Mad Lemmey's Painting Blog

Bright sunlight burned into Arthur's face, and as he stirred, he noticed several pews had been dragged out of the chapel into the vestry, and placed face-to-face to make makeshift cots. Fred the Weasel busied himself, changing bandages, and whistling tunelessly while wearing a blur gingham pinafore that he must have found in the chapel cleaning supplies, the warband slowly came round his bunk in the weak, late-evening, sun. "Ohhh, look what the cat dragged in! You all have a pleasant nap?" The weasel asked cheekily as the last of the band struggled oer, looking puzzled and bruised, the mouse sat up. "So, did we win?" Arthur the Church Mouse looked over at the others, the pile of bloodied bandages, and heap of discarded equipment on the floor, "Okay, guess that's a no!" "Define winning?" the weasel laughed, ditching the apron he was wearing and pouring himself a cup of something steaming and herbal smelling. Benedict Otterbranch sat with ...

In the rundown vestry, a fire flickered in the grate while lanterns cast long shadows across the room. Benedict Otterbranch, captain of the Inquisition Warband known (for unknown reasons) as the 'Unused', steepled his paws and looked down from the lectern at the extremely portly mole friar shifting uncomfortably on a bare wooden pew. "So, as you can tell, we had quite the time getting here Brother Moleasticlies. As you are no doubt aware, we have been sent here by the Mother Church to investigate the lack of funds either being put into this fine establishment, or any of the charities for the needy in the environs." The mole looked up with watery eyes and started to mumble under his whiskers. "We have carefully asked around the village, and despite some really VERY generous donations, including by some very affluent landholders, this church appears to have nothing at all in the coffers. Poor as church mce, I believe is the phrase. I would estimate you have conver...