[!]

Is anybody listening?
I open my mouth - and nothing comes out.
Nothing - nothing’s gonna wake me now.

A pair of boots swiped by a cat. An empty sea shack, devoid of laughter. Hope dissipated into the salty winds - drunken sailors whisper of a metal man, cutting open the sky.

Somewhere, far from the waters - limbs, chained to a wall;  Do not kid yourself - no one is coming for you, the woman thinks to herself, a whisper of a laugh escaping her lips. Her weary gaze turns over to her cellmate, dressed in finery - She bows her head, uncaring.

[!]

Rumors have begun to swirl about a woman sometimes found at the Cask.

A quietly familiar blonde, occasionally engaged in hushed conversation

on the taboo topic of returning from beyond the pale.

[!]

[?]

If your character has died, there's now plausible reason to come talk to Eta (even if they're yet to meet). Just reference the rumors! Sounds like she has something to say about the experience...

[?]

[!]

A grubby wet Nell goes dancing and skipping through the town, singing:

The Mistans are a gatherin,

with their mouths a blatherin!

We make a fuss, yes that's a plus!

So please, oh please, come dance with us!

Please, oh please, come dance with us!

Gather round the fire near,

Yes with friends you'll have no fear.

To jest and jeer and shed a tear!

With friends like these the course is clear!

Yes, with friends like these the course is clear.

In just a day, the time is thus!

So please, oh please, come dance with us!

Please, oh please, come dance with us!

The Seaside Ceremony is tomorrow!

[ ! ]

Maliketh spends much of his time within his shrine to the Lady of the Lake. Diligent as ever, tending to the new ground. Reflection is, as usual, free of blood, gore, dirt or sand. Polished and repaired by the blessed waters. Maliketh is, as usual, stoic, quiet, doing his duty to the land. One would think he’s not yet heard.

Whispers spread that as this new ground is christened, he seeks other Oathbound warriors within the Spire, with some intention to pay homage to their connection to the Lady.

Whispers spread that the knight seems to simply be finishing the current task at hand, intent to make his way to the guardhouse in time.

Spoiler

[ ! ]

Word swiftly spreads of an upcoming wedding! Invitations are passed to those closest to the bride and groom, but public announcements are posted as well in common areas. 

Elova and Kilros' are getting married!

For details on the ceremony, click [ HERE ]!

[!]

At the small shrine nestled where sea meets shore, the tides whispered a restless song. The water, usually steady and sure, now shifted with an uneasy hesitation- a subtle quiver beneath the surface, as if the ocean itself struggled to keep its rhythm. Gentle waves that once lapped predictably now hesitated at the edges, pulling back a breath too long before returning, leaving a faint tremor in the sand.

The carved stone altar, kissed by salt spray and time, seemed to lean slightly with the subtle sway, though no wind stirred. The air carried a weight, soft but undeniable, as if the sea held its secrets tighter now, waiting- just barely unsettled, yet far from calm. Those who came to pray felt it too: a quiet murmur beneath the tides, a restless pulse beneath the serene surface.

Troubling.

Woglet Update



With the recent Spire Town expansion, the lake that once held the Woglet Sanctuary has grown and the Assembly that once maintained it moved elsewhere. As days grow shorter and colder, Woglets have begun migrating back towards the ocean from where they came all those months ago.


The Woglet population in The Southern Reach has dropped dramatically, with very few now remaining in The Spire, either as tamed pests or household pets. Those that remain have begun preparing for winter hibernation, by gathering dried foods to take back to their nests.

Those that remain still seem unafraid of interacting with people.
Woglet hibernation will begin in a few months, experts say.

[ ! ]

Passing rumors and remarks would spread of the silver-haired Arsa Sidhe deep within the bowels of the Spire's jail. She refuses to eat her food, speak to any guards or guests, nor even move. She remains asleep most waking hours of the day, her face turning gaunt and eyes growing heavy with exhaustion as day by day passes. Her companion braids her hair, recites prosaic excerpts and stories, and asks her to "Hold on just a little longer..." even if her words go oft go unheard.

[]

 Amongst the other recent news brought by Valkian travelers a particularly scandalous tidbit emerges- a prominent merchant woman has been killed, brutally murdered and her manor burned to the ground. The word is that her eldest child has gone missing in the aftermath, and that the estate is being managed by her son.

"I am going home."

Angry words spoken in an ancient tongue. A cold expression that seemingly never changed.

Home she went.

But days passed. The girl with the apathetic expression and floral tattoo that wrapped the left side of her body could not be found. Not at the pit, not loitering by the hospital, not near the barracks, and not harassing Marteen in broken common for apple juice.

She was just simply....

Gone