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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.



So here’s a funny thing. You know how we went tromping up to the Citadel of Eternity looking for the favour of the gods? (That’s the royal “we”, obviously. Franz Lohner doesn’t go tromping anywhere for nothing or nobody these days. Strictly managerial, I am.) Well, seems that we’ve drawn the eye of rather more than we expected.

Before you go getting all flustered, I’m not talking about those Chaos weirdos. While they’re still afflicting the land around the Citadel with all kinds of curses and malign manifestations, that’s more what you’d call business than personal. So far – touch wood – there’s been no indication whatsoever that the dark brothers have even noticed my lot poking around the northlands, and long may it continue.

Nor is it just the five we went a-courting. No, I’m talking about, well, pretty much every other god ever to put on a funny hat and start craving mortal worship. They’re dishing out boons and blessings as if it’s the end of the world, and they’ve a stockpile they’re wanting to blast through before the great cosmic inventory at the end of time.

The gods of elves, dwarfs and men? Well, I guess that was to be expected. Nothing gets a god more jealous than a sibling poking meddling on their territory, so that accounts for Ulric, Ursun, Asuryan, Grimnir and the like. But some of these others? Hailing from every civilisation the light touches, or at least that’s how it feels.

Added to the mix, we’ve got Lustrian Old Ones (which are as near to gods as makes no difference, or so Olesya says) as well as a couple of barbaric deities. The Great Maw (no relation to Morr, one assumes) is worshipped by ogres. Less a deity, that one, and more a bag of endless appetite, but what works, works. Might say the same about the Nehekharan gods, who’ve also nodded a sage animal bonce of favour in our direction a time or two. And then we’ve got a real surprise: Hashut, the dark and brooding deity of what most call Chaos Dwarfs, and about whom Bardin has nothing good to say. By most reckonings, Hashut’s a Chaos God himself – if strictly small fry – so why he’s lending a hand? Probably just likes watching things burn. You get people like that, so why not gods?

About all we’re missing at this point is the Great Horned Rat. I mean yes, technically he’s on the other team, but skaven have made treachery a bit of a sport, and I don’t imagine their god would be any different. Not that I’d want the Horned Rat pitching in. It’s not just that some victories aren’t worth the price. It’s more that it’d be proof that whatever’s going on in the world just got bigger than our little squabble with the ratmen. When the fat’s really in the fire, there are only two sides: the Chaos Gods, and everybody else.

Seems to me it’s getting a mite warmer. I’ve a feeling it’ll get worse before it gets better.

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.



So, Kruber was asking about Mannax Grimblood – you know, the fellow whom Grimblood’s Stronghold is named for? – and I’ll be honest, there’s not much to tell.

By that, I don’t mean to say that Grimblood’s not an accomplished chap, far from it. He’s earned a bleak reputation all along the northern coast. Places big or small, they all know him. Or at least, they know of his ships, and his flag of writhing tentacles on a black field. Made a real mess of Erengrad a few years back, and the number of fisher villages Grimblood’s wiped off the face of the map truly beggars belief.

Thing is – and I mean this with all the deference due to our northlander cousins, which isn’t a very great deal, if I’m honest – so what? Raiding chieftains are ten a pfennig on the Sea of Claws. Worse than that, they tend to show up as a job lot. No sooner has one raid ended than another begins. Murder, pillage, the slaughter of the defenceless … doesn’t exactly help you stand out from the next man, not when the next man’s just burned the same village you’re eying up for tomorrow’s raid.

I think that’s what really gets me about northlanders, if I’m honest. No imagination. No effort to build something that’ll last. It’s just “might makes right” and “victor takes all” to that lot. Sure, it takes guts to charge a shield wall, but it takes a damn sight more to hold the line against a frothing maniac, knowing that even if you survive the day, there’ll be another just like him come hoving into view before the week’s out. Especially when he’s bigger than you, and likely better armed. Because that’s the other thing about northlanders: they’re bullies, through and through.

So yes, Mannax Grimblood? An unremarkable bully. If he’s not dead, he soon will be, and another ruffian like him will take his place. Northlanders might think that’s worthy of song, but that just goes to show what questionable judgement they have. The stronghold, on the other hand … ?

