Franz Lohner's Chronicle - Territorial Squabbles

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? I never knew Sigmar was the god of wanderlust, but the way old Salty’s carrying on, you’d be hard-pushed to prove otherwise. In the recent past, he’d been taking much more of what he liked to call a “supervisory role” – by which he meant “stay at the keep and mutter over ancient tomes” – but these days? Out in the field more than I’ve seen in a long time, having at the Pactsworn with hammer and heavenly fire. 

It’s a joyous thing to see. That it keeps him from stirring up trouble hereabouts is also something of a bonus.

And trouble’s definitely coming. You remember how I said that our little forays to the Citadel of Eternity had upset the balance of power? Well, even if I didn’t, they have. The Chaos Wastes are a big place. In fact, given the magical goings-on, they’re as close to infinite as you can get… until they’re not. Even so, there’s never enough territory for those who battle for the Dark Gods’ attention. Seems one or two of the bigger names have got it into their heads that the Citadel is something of a prize. No idea whether they want to use its power for their own, or whether they’ve just got a bit of jealousy on, but they’re fighting hammer and tongs to expand the domains into what I’ve started thinking as of our little corner.

Hilariously, our saving grace has come in the form of the skaven. There are so many of the ratty little buggers up there these days – for the express purposes of causing us mischief – that they’re actually defending the Citadel’s surroundings out of a general principle of “if someone else wants it, we should keep it”. In this case, the enemy of my enemy ain’t exactly my friend, but it’s close enough. Can’t be too many dead northlanders and dead ratmen in the world.

Only problem is there’s one among the interested parties who’s head and shoulders above the rest. Quite literally, what with him being a daemon prince. Winged and horned fellow by the name of Be’lakor, known in some circles as the Dark Master or the Master of Shadows. He’s thought to be the very first daemon prince and has spent the thousands of years since trying to get himself a seat at the Dark Gods’ Court of Covenant, or at least a big old mortal kingdom here in the real world. Remember that island of Albion that might or might not exist, depending on who you talk to? Well, if it did exist, Be’lakor was right at the heart of that battle that may or may not have happened.

Enough of that kind of talk. I think I’ve gone cross-eyed.

Anyway, things have never quite worked out for Be’lakor, though he does scheme things up a treat. He is, to put it mildly, a little bit above our pay grade – assuming any of us had any wages – and I’d much rather he toddled off somewhere else to play, thank you very much.

Fortunately – and for the moment, at least – he seems much more interested in whispering in the ears of the Rotbloods, setting himself up as a figure of worship. How do I know this? Well, I don’t, but Olesya says she can hear his whispers echoing through Ulgu, the Wind of Shadow. Sibilant and honeyed all at once. Never cared for honey, myself.

Anyway, I don’t think Be’lakor is going to show his actual face in the Realm of Chaos. He’s not exactly popular with the Chaos Gods, so legend goes, and would likely rather not draw their notice. But he’s definitely muttering in one or two ears, and that won’t end well. In fact, now that I think on it, the Five have been complaining of similar ever since they went to Castle Drachenfels.

Could it be…? Nah. You’re borrowing trouble again, Franz. And no good comes of that.