Franz Lohner's Chronicle - Gifts of the Wolf-Father

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, well, well. Another Mondstille’s come creeping around again … 

Though thinking on it I’m not sure how that’s happened, because I could swear we’ve had more of them than actual years have passed. I blame the Chaos Gods. Or at the very least, them what worships the Chaos Gods. Messing with the natural order of things? It ain’t right, especially at my time of life. Now, if they could arrange an extra hour in bed every morning? Or maybe not. That’s probably what Saltzpyre would call “the comforts of damnation” and that’s a lecture I don’t need.

Anyhow, it definitely ticks all the right boxes from Mondstille. There’s snow on the ground, wolves howling out in the wilderness and the days are shorter than Kerillian’s patience. We’ve got the Taal-log burning in the fire to keep evil beasties at bay and pelts hammered up at door and gate to issue warning to the furry little bleeders that no one in Taal’s Horn Keep is going to end their story in a wolf’s belly. And … well, there’s something else on top of that. 

Seem’s someone’s been leaving little gifts around the place. Small things, mostly. Coins, brooches, wood-carvings, trinkets … even the occasional hat. No one I’ve spoken to knows who’s doing the deed. Folk claim to have glimpsed a stranger in the snows, but folk around here are always claiming that, and when they’re right it’s normally a ratman. 

Bardin, of course, claims it’s Cousin Okri, spreading cheer as only a dawi can. Saltzpyre holds it to be some itinerant priest with a muddled understanding of an ancient pre-Sigmar ritual. Sienna claims it’s all stuff and nonsense and commands the fires to burn brighter. Kerillian mutters about the trickster Loec, and the perils of accepting gifts of unknown provenance. And Kruber? Well, when I asked him he just gave me that lazy, knowing smile of his and launched into a tale concerning the Wolf-Father of Ubersreik, who walks abroad at Ulric’s command, offering comfort and blessing when honest folk need them most. Give him credit, he spins the yarn with glamour and craft worthy of an elf. Almost felt like I was back beside my mother’s hearth, hearing legends of yore. 

And then he belched. Rather broke the spell, if I’m honest.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe I’m asking too many questions. There’s definitely a school of thought that says I should let this one lie and just enjoy the moment of wonder. You don’t get many of those these days, not without a bracing burst of terror crowding close behind. 

Folk are smiling again. That’s enough. Let the new year bring what it may.