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The templars were attacking the peasants we'd taken food from. They wanted to make certain that everyone fought to the death rather than help us. We took them by surprise with ice and lightning, and several were dead before they even saw us. So much for all that templar discipline—the brutes are off the leash just as much as we are now.
Still, there were enough of them to damp our magic, and the sellswords died fast when it came to blows. We've fallen back into the peasants' home. It's sturdy enough in here, and it looks like the peasants didn't give up all their food after all. The door's locked, and the templars gave up trying to force it after we killed the last fool who tried.
I can hear them out there, doing something out in the trees. Whatever they try, we'll be ready. We're never going back to any Circle. Even real templars couldn't stop us, and these glorified bandits are no better than we are.
—From a page, scorched around the edges, apparently torn from a journal