That's unsurprising. Preemptively advertising which side you'd take in the event of a civil war is going to make you unpopular with the other one. The lords and ladies probably want their vassals worshiping the gods of honorable fealty and quashing rebellions instead.

"Well, that was a fun diversion, apart from all the stress we inflicted on each other to no benefit and the ominous things we learned about my mental health. Let's go investigate this church before the body gets any warmer, shall we?"

"I thought you'd never ask. Follow me."

You are now the party leader – for good, this time. Try not to let it go to your head.

Visiting the Church of Humanity involves doubling back most of the way towards the inn, then taking one of the staircases from the outermost row of buildings up to a wooded path just below the ridgeline. If you were still reduced to shambling along like a hungry zombie it would take quite some time to get there, but you seem to have discovered how to walk quickly and Gwen is keeping pace.

Being only a normal amount of hungover has done wonders for her motivation and balance, both of which are critical to moving at speed. There's still a lingering malaise, a vile affect that burns like a branding iron whenever she tries to pull it into focus, but with her newfound good humor and sense of purpose it's easy to brush aside. Today is, if not already successful, at least heading in the right direction.

This is an opportune time for socialization. Gwen is a junior officer, third circle, looks to be on the young side… her military career must be an unusual one. Ask her about it.

"So, why join the army? Wanderlust? Student loans? Unshakeable commitment to protecting civilization? Inexplicable thirst for violence?"

"A little of each. After my third graduation, I wanted to—"

"Whoa, 'third graduation'? They make you get a new degree every time you go up a level?"

No wonder she's got student loans.

There are a few magical academies around the Inner Sea where wizards graduate at second circle, sometimes even third, but you couldn't have paid her to go anywhere near one of those.

"More education after learning to transcribe and hang first-circle spells is optional. The Arcanamirium has specialized curricula for students at higher circles, but the real draw is getting to swap spells and collaborate with other students. You pay your tuition, you get subsidized magical ink and a friendly environment. It's faster and safer than working alone. The headmaster will give you another diploma if you ask for one, I think."

The postgraduate study benefits extend to surprisingly powerful and accomplished wizards. Novitiates at the Arcanamirium can enter something like an apprenticeship under older students, with the faculty theoretically serving as a bulwark against the worst sort of depredations, and active students get priority enrollment at colloquies held by senior academics from other universities.

"One of my fellow students tried to involve me in a series of questionable life decisions over the years, which wound up being, ah, mentally and financially taxing. I got my commission as a way of leaving Absalom for a few years. Third circle gets you into the officer corps immediately, but it's just junior enough that they can't risk me on any of the terrible jobs, like search and rescue in the Cairnlands. My service has been… relaxing. Maybe too relaxing."

"That's a strange thing to hear a soldier say about their job."

"It's mostly flying from one tiny village to the next, hunting down whichever livestock predator the nearest baron can't or won't deal with. Rarely any trouble – chimeras and harpies are cunning enough to know when they're beaten." Gwen mimes pulling a trigger. "Even in the occasional battle against some centaur herd or bandit encampment I was still relatively safe. It's hard to get a clean shot at a wizard without the element of surprise. The last time I felt the pressure was an encounter with a baroness who turned out to be a night hag. She took us by surprise at day's end, when we were low on spells and thought we were out of danger. That was the closest I've come to dying since I was a student."

Only one fight worth mentioning in her entire military record? Pathetic. An irenic end to a blazing period of growth, too well-ensconced by defensive magics and armored men to properly feel afraid.

There's something about her partner's life story that doesn't sound quite right…

"How old are you, exactly?"

"I'm twenty-three."

There is no way this kid is twenty-three years old. Seventeen or eighteen, maybe. They let you enlist at that age, right?

Pull her hood down.

Gwenhwyfar's hair has been tied up and back in a truly atrocious hairstyle, though on closer inspection one might notice that (in addition to being homely) it blocks the light from reaching the trio of precious stones built into her tiara. Between that and the hood it would be difficult even for the magically inclined to identify what manner of headband she wears.

Also her ears are pointed.

"You're an elf!"

"Half-elf, but yes." She pulls her hood back up. "Is that going to be a problem, detective?"

"It is if you accidentally burn your hands on an exposed iron surface! You're a wizard, there's only so much you can get burnt before we have to stop and find another cleric."

That is a much less racist answer than she was braced for. At some point she will have to stop being surprised by the precise dimensions of her partner's ignorance.

"You're thinking of faeries, not elves. The touch of cold iron harms me no more than you." Her heritage is alien, not fey. "Half-elves are more akin to humans than they are divergent – I am immune to Sleep and ghoul paralysis, those might be tactically relevant – but Taldane humans often dislike elves and may mistake me for one. Absalom has too many demihumans for such attitudes to reach prevalence, but I am less familiar with Escadar and would prefer to avoid pointless confrontation."

She shrugs. "You're the half-elf expert. Don't think I'll feel sorry for you when we run full-tilt into your secret weakness because you refused to tell me about it."

The Church of Humanity is a monolithic rock-cut temple, painstakingly carved out of the scarp near the highest point of the valley. A wide stone plateau overlooking all of Escadar from the west leads up to an excruciatingly beautiful arrangement of elegant Azlanti columns, ornate fretwork, and stone statues of faceless saints that march in frozen procession along recessed arcades. Many of the exposed surfaces are covered in writing, tiny characters chiselled into the cliff face between larger details. It was a monument to the glory of Aroden and His domain, a showcase of human ingenuity and skill, and a refuge for the faithful in times of need.

Was.

Something terrible happened here. The facade of the Church of Humanity has been marred by the collapse of the entrance, the pillars on either side of it torn clean apart where the rock suspended overhead came crashing down. The way in is blocked by at least four tons of elaborately-carved rubble. A humanoid upper body emerges from beneath the largest of the boulders, upon which rests a tablet that exhorts anyone passing by to not touch anything.