Franz Lohner's Chronicle - Something in the Shadows is Giggling
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.
Seems we’ve got a new bunch of housemates. If that sounds like a good thing, then I invite you to think again. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t say no to a few more stout lads and lasses hereabouts – there’s always more work to be done, and our ongoing struggles with the Pactsworn aren’t without cost. Imperial youths? Absolutely! Lifeblood of the cause, and all that. Dwarfs? Sure, if they’re akin to Bardin in temperament. Elves? Well, I suppose. They are handy in a scrap, after all.
Problem is, these newcomers are something different. Or at least, I think so. You see, I’ve not actually clapped eyes on them yet. But they’re definitely there. I can hear them scrabbling around in the eaves, and laughing at me from the shadows. More than that, stuff keeps going missing. Had a whole pouch of shillings vanish off my desk, replaced with a pile of acorns. And I’m using the last of my ink to write this – something drank most of the rest, and left tiny, smeared footprints clean across the hearth into the bargain.
What we’ve got, at least so far as I can tell, is a spite infestation.
Spites, for those who aren’t familiar, are teeny little forest spirits. They come in all shapes, sizes and temperaments, and seem happy to change any of those three things on a whim. Case in point, whenever you’ve heard tales about changelings and abducted babies, there’s probably a spite involved somewhere along the line. Mercurial, that’s the word. Not entirely unlike a certain wood elf I might mention. Or wood elves, generally, in my experience.
Speaking of Kerillian, this is bound to be her doing. Spites and wood elves go together like dwarfs and ale. To be honest, I’m surprised it’s taken this long for any of the little blighters to take up residence. Might be it’s to do with that recent rebirth of hers. She seems to reckon she’s closer to the Weave, and I guess it follows that spites might feel closer to her in turn. Might even explain some of the more … unusual … abilities she’s been displaying lately. Spites love to share their magic if they like you – or if there’s something in it for them.
I’m not going to pretend I’m happy with the current situation, but I’ll not rock the boat for now. Worst thing you can do with a spite is let it know it’s got to you. They just redouble their efforts, and at best that ends with needles jabbed in your eyes while you’re sleeping. Hopefully they’ll get bored of stealing coins and supping ink before too much longer, and things’ll calm down.
Just so long as the bigger ones don’t show up. You do hear tales about spites making bloody great bodies out of deadwood and pounding folk to a pulp.
Maybe I’d better start leaving a bit more ink lying around the place, just to be sure.