven could do it, whether a god's direct intervention or called forth by their mightiest priest. The one who poisoned it could withdraw her taint, given a heartfelt plea from the one they hold dearest. A mighty Aeon could forcibly right it, returning everything to its proper state, though the consequences of such an act are hard to see. Or a greater poison could cure it; a drop of Deskari's own blood, shed by violence, could cure the corruption if held by one with the strength to wield it. Such a drop could be found in this very town, if none have moved it, but where someone with the requisite strength can be found is less clear; when I looked yesterday morning, there were none in Kenabres I could see who met the requirements."

"Can you check it I can do it? I was not here yesterday morning."

The elf reaches out with a trembling hand; when he touches her, it's like a static shock.

"Oh," he says softly, "your legend loves you, child. It embraces you, sustains you, and exults in your every triumph. I have never seen the like before. You have come here from so far away - but I cannot see the hand that moved you, and the shadows of their hand seek to shield you from harm even though they slid in the knife. It cloaks itself from my sight, and I am not strong enough to pierce the veil; perhaps I never was, even full in the folly of my youth.  Yes, you have what it takes indeed."

"Thank you very much, Storyteller. Then I suppose what I need next is help distinguishing some of Deskari's blood from all of the other blood here."

"The sword you hold has now proclaimed you as its owner, but its first wielder perished fighting the lord of the locusts, and it has not forgotten. If it is in your hands, near where a fragment of Deskari's power resides... it should be capable of guiding you."

"Excellent. Thank you very much." Is everybody paying attention to her, that would be a terrible exchange to have wasted.

Just the storyteller's attention alone seems to have boosted her a fair bit, significantly more than any individual human normally can, and it came in all at once as soon as he touched her. Her internal sense of fame was slowly ramping up even as the conversation continued, though, so probably not all the increase she's experiencing was from him; most likely some of it is from the cultists she has imprisoned, which might be a little awkward in terms of incentives.

Every illustrati has awkward incentives. She just has to be awesome anyway.

She draws the angel sword and points it at likely-looking blood spatter on the way to Hulrun.

Not many people are willing to jump a group of fully armed and armored paladins in broad daylight, and those exceptions have already tried it and so are too dead to try it again. The only thing that breaks up the trek is a few easily dispatched zombies stumbling their way out of the local graveyard. The streets are oddly empty, most of the inhabitants fled or in hiding; the first sign of any activity is as they pass by the temple of Desna.

None of them get a response, but there's also not a lot of signs that an enormous insect demon was rampaging through here either; she'll probably have better odds near the festival grounds or between there and the temple of Iomedae.

Is the temple in need of heroic intervention or are they trucking along?

At a glance, it looks like it's where a lot of the people from the surrounding areas ended up. None of them seem to be injured or panicking and there's no screaming coming from within, though, so it's probably fine?

Looks fine and she's encumbered. Onward.

The throng of prisoners awaiting judgment is much smaller by now, but he seems to be going through them significantly more slowly. The area around looks significantly less disastrous; still plenty of corpses, but all of them piled up neatly for transport instead of left where they died, and they've been stripped of arms, armor, and valuables in the process.  It's still pretty easy to tell who was a crusader and who was a demon cultist, though, based on how much care was put into their placement. One of his subordinates seems to be taking notes on a set of bodies currently being stripped, and most of the others on guard, but the Prelate himself is currently pacing while conducting an interview. There's a steady trickle of runners arriving and leaving with reports and orders.

The fire is still burning, though the blaze has died down a bit.

Better not to interrupt him. Ky points her sword at blood while waiting for him to be done with this interview.

Facing south in the direction of the devastation seems to get a response, but it's pretty faint.

About a minute after they arrive, Prelate Hulrun finishes his interview and sends them on to the fire; unlike most of the burnt prisoners, he sends them to a much smaller group under heavier guard. He'll then take a pause from his interviews to speak with them.

When he is about 20 feet away, he'll break into a sprint aimed at the center of Kybele's group then come to a halt.