He walked into the chapel, looking all around. Rows of pews lined the bulk of the main area, unsurprisingly. Heading forth, toward the back of the room, he passed by the opening in the middle only to see many wounded undead looking up at him with blank stares, almost daring him to finish them off rather than heal them again. He was unphased by such behavior, as it was the norm in this age. But his strength was making him hate such cowardice.

He reached the podium in the back, where a man stood behind the stone table. "You must be the one!" He said with a sarcastically cheerful tone. "I hope you know you're the 5th one this week. Look, you're better off turning back and-"

A sword was now poking his neck, instantly making him cut off his speech. "Foolish words to say to someone like me. You don't understand, dear priest. This is why you're sent to be a healer, not a warrior. I have my role, as do you. So stay your mind out of my business, thank you very much. I'm here for one reason: To find someone." The man let his sword down, and the priest swallowed his spit, clearing his throat. "Yes, well, I'm actually new here, I'm not too acquainted with the folk nearby. I can get my superior to help you though." The warrior nodded his head in response, and the priest turned to head into the private chambers.

The warrior's name was Geoffrey, but he cared little for introductions. He sat down on a front row seat, where nobody else was, letting out a sigh and sheathing his long steel blade. Looking around the room once more, he saw little of interest. This chapel was just like the last few dozen he had been in through the years to seek help for his mission. What was it, exactly? To find the one that was robbing everyone of their will.