We've left town. The Seneschal was never in. He had a note left with his secretary that said that he was looking into the staff problem. I hope that he's been out just because it's a tricky problem that requires his full attention and not, say, because he's stumbled on a vast conspiracy that goes above his head and now he's lying dead in a ditch somewhere, or locked up in an asylum. Though considering how today's gone, I feel we ought to check up on him and make sure he's alright.
Because the bastards are always one step ahead of us. It's as though our enemy is an ancient force that's been planning this for thousands of years, cautiously preparing for every eventuality. Or like they know precisely what we're doing, and what manner of battle would give us the greatest trouble. Like there was some greater god, above even Pelor, who delighted in tormenting us, to see what we'll do and laugh at us squirm.
I once met an elf who claimed to follow such a god. He called him Dathilathililavid, Lord of Dungeons or some such nonsense. He felt that our world was only a story being told by that god, and we were mere players in it, and our sufferings were his joy.
He was not the most mentally stable of fellows, but sometimes I wonder if he was on to something.
Because we've found the bandit fort. Only there's no bandits. Or anybody. Just some mist. We know the staff is in there, or at least it is until someone teleports it somewhere else and the price I paid was for nothing.
We'll have to attack in the morning. The best plan anyone has is to create a ruckus at the gate, while Jacob, myself, and perhaps one other teleport in through the back and find the staff. It's risky, perhaps deadly, but I don't know what else to do, and the Paladin bastards that are supposed to have studied this sort of thing don't seem to have any other idea how to go about assaulting a keep with, apparently, no one in it.
Pelor give me patience, and grant us victory.
It seems we'll need all the help we can get.
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