An absent-minded man of mysteries, Franz Lohner relies on his bulging journal to keep track of occurrences, intrigues and arguments around Taal’s Horn Keep. Sometimes his notes are even useful, believe it or not. The Franz Lohner Chronicles are extracts from that journal.
Franz Lohner’s Chronicle - Unexpected Guests
I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have this chronicle back in my hands. It’s been missing so long, I couldn’t even tell you when I’d lost it. Turned the keep up and down, I have, and took every scoundrel in the place to task into the bargain.
Sienna insisted Saltzpyre had nobbled it to ascertain as to whether or not I’d been scribbling down heretical musings. Heretical! Me! And this from the man who set us all looking for the Citadel of Eternity! Anyhow, when I’d had a good rummage through Saltzpyre’s chamber without success - some of the things I found there are better left uncommitted to the written page, I can tell you - Kerillian blamed Bardin, Bardin blamed Kruber, and Kruber just gave me that long, patient look I’ve been seeing a lot lately, and ushered me back downstairs with a stiff drink and a pat on the back.
Where, naturally, I found this wretched book in a pile of unsorted stock for the Emporium of Wonders. Where’d I left it in the first place, most likely. Still, I don’t feel entirely unvindicated. There’s been a lot of little notes left in the margins in at least three different styles of handwriting. It’s a damned liberty is what it is, but I suppose under the circumstances I’d be better off not making more of a fuss. They’re all halfway to thinking that I’m just a foolish old man already,
Anyway, I’ve more troubling things to think on.
We’ve got guests. And not more of those “we took a wrong turn on the mountainside, and are powerfully averse to getting gored by beastmen” sort of guests. Dwarfs, in point of fact, and not any old dwarfs at that. This is no less a personage than one Cousin Okri, and a good grumble of longbeards. I’m pretty sure that a “grumble” is the collective noun for longbeards. If it isn’t, it should be, because so far as I can tell that’s all they do apart from fight endless bouts of practice combat and drink honest men out of their meagre stocks of ale.
What brings Cousin Okri – who I have to say is shorter than I expected, which is a strange thing to say about a dwarf – to my door? It’s a matter of honour, because of course it is. Turns out, that the title of “drengbarazi” is a weightier one than I’d realised, and Okri’s not best pleased to hear that Bardin’s chosen to bestow it on the other four-fifths of the Ubersreik Five. He’s insisting that their right to bear it be proven in suitable fashion, and forthwith – which I don’t mind saying is awful hasty for a dwarf. In the meantime, Okri and his grumble have set up camp part way down the mountainside, and the nights have been full of drunken singing and the clash of gromril axes ever since.
I tell you, I can’t wait for the Five to return so we can get this matter sorted out. I’m not getting any younger and I need my beauty sleep.
And besides, I’m sure whatever Okri has in mind won’t trouble my merry band too much.
Almost sure.
