[!]

Throughout the nights, the soft sounds of weeping could be heard near the library and near by street. 

If one were to investigate it would seemingly be coming from Viktoria and Blythes house. 

[!]

A rather varied group of masked, short, small, average, tall and horned individuals return to the spire as the last clouds of rain break, soaked through, caked in mud and twigs / leaves stuck in their hair. The lot return tired, some supporting one another but otherwise in good spirits, chatting and exchanging comments on each other's skills and at times their own shortcomings. Seems some fun was had out there, fortunately with no unexpected events.

The Sparring Pit, since flooded by the recent storm, has become something of a hangout spot for Woglets.

They can often now be seen swimming, bathing and relaxing inside (and around) the flooded Sparring Pit, as if it was their own private pool.

Woglets have been Evicted

The Woglets have been driven out of the Sparing Pit.

In a strange turn of events, Spirefolk witness an army of Woglets driven from the Sparing Pit and through town, lured by baskets of shrimp and herded like cattle. They are taken to the Woglet Sanctuary, the pond north of town besides the Hermetic Assembly.

Three eggs were found amongst the now-drained Pit.

[!]

Something is different about the dour, darkly dressed scholar.

She has been seen smiling more, laughing easier. 

In a way, it doesn't seem to fit her, the apparent ease on her usually stern face.

Those familiar with Ofelia Dumont can't seem to shake the feeling that something is off.

As if she's turning into someone else entirely.

[!]

Word has begun to spread in the booths of the Full Cask and in the brief conversations at market stalls.
Two new guilds have been formed in the Spire, comprised of the merchants who deal in the flow of goods in and out of the growing town.

Those in touch with the shadier side of the world recommend a new spot to gather, plan, and take on contracts,
The Hooktrap, an underground bar run by a quiet man with only one rule: No calling the guard.

One thing is certain, there are opportunities here, for the skilled and those with the will to seek it.

[?]

Keep an eye out for some new event lines focused around mercenaries, thieves, detectives, assassins, politics, and more.
If you're interested but don't think you're a part of the groups that might get involved intrinsically, feel free to reach out to me.

[!]

Where is the woman with her arms outstretched? 
To the ocean she loves, with nothing to lose.
Singing…

A Siren’s voice rings out along the shoreline, accompanied by an ethereal harmony. Though her technique is rough and her lyrics are unpolished, her breath is strong - unwavering in her faith in the Serene.

Errant barking laughter echoes the Spire's streets, carrying cantankerous melodies of honest and volitile pride, as well as the promise of violence, and a forever war.

The Spire's Greatest Hero, has returned.

[!]
The scythe wielding blacksmith has sustained an injury and has gone into a deep sleep.
He has not been seen for a few days, his forge grows cold.

Lovely:

[!]

A group of five set out from the Spire days ago.
A Knight wielding a sword and shield. A Fireborne with a bow and wings on her back. A young Squire and Adventurer ready to take on the world.

And a Healer with little more than a smile.

That was several days ago, and several more have passed.
Only four now return. Stoic, silent, angry.

What went wrong…?

[!]

More than a month had passed, and one face out of the five still had not returned to town.
Except . . .

One familiar Healer walks the Spire's streets once more, smiling at those she passes.