Franz Lohner's Chronicle - Blood for the Blood God
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.
No doubt about it. Saltzpyre’s determined to have a crack at the Citadel of Eternity. It’s like the dam burst when he finally confessed it to me last week. Like telling one person was as good as telling the world, and there was no turning back. Bit of gamekeeper-turned-poacher in that, I reckon. I dread to think how many poor souls have found themselves on the end of a red-hot poker, Saltzpyre on the other, and nothing for them in-between but to keep talking until there’s nothing left to say.
Like I mentioned before, this is likely to mean a trip up into the Chaos Wastes. And the others? Well, they took the news better than I expected. I mean Kruber, yes. I’m not sure the full scope of the matter’s really sunk in with him yet. Bardin had that “slayer oath” look in his eye. Both Sienna and Kerillian looked guilty. No change there, especially with all those long, lonely walks taking in Morr’s Field, those elven ruins a couple of peaks over, a stretch of petrified forest and lots of other places my lads daren’t follow. Always the two of them together, and never a word of what they’ve discussed. I don’t reckon it’s girl talk. I’ve the odd feeling they’ve been on parallel paths to Saltzpyre of late.
Or maybe they’re having bad dreams too. I could swear there was something trying to get in my window last night. Didn’t catch a glimpse until a bolt of lightning lit it up, and even then I didn’t see much. Just wings and teeth, and barely there at that. I asked Olesya to strengthen the wards, and you know what she did? Gave me a sprig of blackhame, and said it wasn’t looking for me. Suppose she thought that was comforting.
Here … you don’t suppose they’re all in it together, do you? Monstrous regiment of women.
Anyway, my nightmares – if nightmares they are – ain’t a patch on what’ll be waiting for the others up north. The Chaos Wastes are an uncivilised land, forever battled over by the followers of the Chaos Gods, forever seeking the favour of their dark masters.
The big bad among big bads is Khorne, the Blood God. He’s not the most subtle of fellows, by all accounts, and has a temper to make the world tremble. He revels in slaughter and despises magic – which I’ve always thought a pretty peculiar trait in a god – and famously seats himself on a throne of skulls. Must be a pretty big throne by now, because his followers dedicate their triumphs to him by means of decapitated crania. They’re not exactly subtle fellows, as I’m sure is coming across.
Some say Khorne’s a god of war, and so he is after a fashion. All them Dark Gods are, to one degree or another. But more properly, he’s a patron of slaughter. He doesn’t care whence the blood flows, so long as it does. Nor do his followers. Honour, justice, vengeance? Distractions. The organised murder of a ritualistic duel? Irrelevant. It’s carnage, all the way down, with the strongest, loudest and meanest emerging triumphant above all.
From what Saltzpyre says, our plucky band should be able to avoid the territory held by the Khornate tribes, but that doesn’t mean we’re free and clear. The Chaos Gods have wandering gazes, and you never know when the Blood God’s going to turn his eye our way.
Look at that. I’ve just gone and given myself nightmares.
Well done, Franz. Well done.
