[!]

Over the last few weeks and for the next several, there is a noticeable lack of a certain Healer amongst the Spire.

Siona Fendove is not seen in any of her regular haunts, not even the Hospital has had a glimpse. Few have word of her whereabouts, though the hearth within her cottage still burns bright.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
For many hours into the evening, Eivor was seen knelt before the Spirit's shrine, placing offerings in the flames.
He remained there for the entirety of the night.
By the time the offerings were nothing but ash, the Spirit's Blessed was gone; well on his way to the North East - vanishing into the fog.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

[!]

The usual hospital guard has been missing from her post. Regular patients ((you know who you are)) haven’t seen her in a few days, and whispers amongst the commoners suggest she was seen recently riding through the Albern Crossing. 

Those with the right connections might have a better idea where she might have gone… 

[!]

Travelling a bit for Thanksgiving, so taking a small break. If your character knows Eta well OR you have Dubious Origins, Folk Hero, or Courtly Esteem, shoot me a discord DM for more info on the above, if you’d like!

♪

Late in the evening, a teenager stops in front of a house. They take a left, and can be found asleep aside a still-open book. 

A sheet of parchment lays open near them, covered in messy musical staves and one word in a messy hand.

"Cursesmithy".

♪

In the days to come, the music of a harpist's company can be heard from the docks during the midday.

[!]

Those of keener eyes who frequent the docks could perhaps spot a dim, orange glow along the Southern shores of the beach, near a single tree cresting the coast.

A paper lantern, held closely by a cloaked figure of average height.

Perhaps that's all to the sight that such a sparse audience could find interesting, aside from the gentle lull of the waves, and a breeze that rustled their form of fabric.

After about ten minutes, its glow paused near their hood. Observation, perhaps. Or whispers, given the time of year.

Then, after ten more minutes, it's lifted into the sky.

Up, and up, and up...

...until it intermingles somewhere with the stars.

There's no such light to supply any onlookers with the figure's remaining location - for they had come and gone much like the waves themselves.

¥ Harrowing 23, 1641 ¥

₊˚🂡  Uh.. is that a Walljack Tradition, Too? 🂡₊˚

Rumors spread of a wedding gone sour, deep in the bogs of the realm. 

Vows were exchanged, games were played, drinks a-plenty—but treachery festered and snapped its ugly jaws. 

The night that began in joy and party ended in death and flame—with even the Stewardess’ life on the line. 

…and for the more Dubious of the Spire-folk, another major development would make the rounds: an old, hefty bounty had finally been struck from the books. 

…the Ace was gone. 

There seems to be a new wine shop

down by the docks. Claiming to be selling

vintages from the Midlands of great quality.

Yet it lies in such a small, shabby, almost

shack-like locale, who knows how long it will

stay in business for? Or if this is

merely a temporary affair…

(But for those of more.. Dubious Origins..)

{ ! }

In the early hours of the morning, a puddle of ruddy ichor is found having formed in the street outside of the Full Cask.

A barrel of spilled wine, judging by the scent.

Yet it burns away like fog in the warmth of the sun...

How curious.

[!]

For those visiting the hospital or on the occasion staying: Every once in a while a small child could be heard shouting at someone that she wanted to leave and wanted her father. 

This was usually followed with loud crying, followed by a fit of coughing, then silence. 

✧ [!] ✧

Midday, an absent face makes a return. Raven can be seen on a short trip to the market, then the library in the afternoon. At a distance, nothing is awry.

Up close, there's a certain light missing from the eyes. A tendency to stare into space when no one's nearby.