You see, that particular patch of ice has a much longer history than the stockade raised above it. They do say that there was a battle there, some centuries back. Classic last stand stuff. An Ulthuani expedition got itself a bit lost – as folk so often do up there – and made matters worse by somehow drawing the attention of every northlander tribe for miles around.

Ten days the elves held out, despite being outnumbered and undersupplied. But Ulthuani are like that. They’re proud, shading hard into stubborn, and don’t like to admit when they’ve made a dog’s breakfast of the whole thing. Then, just as it looked like they were about to be overwhelmed, the weather changed. The ice, which had been hard as rock to that very moment, shattered, and the grim seas claimed every one of those battling souls, northlander or elf.

They’re still there, trapped beneath the surface – frozen, but kept cruelly alive in all the years since. Like I’ve said before, time flows funny up in the wastes, so maybe to them its still the moment after their heads went under the waves for the last time. Then again, could be they’ve been like that for centuries, trapped, frozen solid and steadily going mad. Or maybe there’s nothing truly alive down there any longer, just undead spirits sealed in the ice. It’s enough to make anyone shiver.

Olesya reckons that’s why Grimblood made the place his lair. Having tortured souls close by lends a certain … puissance … to prophecy, and northlanders like their portents as much as anyone.

All told, I think it’s better that the Five don’t go swimming in those waters any time soon.

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.



I find myself with what you might call a conundrum.

One of my lads brought me a letter this morning. Not an unusual occurrence in itself, of course. Folk like writing to me. Others write to me because it’s the only way I’ll sign off on their expenses. And still more drop me the occasional line with interesting titbits out of hope it’ll stop me exposing their gross financial irregularities to the Imperial court. But I digress.

Suffice to say, I wasn’t expecting this particular letter, which purports to be from one Sofia Fuegonasus, our own Sienna Fuegonasus’ twin sister. Hard to tell whether that part’s true. By all accounts, Sofia’s dead and gone – at Sienna’s hand no less – but necromancers have a way of floating to the surface of the spiritual mire, don’t they?

Now, I hear you ask, why would Sofia Fuegonasus – if Sofia Fuegonasus she truly is – be writing to Franz Lohner, innkeeper, raconteur and journeyman poet? Surely she’d be writing to her sister? Well, leaving aside the whole “incineration” incident, Sofia’s more interested in twisting the arm of yours truly. Specifically, she wants an assurance of my cooperation in some future deed. No details, not as yet, but you can bet it involves Sienna. There’s also an implicit promise that if I don’t do exactly as she asks, then some of my secrets will mysteriously come to light.

Which secrets? Well, the letter was a bit vague on that score and all, but there are certainly plenty to choose from, and more than a few that wouldn’t exactly endear me to current associates. Might get a bit ugly, you might say. The real question – and I speak as something of an expert in the field of arm twisting – is whether Sofia really knows anything, or whether this is a bit of a bluff on her part. Trouble is, there’s no way to know without actually calling said bluff.

Only thing I know for certain is that I’m not going to talk to Sienna about this. At least, not yet. There’s still every possibility that it’s one of the lads playing a prank on their Uncle Franz, and I’ve got me pride – I don’t want to be thought a complete muggins. Yes, maybe it’s that. I’ll keep my ear to the ground.

If it isn’t, and this really is Sofia Fuegonasus, back from the dead and looking to involve me in something I’d rather be no part of? Well, that’s going to require a bit of careful consideration. I’ve a few tricks in me yet. Could be I manage to resolve this without anyone else finding out about it. That’d be nice. A man’s secrets are sacred.

Related note: I should probably hide this journal better.

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.



It’s all go around here again. Saltzpyre’s taken it upon himself to convert one of the outbuildings into a chapel. Spending a good deal of his time in solitude, he is, and doesn’t seem at all inclined to share his thoughts.

Still, I’ve a suspicion he’d have a crack at preaching, were anyone inclined to listen. But my lads have never exactly been what you’d call regular supplicants before the hammer and the comet, and as for the rest of the Five? Well, I don’t see Kerillian seeking out the word of Sigmar, do you? And the last time Bardin joined in with one of those dirges the faithful insist on calling hymns, it caused a bit of a quarrel. Apparently, shifting the tune up tempo and transposing from a minor to major key is a big no-no. But that’s Bardin. He’d make a lament sound like a drinking song.

