Franz Lohner’s Chronicle – Gathering Clouds

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.

Well, you remember how I said I could feel trouble brewing? Well, turns out I was right. Always am when it comes to trouble. What a life I lead, eh?

You might recall I was planning on talking to old Lutonius down in the village. Can’t beat an astromancer for making the murky environs of the future a little bit less so, even if they do talk a load of old rot into the bargain. Not a happy phrase, as it turns out.

You see, Lutonius has been a recluse as long as I’ve known him, but when I got down to the village I learned it had gotten far out of hand. Months, it had been, since someone had last seen him outside his tower, and that only redoubled my resolve to seek him out. I mean, there’s being a recluse and there’s being antisocial. And then there’s being something else, which is stone dead.

Cutting a long story short, Lutonius was the last of the three, and I wouldn’t call it natural causes either. The innards of his tower were thick with daemonic growths. You know, tentacles, plants, snapping mouths and the like. A revolting cornucopia in delicious greeny-brown. Lutonious – or rather, his remains – was sat upright in his favourite chair, maggots crawling through withered eye sockets and a thick, black ooze seeping from cracked lips. Had to burn the lot in the end. Hated to do it. Decency aside, there were some pretty valuable bits and bobs in that tower – a collection spanning a lifetime – but sometimes you’ve just got to let fire do its thing, haven’t you.

Poor old Lutonious. Seems some daemon had it in for him, and that was that. Being a wizard ain’t exactly sunbeams and flowers, and sometimes your luck just flat runs out.

And if that wasn’t enough? I got back to the keep to discover that Catrinne was late coming back from Altdorf. Too damn late, if you take my meaning? The kind that had me picturing another pyre. Thankfully, Sienna and Kerillian were well ahead of me – Sigmar, but those girls do stick together something fierce – and set out on the Altdorf Road with what can only be described as ‘murderous intent’.

Didn’t hear much for hours after that, but there was plenty of flame on the horizon. Then just as I was fixing to send out another rescue party, all three come staggering into the keep. Well, Catrinne was being carried, but you get the idea. Seems the Pactsworn attacked her coach, and her the only survivor – wouldn’t even have been that but for Sienna and our resident murder-elf. As it is? Well, she’ll heal, or so I reckon, but it could easily have gone the other way.

Maybe it’s Okri’s Grudge Marks rubbing off on us. Maybe it’s friendship, I don’t know. All I’m going to say is that the Pactsworn had better stay clear of me for a bit. All of us, as it happens. Catrinne’s a pompous young gel, but pomposity ain’t in short supply in this keep.

She’s one of us, and we look after our own, and avenge them when we can’t.