Franz Lohner's Chronicle - Homecomings

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.

All’s well that ends well, as I don’t often get the chance to say, and I’m in a sufficiently good mood about it that I don’t even mind that I’m writing this purely for the benefit of the voices in my head.

You’ll recall that the last time I got to scribbling, we had two absentees from the keep. Kruber had lumbered off to Ubersreik to pay familial respects and subsequently gone missing on the road. More than that, Saltzpyre’s cat – though he’ll deny he has any affection for it, should you ask, just as he’ll deny he has any affection for anything – had upped and disappeared in only the way a feline furball can. Nothing to be done about the latter, but the former? Let’s just say I polished up my old sword and gallantly led the others on a search.

I confess, I wasn’t sure how well the old bones would hold up to a bit of the old skaven-slaying. I’m not getting any younger, and I’m sure the ratmen get a scab-crusted hair faster with every new generation. But friends are friends, you know.

In the event, I never even had chance to so much as draw my sword. Half a mile past the keep’s outer boundary, who comes striding up the path without so much as a care in the world and a cat riding on his should. Sir Markus de bloody Mandelot-Kruber whistling as if he don’t have a care in the world, that’s who. 

Spun us a tale of a damsel in distress, he did, and a gallant battle against the forces of darkness to boot, and kept the details consistent enough that I might almost believe him. Then there was the look of outright puzzlement on his face when Kerillian quizzed him on the damsel’s name. Proper baffled, he was, which as we all know is a telltale of enchantment. I think the only thing that stopped Saltzpyre claiming witchcraft was that he – as this journal will ever attest – absolutely did not spend the return to the keep hugging the cat in a matter most unbecoming of a witch hunter.

Turns out the blessed thing fell asleep in Kruber’s haversack and only announced its yowling presence when Ubersreik’s charred remains were on the horizon. Seems happy enough now, for whatever that’s worth, and I can’t quite shake the suspicion that it had rather more to do with this escapade than meets the eye. 

Go to sleep, Franz. You’re seeing danger in every shadow. I mean, a cat ensorcelling Kruber? Madness.

On the other hand, I wouldn’t put anything past those bloody things.