My prayers to Mar Nod are met with stoney silence, the Master of Fickleness tests me, my mind now bereft of divine inspiration, although I can recall some arcane runes that a chess spirit endowed, perhaps He is displeased that my Holy Symbol still rests in that infestation of a dungeon, perhaps it need to be returned.
My body is strengthened, my aim improved, but my stamina is not as it was, I feel more vulnerable, especially as some peasant seems to be wearing my holy armour, the crew is much bigger in numbers as I recall, a gaggle of thieves waiting for us to fall so as to relieve us of our valuables.
The great warrior tells us of the mighty battle and the riches we gained, and speaks of that left behind, perhaps another visit to the greasy den of bickering tribes to gain funds for our army of chaos.
In this foreign land I would seek guidance, but I fear my Lord of Inconsistency has abandoned my venturing, perhaps He sees a warrior as a better fit for leading the Regiments of Disarray than a holy man.