Anyway, I’ve been doing a bit of digging into Cinder Peak. Sienna’s been insisting for weeks that there’s a ghastly face peering out of the mountainside, and wouldn’t you know it, seems that she might be right. Records are a bit sparse, of course. They always are once you get north of the Sea of Claws, but there are a couple of legends worth tucking into.

Seems that way back when what’s now Cinder Peak was the site of a cataclysmic battle against a Bloodthirster. Now, for the uninitiated, Bloodthirsters – as the name might suggest – ain’t exactly the sorts of chaps you invite over for a bit of socialising. They’re greater daemons of Khorne. You know, the Blood God? Taker of Skulls? Lord of Slaughter? Always a mite angry, so I understand, and his Bloodthirsters are every bit as bad. Also, they’re bleeding enormous and nigh unkillable; slayers of heroes and levellers of armies. I’m not in the business of ranking monstrosities, but if I were, Bloodthirsters’d place somewhere near the top of the list. And this one in particular is, as my old mother would have said “bloody enormous”, so he probably ranks even higher still.

That being the case, I’m inclined to believe these legends when they talk about the showdown with this Bloodthirster – Va’Kharr’oth – “laying waste the mountain”. Daft bugger found himself beaten down, overpowered and sealed away inside the mountain – trapped in a cage of living rock for millennia to come. Impressive work, and no mistake.

Thing is, there’s a bit of a conflict when it comes to who actually did the beating down and sealing away. The dwarfs claim it was Grimnir, which is credible enough as daemon-hunting was very much in his wheelhouse. Adepts of the White Wolf point to Ulric, citing the icy shackles as definitive proof, while in Kislev they tell stories of an epic mauling delivered by Ursun himself. The elves, of course, tell it differently. They say they’re perfectly aware of who did a number on Va’Kharr’oth, but that “we’re not ready for the knowledge”, which is exactly the kind of thing an elf always says, regardless of whether or not they actually know the truth.

One thing’s for certain. You can bet Va’Kharr’oth’s not in the happiest of moods right now. If he ever gets out, I’d rather yours truly wasn’t in his path. I mean, the Ubersreik Five are good, but we’ve all got our limits. Fortunately, I don’t see anyone setting him free any time soon.

I mean, what kind of idiot would do that?

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.



Sonnstill’s here, with all the merriment and cavorting that’s to be expected. Folk like a good party, especially when times are hard. We’ve something of a feast planned for tonight, and I doubt there’ll be a sober head up or down the mountain by morning. 

The festivities themselves? Last I heard, Kruber and Sienna were quarrelling over the details. One of those “quantity versus quality” arguments, I reckon. Our wizard does like the finer things in life, whereas old Kruber? Well, he’s more of a “just keep it coming” sort. Harsh words have been exchanged, but it’ll all sort itself out once the event gets underway – always does with that pair.

The only black cloud on the horizon – not counting whatever devilry’s going on up north – is a rash of disappearances. Last week or so we’ve had folk vanish off the roads. No blood, no muss, no fuss. Just gone. Wasn’t until yesterday that we had a witness offer any explanation for what was going on. Claimed the trees took ‘em, would you believe? You should.

I did ask Kerillian what was going on with all that. Her answer? That the trees were just being friendly, and if it bothered folk that much they should stay away from the forest until the equinox was over. Stay away from the forest? This is the Reikland! It’s all forest. 

But what can you do? Our elf likes to play at being this all-knowing herald of the Weave, but between you and me I don’t think she’s got as much influence as she claims. Or maybe she’s just pretending to be powerless to cover up for some malevolent scheme. I wouldn’t have believed that of the old Kerillian, despite her manner, but this “improved” version? Haven’t figured her out yet, and I reckon that’s how she wants it.

If you’re reading my journal again, Kerillian, do me a solid and give me a few pointers, there’s a good lass. Thanks.

I do hope the trees really are just being friendly. That way, those poor souls might turn up again, sooner or later. I don’t mind telling you that it’s going to put a bit of a downer on the festivities if the abductees have ended up as root-mulch. 

Maybe I should ask Sienna to have a word. She’s about the only one around here that Kerillian makes much practice of listening to and, the human cost aside, she won’t want anything souring her Sonnstill feast. It’s supposed to be a time of life and rebirth, after all, and bough-beaten corpses ain’t exactly conducive to frolics.

[h2]*The Sonnestill decorated keep is now active in-game on all platforms.[/h2]