Journal Sixteen

My companions of circumstance have now added looting from a temple of Sigmar to their list of tricks. Needless to say I was dragged alone for the ride, if only to keep Boris from putting his foot even further into his mouth than he already had.

It seems that in the midst of his religious fervour, Boris noticed a lightning rod attached to the side of the local temple. Lacking the sense to come to me first, he instead approached Gottschalk, the incumbent priest, and started asking whether the temple held any profane magical items and, if so, whether he might have them. Apparently this did not go down well.

The first I heard of it was when Boris returned and voiced his suspicion that the final lightning stone could be concealed within the temple. I do believe he seemed proud of his solo attempt to recover it and, never one to enjoy cruelty to dumb animals, I had not the heart to chastise him.

My plan was simple – we would all disguise ourselves in some fashion and enter the temple while Gottschalk was preaching around the town according to his usual custom. Karl obliged by providing suitable disguises and, although dressing as a farmer is beneath me, I must admit that none who know me would ever suspect someone dressed in such a pungent fashion of being me in disguise.

We entered the temple and from there the crypt beneath it without notice. The crypt itself was small and even a cursory glance showed that the missing stone was nowhere to be seen, so I directed those better suited to the task to pull up the four large yet curiously unset flagstones and start digging.

Our efforts were interrupted by the appearance of the acolyte whom subsequent enquires indicate is called Chlodwick Fromm. One can only assume he offended his parents in the womb. We doused the lights to retain the element of surprise then Karl and Boris enacted my plan with the smooth cohesion of men well used to taking commands. Indeed, so swift were they in throwing a cloak over Fromm’s head and bludgeoning him unconscious that I barely had time to suggest it before they acted.

I must confess that I did not envisage the decision to strip Fromm before we retreated with the stone (found, as I had predicted, beneath the floor), although the practical advantages of both preventing easy pursuit and having the means to conceal the stone outweighed my initial concern at Boris’ enthusiasm for the idea. Having restored the floor to conceal our efforts, those better suited bore the load and we returned to the temple proper.

It would be gauche to point out that, once again, it was only my own swift intervention that prevented my companions from being lynched on suspicion of larceny (ref. the previous incident with the relics of that local hero/zombie) so I will conclude by saying that we made good our escape without fear of pursuit from a temple of worshippers and, having discarded our disguises, presented the final stone to Schulman.

Sad to say, Schulman had no sooner deciphered the inscription and map on the stone than he fled without making the promised payment. Karl’s odd response was to poison the man’s wine, while Boris and Victor feel that hot pursuit is the order of the day. On that basis I am obliged to conclude my account and commit to the chase.

Journal Sixteen

Brash Young Fools destrin Trevelyan