18 Pflugzeit
I should probably stop writing now lest I damn myself in the eyes of whoever reads this but I find that I cannot. I must put these words on paper so that the true story of what happened that night in Bögenhafen is not forgotten. A copy I will send to Bova von Dunkelberg and urge her to investigate the foul cesspool of corruption that is Bögenhafen.
We brought Friederich Magirius with us to see Johannes Teugen, one of the big names of Bögenhafen, a key member of the Ordo Septenarius, and the man to host the most recent gathering of heretics. Yes, heretics. I call them out by their true name. I don't know if Magirius was delusional, merely misguided, a fool, or a monstrously accomplished liar. It's not important. Whatever he believed he was doing - maybe he really believed he was helping the city - doesn't matter. He's objectively a heretic - the human sacrifices and the sorceries were proof enough of that.
After a debate with some of the Graf's soldiers, Fabergus Heinzdork had apparently secured the Graf's support, we entered the mansion of the House of Teugen. Such opulence, such a meaningless display of wealth. If ever I become as rich, I'll do more with my gold than spend it on carved woods and ornamentation. I'll use it on fine wines and dresses for a procession of Bretonnian mistresses.
Johannes Teugen was a slippery sort, more willing to comply than expected, but unexpectedly unfazed. I demanded to be taken to Lady Isolde and the rest of our friends. He offered the use of his carriage. I declined. It may have been a mistake. Not shooting him in the face on sight might also have been a mistake. Coming to Bögenhafen might have been a mistake. But you cannot always know the consequences of your actions. Nor can you shoot every rich sod you meet and claim he's a heretic. You must act as you think best and see what happens. Life is curiously like a battlefield in that regard.
We were attacked by footpads as we neared the riverfront. They were too many and too determined for a random mugging. I can't prove it but I know the cult was behind the attack. Maybe we were being watched all the time. Maybe Magirius or Tuegen used sorcery. Whatever the cause, we were attacked, and had to fight for our lives in empty streets, surrounded by the thick mist coming from the river, the night lit by the light of the two half-full moons.
We got all of them. Or enough that the rest ran away. I don't know which and I don't care. Magirius and Tuegen were gone too. We had one man dead and another watchman wounded. I staunched the bleeding. He'd live to die screaming another day. That left me, Ulfberth, dear Thesalva, Philippe, Captain Goetrin, and one of his watchmen.
Without Teugen to guide us we had something of a problem on our hands. We knew we were going to a warehouse on the docks, but I hadn't asked which one. Then again, had I asked, that pale bastard Teugen would probably have lied and we'd been left none the wiser.
Next, we were attacked by elves, the very ones stalking Thesalva. They had been tracking us all this time and now that we were exposed and weak they thought to finish us off. We were saved by the gods, specifically by Randal (except the last watchman who took one arrow too many). Thieves really do have a code of honor, at least in Bögenhafen. Among other things, it dictates protecting good citizens of the Empire from assault by foreign elves. I shall speak no more of the matter as these are good men, but not exactly law-abiding citizens.
We went through several warehouses owned by Tuegen without luck. With the help of some stevedores (the night rates are exorbitant - that's guild labor for you), we expropriated some bits and pieces and had it loaded on the Berebeli. The rest we handed over to the good people of Bögenhafen. Damages and restitution for the hardships they have suffered at the hands of greedy merchants. It's only fitting they be compensated. Only the gods know what fate awaited them had we not stopped the cultists.
The events that took place inside Warehouse 17 I will carry with me forever. As we entered, we came under attack by a sword-wielding woman. It was Marie, fighting with the strength of ten men and caring not that she was trying to murder old friends. Much as it hurt me, we had to put her down. As she fell, a shadowy shape - like the one from the sewers - fled her body and vanished.
Up the stairs, we went, to the 1st floor. We could hear chanting from the other side of a door. They must have heard us killing Marie - gunshots are nothing if not loud - but couldn't stop their foul ritual. Ulfberth broke down the door. That nearly cost him his life - a warding spell of some sort flung him away like a ragdoll. But the way was now open and we burst into a ritual chamber identical to the one hidden in the sewer temple.
Isolde was there, her dead body slumped across the bronze disk, her lifeblood spent to consecrate the foul circle of sorcery. Seven masked and robed men - the inner council of the Ordo - and an eight man whom I took to be Teugen's cousin, Gideon. A wild fight ensued. At one point things looked like it would all turn sour but Ulfberth got back up and went berserk on the bastards. Like a wild beast, he fought, tearing through our enemies like they were lambs sent to slaughter.
What came next is for Bova's eyes only. It doesn't belong in a journal like mine.
Few were left standing after the debacle. I was injured, but not badly. Same with Thesalva. Philippe was in bad shape, bones broken, and unable to stand. The captain had lost his eyes but was otherwise unscathed. Ulfberth was in a state, but alive.
Of the cultists, only Magirius and one other remained alive. Teugen was dead at Ulfberth's hands, Gideon at mine. Several of the others had been shot dead by blunderbuss, pistol, and rifle - or had arrows sticking out of them. Not a warrior among them, only burghers and merchants. Should have hired more guards or learned how to fight.
Herr Erster Stadtrat Magirius was most apologetic. He sounded truly sincere but I was angry about our friends and felt like killing him then and there. Luckily for him, I did not. Instead, I went to look for Janna, that perhaps she might be salvaged. I did not find her, but I did fin Lady Isolde. They had swapped clothes and thus the servant had saved her mistress. Merciful gods. She looked a bit shaken but she'll make a fine wife nonetheless.
With Isolde alive, I decided to give Magirus the benefit of the doubt: I think he was a fool and a greedy and gullible one at that, but he had not openly embraced the darkness. Why do I think this, you might ask. It's a fair question. That very morning, Friederich Magirius freely gave us all his monetary assets and valuables. I tried telling him to give it to the temples, but he would have none of it. The Order of Seven had already donated to the temples and they had gladly taken the corrupt gold. We had saved Bögenhafen and we should have the reward.
Addendum: I later learned that poor Magirius had hanged himself after we left his house. His actions weighed too heavily on his conscience. He's with Sigmar now.
The last survivor (I shall not mention his name here as there are legal proceedings underway that could complicate matters) was equally burdened with a heavy conscience, and before he expired he begged me to accept a letter of credit of some ten thousand crowns. Take this blood-stained silver off my hands, he said to me, so that perhaps my soul can be salvaged. Spend it on women or drink, he said, or put it to better use. Whatever you do, it will better than it follow me into the grave.
And that was that. With all that had transpired, it was hard to tell friend from enemy, or what scapegoats might be burned in the Götterplatz. Perhaps Heinzdrok was still alive, perhaps not. perhaps he'd be friendly, perhaps not. The graf was a big unknown. Time to settle our affairs and bid Bögenhafen goodbye. I swung by Richter, the half-torched inn, had a chat with Randal's get (those elves won't trouble Thes no more and Janna's and Marie's bodies will be given proper burials), and hired Lock, Stock, and Barl to represent me in financial matters after my departure.
When at long last Bögenhafen disappeared behind a bend in the river we gathered on the overfilled deck of the Berebeli for schnaps. I drank a lot of schnapps. I hope I never see Bögenhafen again. If I do, I hope it's burning.
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