At the Temple of the Holy Lord of Light, voices were raised in far more than whispers as several acolytes and a handful of men from the local Temple Guard stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the gates of the temple while Head Priest Germot stood outside, shouting at bloodied and battered soldiers from the division of the Temple Guard who fought in the plaza.
"I don't care if your orders come from Lord Hugo or Inquisitor Diarmuid," Germot shouted. His face was so red that it had nearly turned purple, and spit flew from his lips as he stabbed a finger into the wounded guardsman's chest. "These men have been touched by witchcraft and they will not defile this sacred Temple!"
"But your worship," the guard protested. "Even if we've been touched by witchcraft, it's not like anyone asked the witch to save us! We were all hurt, some of us dying when the healing rain fell from the sky. We aren't heretics!"
