Journal of W.E. Tupper, Day 151

Day 151
I woke up in the middle of the night, inside a warehouse, wearing leg manacles with "THE SHACKLES OF ROTE OBEDIENCE" etched on them. I don't know where to begin on what's wrong with this, but I will try.

First, heavy-handed social commentary is even more annoying when it is strapped to you. Secondly, the warehouse was #32. That alone was discomforting enough, but then somebody had to booby-trap it up to the Bs. There were bear traps hidden with illusion spells, innocuous-looking crates that spat darts by the dozens, and something that looked like a pit trap except it exploded once I disarmed it. I don't want to even think about the goats. At least my abductor was kind enough to bring my bag of tricks along, though Ed the 3rd had a noble death along the way. It was a cakewalk, but only in the sense that my feet were splattered with various ingredients at the end of it. When I finally managed to limp through it all, I found my reward in a corner: a crate. A very distinct and familiar crate. It was the high point of my year that nobody was in it this time, just a crossbow and a note: "For overcoming your fears. May we unite against the true enemies of justice. - 4C". This was the point when the gnome landed on my back.

It was Cogmer. Apparently, as far as I could piece together at the time, my childhood mentor had heard about the crate incident (him and every gossip in Point). He was so inspired by the tale that he set about on a mission to aid the Sable Lions in their duties. But the Sable Lions, in his professional opinion as a prick, are doing it wrong. So he got himself a suit of armor, painted it black, and went marauding about the city on goatback; all in the name of "fighting'" crime. He even claims he's responsible for cleaning up the Thrums. He chose the name '4C' because it sounds like 'fiorsi;' the gnomish word for either Justice, Vengence, or Explosions (he wouldn't clarify).

Oh yes, and now that I have clearly come back to stay, he says he wants me to be his… sidekick. I was awake enough at the time to treat the little psychopath with kid gloves and told him I'd think about it. He told me to meet him at my room this evening for the nightly patrol of the city. Great. Maybe I can even keep him out of trouble. At least I got a large and unwieldy crossbow out of the deal, though I'm hesitant to sell it within the city limits.

Then I returned to the inn to find a guardsman standing outside my door. I had been robbed while I was away. I cannot possibly imagine who could have compromised the locks. Lost about 3,600 gold pieces and a sock. There will be words with that gnome. Words and crossbow bolts.

Going back to bed with the knowledge that a delusional and reckless madman in magical armor will soon clamor into my room and demand that I follow him around the city in some warped pursuit of justice. One day, I will have a life where nothing tries to kill me or convert me, and it will freak me out.