Franz Lohner's Chronicle - Sporting Chances

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.

Of late, it’s not been as quiet around here as it should. Kruber’s fault. He’s taken it upon himself to coach some of my lads in the fine art of Middenball.

Well, I say fine art, but as far as I can tell, it’s just an excuse to roll around in a muddy field, giving the opposing team a good welly with whatever part of the anatomy seems sensible at the time. The ball itself doesn’t seem to get much of a look in until it gets near the goal. Not for nothing is the pastime occasionally known as Middenbrawl.

And the ball in question isn’t even a ball, would you believe? In my day, you used a snotling and counted yourself lucky. That’s the trouble with the coming generation – no sense of tradition. Couldn’t tell a left-handed curling snotling from a right-handed flinger, and you’ve got to know that if you’re going to throw it right. Otherwise the little stinker could go anywhere.

As to why Kruber’s suddenly taken up sporting interests? It seems – and to my total lack of surprise – that Bardin’s to blame. Wherever there’s trouble, there’s a dwarf. Anyway, Bardin got him talking about times past – specifically those times when Kruber was coaching Ulric’s Howlers. One of the finest teams in the Empire, they were. Fans all across Ostland, which might seem strange – what with Ulric’s Howlers being based in Middenheim – but most Middenball teams are more popular further away than closer to. I reckon it has something to do with the smell.

Anyway, by all accounts, Kruber did a pretty fine job of getting the Howlers into shape. Took trophies and plaudits from one side of the Empire to the other. Alas, the team’s owner had all kinds of enemies. No one’s really sure who arranged that little “accident” with the lift, but by the time it came crashing down no one was fit to earn any trophies – except maybe in a necromancer’s beauty pageant.

That was the end of Kruber’s coaching career. One way or another, he copped the blame for the whole lot. Survivors always look guilty, don’t they? And he did duck out of the lift at the last moment. No one’d touch him after that. I mean, except for those assassination attempts. According to Bardin, he still daren’t return to Ostland. Something about a bounty poster on every street corner. Like I said, the Howlers were a big deal out east.

Let’s hope the story ends better this time. I mean, it should. There isn’t a lifting platform anywhere in the keep, so that’s a good start. But then there’s also the matter of who the Taal’s Hunters would actually play against. Let’s be honest, an Empire under siege ain’t exactly brimming with sporting achievement. Still, so long as there aren’t too many broken bones, it’s as good a form of team-building as any, as the necromancer said to the graverobber.

What is it with me and necromancers today? Oh, that’s right. I need to check in with my contacts in Estalia. Knew I’d forgotten something. Busy, busy, busy.

I’ll have to go. Something’s just shattered one of the windows. If I find out it’s that dratted ball, I’ll have one of Kruber’s hats for a guzunder. They’re normally pretty waterproof, and it’s the only sanction that seems to work with our Markus. Like my old mum used to say, “it has to hurt, or he won’t learn nothing.”