Franz Lohner's Chronicle - Bretonnian Troubles
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.
Dear oh dear.
Had to intervene in a squabble between Saltzpyre and Kruber today. Or rather, Grand Lector Saltzpyre and Sir Markus de Mandelot, Biggest Damn Hero in all of Helmgart, as they respectively insisted on being called. Not rightly sure that Saltzpyre has actually earned that title, and while Kruber’s a fine, industrious lad he’s not the only one mucking out this particular rat-infested stable, is he? Nonetheless, sometimes even I opt for the quiet – or at least quieter – life.
Anyway, the quarrel itself had begun around Bretonnia, seemingly. Or recent events therein, anyway. Short version is that King Louen’s illegitimate son Mallobaude had taken up with a bad crowd – the sort that don’t have a lot of flesh on their bones, if you take my meaning. Led an uprising that seems to have left dear old king Louen dead and the realm in a bloody shambles.
The exact details are a bit of a shambles too, if I’m honest. I mean, I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, but even I can’t quite pin it all down. There’s some stuff about the Black Grail of Mousillon. Whispers about Heinrich Kemmler the Lichemaster – him and Bretonnia have one ding dong of a grudge match going, so it’d be stranger if he wasn’t involved somehow. And then some crazy stuff about old Gilles the Breton himself marching out of history to lead the nation into a new and grander incarnation.
Like I said, I don’t know how much of that I credit, to be honest. There are plenty of self-described chroniclers of tales giving it that big “I am” by straight up inventing things in the hopes of garnering attention from the masses. History always brings that sort out of the taverns and onto the street corner. Small ripples in a pond, but they still muddy the waters. In ten years, who’ll even know the truth of it? All I’m really prepared to commit to is that Bretonnia’s in a bad way, there’s some mighty evils at play and some damn fine heroism alongside. Same story, but told louder than normal, if you catch my drift?
Not that Saltzpyre sees it that way, oh no. Not him. By his stream of invective, he’s taken the position that Bretonnia has finally slid into outright heresy, “willingly shackled to the bidding of necromantic overlords”. Which doesn’t make any sense if you stop to think about it for even a moment. One of the important things about shackles is that you can’t really describe the wearers as being willing in any manner of speaking.
Not that Kruber pointed this out. No. His response tended rather more to the emotional, shall we say? In no time at all, the athenor terrace was blazing with light and blessed fire, with the real prospect of someone taking a divine wallop that they weren’t walking away from.
Olesya was no bloody help. Just rocked back and forth on her stool, cheering both sides on and whooping it up the whole time. Fortunately, the others were a little bit more inclined to help out. Got a bit thrilling for a while there, but Sienna and Kerillian dragged Kruber away in one direction, while Bardin, Catrinne and I hauled his worshipful Lector-ness off in the other.
One went in the river to cool off, the other in the dunny-pit to reacquaint them with the earthier aspects of existence. I’d suggest standing upwind of Saltzpyre for the foreseeable. That might seem harsh, but he did start it. And frankly, he could do with taking down a peg or two. Humility being one of the Sigmarite virtues, apparently.
Let’s hope that’s the end of it. If not? Well, I might have to get nasty.