Franz Lohner’s Chronicle - Spiteful Pleasures
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? If it’s not one thing around here, it’s another. By which I suppose I could paraphrase that if it’s not terrible ghastly evils from the dawn of time rumbling around and causing yours truly all manner of headaches, it’s probably Kerillian.
Maybe it’s a longevity thing? Sure, she’s not eternal in the same way a particular horned-bonced botherer of our recent acquaintance, but she’ll certainly outlive the rest of us. I mean, unless Saltzpyre finally runs out of patience with her nonsense and does something the rest of us will likely regret.
In fairness, it’s not actually Kerillian herself that’s causing the trouble this time, but those creepy little spites what have been following her around ever since she rededicated herself to the nastier end of the Elven pantheon.
What started out as laughing in the walls and the odd trinket going missing has escalated to dead rats being left on pillow, bloodletting of the sleeping with teeny tiny little needles - probably better not to ask why - and the etching of eye-watering runes on every door and lintel in the building. Or so Olesya tells me, anyway. Turns out these particular runes are invisible to the naked eye unless you’re a practitioner of shadow magic. But then, she would say that, wouldn’t she? All I know is that I get a headache whenever I cross the keep threshold these days, and not because Bardin’s giving it the full Marius Leitdorf on that brass instrument of his. Never thought I’d long for the day when the worst I had to look forward to was an ear-shredding blast of “Over the Mountain” split notes and all, but there you go.
As I might have hinted, Saltzpyre’s taking it hardest. Doesn’t really make a distinction between the spites and full-fledged daemons, and I’m not unsympathetic to that point of view, having woken up with a tiny razor-toothed hedgehog-child jabbing at my eyes with a tiny spear. Don’t get me wrong, it was sort of adorable, but only sort of. Left to his own devices, our Witch Hunter’s going to make things even worse, and I can’t be having that. Maybe Kruber can talk some sense into him, but I doubt it. Old Salty’s even more withdrawn of late - and you know what I think about that - but something’s got to be tried, or it’s gonna be trouble.
Maybe I’d better have a chat with Kerillian instead. Send Olesya in first, sort of thing. No heroes around here, after all. Only survivors.