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 - Forbidden History
Every day that passes, I’m learning more and more about the northlands. I mean, that ain’t to say I’m glad to be doing so – there are some pretty ghastly tales told up there, and no mistake – but they do say that knowledge is the true wealth of a life lived to its fullest. As I’ve little enough in the way of actual wealth, I guess that’ll have to do.
Where was I? That’s right: The Forbidden Trail.
Obviously, describing something as forbidden ain’t exactly the closer it might otherwise be, not around here. Old Saltzpyre will describe anything as “forbidden” or “cursed” if he gets even a wisp of something unsavoury. Once of my biggest bugbears with the Order of the Silver Hammer, that. When everything’s an abomination, how do you tell the truly dangerous from the slightly sinful? Lacks nuance, and in my trade you can’t rely on things beings black and white – you’ve got to be able to read the murky bits in between.
But anyway, this Forbidden Trail the Five have found really is one of the bad ones. Seems there used to be a prosperous northlander kingdom where those trees now stand. Coragoz, it was called, and its denizens went in for unholy worship in a big way. You know the sort of thing. Sacrifices running day and night, with all the vile and bloody ritual that goes alongside. Brought captives from clear across the world to feed the fires keep the gutters running with blood. Worse than that, there was no joy in it. I mean, say what you like about Kerillian’s Naggarothi cousins, they’re at least getting a kick out of being inhuman monsters. This lot were like bureaucrats with flensing knives. Dispassionate. Like being smothered by the colour grey.
Centuries, this went on. Untold thousands with slit thrones, gone to the leaping azure flames. And not a peep of thanks from the Dark Gods. But you know what? The Chaos Gods are, more than anything, captives of passion. Vile, unholy, corrupting abominations they may be, but they do love their work. So while the joyless citizens of Coragoz were trying to garner their gods’ attention, those same deities were looking elsewhere for their jollies, and found it with several of the neighbouring tribes who’d suffered at Coragozi hands.
The result was, quite literally, a hell of a battle. Four god-favoured tribes against a city grown strong on slaughter. It was, as Kruber’s old middenball-playing associates might say, a no-score draw. Coragoz was cast down, and the four tribes wiped out to the last frothing lunatic.
What remains of the city – and its colossal wealth – is now buried deep beneath the trees. Draws the occasional treasure-seeker, but I’ve yet to find one who laid his mitts on something valuable and lived to tell of it. Like I said, it’s not called the Forbidden Trail for nothing. Could be there’s still something living beneath the surface. Could be that the gods still hold a grudge against the place. Could be anything, really. That’s the trouble with attempting to make sense of the divine. For every answer, another question comes trundling along, and brings a few mates alongside.
I’ll keep digging. Like I said, knowledge is true wealth. But in the meantime, I’ll be advising the Five to leave their shovels at home when hiking the Forbidden Trail. I’m not that desperate for answers …