News from the Graylands: 2
In today's news, flyers have appeared all over local Phaidecian boards, breeding bulls, and highly promiscuous men. These flyers read as such,"A grand tournament is being held in the home of most noble Lady of Arachnids, Agatha Silkspinner, for the Hand of a Queen of Beauty and Love! Some champions from your fair city are scheduled to participate in the festivities. If you wish to view the proceedings to cheer for your fellow citizens, come down to the edge of the Martyr's Bone Woods to the small, nameless pond that is full of lily pads that are perched on by pale frogs with luminescent violet eyes in the night. Look down into the water and toss down a purple ribbon to indicate that you would like to remain unharmed and unenchanted of a scarlet cockade to indicate that you would allow harm and enchantment to befall you. The hands will bring you to us."
In other news, more and more people in fine clothes and masks of varying colors have been seen gathering in back alleys and descending into the sewers. Servants have noted that their masters have been disappearing in the night only to reappear in the morning. We asked the supposedly-dead, homeless man who shrieks prophetic warnings in the vicinity of the City Gate and he had this to say, "Maybe they are going to the endless festivals of the living masks. Maybe they go to the place where the law walks in obsidian armor and emerald flame. Maybe they go where borrowed flesh walks, fueled by foul lightning. Maybe they go to where the ancient slimy denizens fo the depths walk alongside tiny men in spiffy suits. Maybe they go to worship He who Has a Shadow for a Master! Maybe they go to Him who Counts Seven instead of Ten! Fear and love him! Fear and love the Fingercounter!"
The Council for the Criticism of Names found that "Simply naming a village after its favorite past-time spelled backward does not count as a clever name. Redrum is not a clever name." When asked to comment, a priest of the Hidden Lord who currently works as an adventurer on the Forbidden Isle Guild named Borscht, raised a finger to his lips and shushed us, loudly whispering, "It's a secret!" He then began to tell us the entire story without omission. Apparently, he was sitting in the ceremonially blood-stained outhouse behind the Temple of the Hidden Lord when he had a vision of a dark figure sitting before a mirror with a tome open in front of him and the words were reflected in the warped mirror. He saw dark wool and a plague doctor mask sitting amongst the ruins of a clocktower in flames. He walked outside to see a townsperson horribly murdering another, remembered the reflected words of the tome and came up with the idea. He told us this in such minute detail and taking so much time to rail at us about Dark Gods that it took several mind-numbing hours to finish his story. By this point, one of our reporters had sadly committed suicide.
To the family of Verex Ithik, we offer our condolences. His death compensation check will arrive at your door within a day.
In other news, more and more people in fine clothes and masks of varying colors have been seen gathering in back alleys and descending into the sewers. Servants have noted that their masters have been disappearing in the night only to reappear in the morning. We asked the supposedly-dead, homeless man who shrieks prophetic warnings in the vicinity of the City Gate and he had this to say, "Maybe they are going to the endless festivals of the living masks. Maybe they go to the place where the law walks in obsidian armor and emerald flame. Maybe they go where borrowed flesh walks, fueled by foul lightning. Maybe they go to where the ancient slimy denizens fo the depths walk alongside tiny men in spiffy suits. Maybe they go to worship He who Has a Shadow for a Master! Maybe they go to Him who Counts Seven instead of Ten! Fear and love him! Fear and love the Fingercounter!"
The Council for the Criticism of Names found that "Simply naming a village after its favorite past-time spelled backward does not count as a clever name. Redrum is not a clever name." When asked to comment, a priest of the Hidden Lord who currently works as an adventurer on the Forbidden Isle Guild named Borscht, raised a finger to his lips and shushed us, loudly whispering, "It's a secret!" He then began to tell us the entire story without omission. Apparently, he was sitting in the ceremonially blood-stained outhouse behind the Temple of the Hidden Lord when he had a vision of a dark figure sitting before a mirror with a tome open in front of him and the words were reflected in the warped mirror. He saw dark wool and a plague doctor mask sitting amongst the ruins of a clocktower in flames. He walked outside to see a townsperson horribly murdering another, remembered the reflected words of the tome and came up with the idea. He told us this in such minute detail and taking so much time to rail at us about Dark Gods that it took several mind-numbing hours to finish his story. By this point, one of our reporters had sadly committed suicide.
To the family of Verex Ithik, we offer our condolences. His death compensation check will arrive at your door within a day.
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