A masked man stands over Telia's body, watching it for only a handful of seconds. The time
felt endless, but he had only purchased a temporary distraction, and Brother Marcus would return soon.
The masked man did not want to be seen there when he did. The masked man hated this temple. He hated this place. Why was she being kept here?
Gazing briefly towards the door, the man drapes a worn, black cloak over the corpse of the tortured woman. He carefully rearranges her hands on top of the cloak -- those very familiar with Telia might recognize it as the cloak she wore for several tenday when she was publicly Zhentarim -- and then places a large, round diamond into her palms. Before curling her fingers around the gemstone.
"We will speak again," he whispers softly, sparing another glance at the door as he bends to kiss her brow. "In this life, or the next, we will."
The promise spoken, he stands there a moment. Unsure what to do. Before a fit of pique boils up inside of him. Not knowing even where it came from, the man expresses it in a rush of magical energy, threading a single spell through the room over and over and over again until he's hunched over Telia's body and breathing raggedly. By the time he is well and truly finished, the entire chapel thrums with abjuration magic.
And then he is gone, in a wink, in a flash, stolen away by some spell -- like the young woman's life force likely had been as well. Nothing to remain but the old, worn cloak and the priceless stone. And alarm spell after alarm spell, overlapping chaotically, repeatedly.
When Brother Marcus returns, and whenever anyone enters the chapel for the next several hours (or until the magic is dismissed), the room explodes in a cacophony of chimes and bells, shivering and tinkling like a thousand angry wind chimes.