Franz Lohner's Chronicle - High Summer

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.

You know what? This place is going to be the death of me. Between the crumbling stonework, the unforeseen    and the wailing voices that haunt a body’s dreams? Well, it’s enough to drive an honest soul to distraction … and I reckon I broadly qualify.

Thing is, I’d more or lessen gotten used to all that, but the approach of summer’s added another entry to Lohner’s Little Book of Woes: chiefly, the lamentable state of the drains. I mean, I say “drains” but that’s being a mite over charitable. I can’t help it, I’m a generous soul. Ask anyone. It’s why I always have a kind word for Kruber’s fashion choices, even the ones that most folk would find a little excessive. But these drains? Beyond the pale, they are.

Half the problem, of course, is that they’re not really drains at all. More an ingenious use of the pre-existing catacombs. Now, I’m not generally a fan of building fortifications on top of burial grounds, because Ranald knows the dead don’t exactly rest easy in this benighted world of ours, but it seems the architect didn’t see it my way. Fortunately, however long we’ve been here now – the days do tend to blur a bit, don’t they? – we’ve yet to have any kind of undead uprising beneath our feet. Maybe they’re light sleepers? But there’s trouble wafting our way, even so. Somewhere along the line, makeshift sewer got all kinds of backed up, and don’t we all know it now the temperature’s rising.

Kerillian was the first to decamp. Seems even her appreciation of the range of nature’s bounty has limits. Kruber went next, citing bad memories of something in Bögenhafen. Saltzpyre claims not to have noticed anything, but I’ve always had a suspicion his olfactory senses aren’t exactly top-notch. Bardin has definitely noticed, but doesn’t seem to care. And Sienna’s threatened to wander down into the sub, sub basement and set the lot ablaze –  a suggestion I’ve vetoed out of fears of something explosive.

I don’t know … maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll turn out to be some kind of ratman plot, and I’ll have the leverage I need to have the Five go and restore a measure of fragrancy to proceedings. Otherwise it’ll be yours truly with a shovel, a stiff drink and a pair of nose plugs like you wouldn’t believe. I get all the mucky jobs, don’t I?

I tell you something though - this will be the first and last time. The more I think on it, the more I reckon we need a need base of operations. I really should talk to Rosalinde and get something fixed up.