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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.
FRANZ LOHNER'S CHRONICLE - THE FATE OF GRUNGNI'S WHISPER
Still no luck finding Bardin’s daughter, sad to say. It’s depressing, really. Time was, a goblin couldn’t sneeze within the bounds of the Old World without me hearing about it – if I were interested in greenskin nasal discharges, leastways – but nowadays it’s getting harder and harder to lay my hands on solid information. Getting old, that’s the problem. Spying’s a young man’s game.
Recent events don’t exactly help. World’s gone mad, and that’s trouble for those of us who pride ourselves on having a bit of sanity left.
So what do I actually know? Well, I’ve had word from Barak Varr that a Hedda Bardinsdottir took ship – as captain, no less – on the nautilus Grungni’s Whisper about a year back. Nothing since, not about the Whisper, nor anyone aboard. Mind you, that’s about standard for a nautilus. Sneaky little submersibles. I like ‘em. I tell you, if we had even one patrolling the waters of the Reik, this Rotblood bother of ours would be much less of a bother. Nothing says ‘get off my land’ better than a torpedo right in the supply barge.
But I digress. Might be that this disappearance is where the tale ends, but my twitching nose says otherwise. This don’t feel like an accidental disappearance, but something deliberate. The Whisper doesn’t want to be found, and likely neither does young Hedda.
I suppose I’m left with no other choice but to see if her mother has any ideas. Not something I do lightly. ‘Overprotective’ doesn’t begin to do dwarf lasses justice. You know how you never see their womenfolk in the battle line? That ain’t because they can’t fight. It’s because every dwarf knows that when you march to war, you leave your sharpest axes behind to defend your home, like Valaya tells you. If you’ve not heard that before, happen you’ll want to think on why that might be.
If the thought of charging a dwarf shield wall chills the blood, spare a thought for those who sneak into what they think is an abandoned hold when the menfolk are away. I’d sooner corner a dragon in its lair than chance the fury of a dwarf maid defending her clan’s beardlings and her ancestor’s tombs, so you can see why I’m wary of troubling Grelda Thrangsdottir about private family matters.
Still, I owe it to Bardin to try. Let’s hope I don’t regret it.
FRANZ LOHNER'S CHRONICLE - THE FATE OF GRUNGNI'S WHISPER
Still no luck finding Bardin’s daughter, sad to say. It’s depressing, really. Time was, a goblin couldn’t sneeze within the bounds of the Old World without me hearing about it – if I were interested in greenskin nasal discharges, leastways – but nowadays it’s getting harder and harder to lay my hands on solid information. Getting old, that’s the problem. Spying’s a young man’s game.
Recent events don’t exactly help. World’s gone mad, and that’s trouble for those of us who pride ourselves on having a bit of sanity left.
So what do I actually know? Well, I’ve had word from Barak Varr that a Hedda Bardinsdottir took ship – as captain, no less – on the nautilus Grungni’s Whisper about a year back. Nothing since, not about the Whisper, nor anyone aboard. Mind you, that’s about standard for a nautilus. Sneaky little submersibles. I like ‘em. I tell you, if we had even one patrolling the waters of the Reik, this Rotblood bother of ours would be much less of a bother. Nothing says ‘get off my land’ better than a torpedo right in the supply barge.
But I digress. Might be that this disappearance is where the tale ends, but my twitching nose says otherwise. This don’t feel like an accidental disappearance, but something deliberate. The Whisper doesn’t want to be found, and likely neither does young Hedda.
I suppose I’m left with no other choice but to see if her mother has any ideas. Not something I do lightly. ‘Overprotective’ doesn’t begin to do dwarf lasses justice. You know how you never see their womenfolk in the battle line? That ain’t because they can’t fight. It’s because every dwarf knows that when you march to war, you leave your sharpest axes behind to defend your home, like Valaya tells you. If you’ve not heard that before, happen you’ll want to think on why that might be.
If the thought of charging a dwarf shield wall chills the blood, spare a thought for those who sneak into what they think is an abandoned hold when the menfolk are away. I’d sooner corner a dragon in its lair than chance the fury of a dwarf maid defending her clan’s beardlings and her ancestor’s tombs, so you can see why I’m wary of troubling Grelda Thrangsdottir about private family matters.
Still, I owe it to Bardin to try. Let’s hope I don’t regret it.