"...Is that okay?" Seelah asks, as Woljif removes what are clearly stolen goods from the bodies of the looters. 

"Serious question: if we don't, is there any realistic chance of this stuff getting back to its rightful owners?" 

"...I guess not..."

"I don't like the situation, but I don't think we're making it worse by scavenging here--but I could easily be wrong! Did not know the Worldwound existed last week?" 

Sigh. "No, I suppose you're right. It just seems like a bad precedent, I guess." 

"That is fair and also something to keep an eye on." 

They make it to the Blackwing Library. The building is in awful shape; one of the rifts from Deskari's scythe goes right through it. Lusilla is Not Thrilled, since libraries are supposed to be full of books. But. Priorities. 

The library is full of books! 

The books are less neatly arrayed than they presumably were before Deskari happened. Several bookshelves have fallen over, or been knocked askew, or even just had their contents thrown loose. Plus, there's a big pile of books in the center of the floor being used as kindling for what looks like an about-to-be pyre, with several people--including an incongrously elderly-looking elf--bound together atop it. A group of men in ill-fitting armor with mismatched heraldry holds torches beside it. They all look up when Lusilla and company push the doors open. 

"Ha!" cries one of their number in a booming voice. "Crusaders? Excellent! I am Captain Chaleb Sazomal, and these are my men. I am about to burn these vile back-stabbers and heretics here, these pathetic imitators of the traitor Areelu who tricked their way into the ranks of the crusaders!" 

Lusilla takes a moment longer to process this farce than she probably should, but--come on. 

She plants her hands on her hips, throws her shoulders back, and bellows, "YOU IDIOTS!"

The thinly-veiled Not Crusaders jump. 

"You're lucky it wasn't real crusaders who found you like this," she lies, "those costumes wouldn't fool a dretch. For fuck's sake, if you can't find matching emblems, cover them up! In the name of," Baphomet or Deskari Baphomet or Deskari whatever pick one, "Baphomet, you had better get out of here and leave this place for me to deal with, and smarten yourselves up if you're going to go on pretending! You're a disgrace to infiltrators everywhere!" 

Must not laugh. Must not laugh aloud. Must not keel over laughing and break the ruse. 

"Seriously. If you're going to wear stolen armor, you'd do better to stuff rags in all the places where it's loose."

"Sorry," Chaleb says, "sorry, we'll get out of your way, ma'am." 

"I do enjoy your sense of humor. It's quite fiery," he says when the cultists are gone, still mostly holding back laughter. 

She grins and pumps a fist triumphantly. "Better my sense of humor than these books! Or the people on them, obviously. Hi! Sorry about that," she tells the people on the pile of books, going over to untie them. "I figured it was better to get them out of here without a fight, instead of risking them lighting the fire while we were beating them up." 

"Thank you," says one of the men, climbing to his feet and rubbing at his wrists to get the circulation back. Once he's reasonably satisfied with that, he bows to her. "Allow me to introduce myself; I'm Brother Klaem, of the Order of the Flaming Lance. We thought we were doomed." 

"You're welcome! --And are you, by any chance, the Storyteller," she asks the elderly-looking elf.

"I am indeed. Thank you for the rescue." 

"You're welcome! Actually, we came here looking for you; there's something wrong with the Wardstone, and you were our best lead for figuring out what."

Sigh. "I warned the authorities of Kenabres that the local Wardstone had been desecrated. They waved off my warning and paid for their inaction. I have examined many Wardstones, and only in this one did I sense a flaw, a spot of corruption inside. A vulnerability that the demons have clearly already exploited...if they are able to spread the blight further, and corrupt it fully, it will be a truly terrible weapon...it frightens me to think what they will be able to do with it. The Wardstone must be destroyed." 

"Destroyed? Isn't that a little much? I mean--isn't there some way to fix it instead?"

"Perhaps...perhaps. But I do not know what it is. And delaying to try to find one carries great danger."

"Do you know what the flaw is?"

"I'm afraid not. To understand the nature of this blight, we would need to understand the nature of the Wardstone itself, and this is hidden from me...I can only guess. Have you heard of the Red Morning Massacre? A dreadful morning remembered with fear even by those not yet born at the time. A demoness called Minagho invaded the city with a crowd of her followers, and began the killing and desecration that demons do best. They say she covered the Wardstone with the blood and dismembered corpses of her victims...could such an abomination darken the radiance of the gift of Iomedae herself?"