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Moving on...
Pale's dialogue written by Clint.

16 Saman 10:00am

Felina glances around her room situated on the top floor of the Blue Beer'd Inn. Things look kind of sparse without Agnor's things lying around. No great sword leaning against the wall, no medicine sitting out upon the table, no clothing thrown haphazardly to the floor. Only a single set of clothing remains. Her own. The only reason I keep them here is if I get a beer or some such spilled on me while I'm here. Her eyes come to rest on the neatly made yet empty bed. Wow, it feels so lonely up here without Agnor here. I guess I had gotten used to having him around. This is for the best though. It's time we both moved on. She turns and leaves the room, leaves the Blue Beer'd, and heads out into the streets going back to the DeMarian manor. As she walks her mind wanders back to another day...

***************

10 Saman

Felina walks up to Pale's open door. Agnor sits at a table filled with mysterious alchemical tools and supplies. He carefully pours a powdered substance into a vial and stoppers it closed. Pale stands behind him watching quietly and nods once. Agnor turns to face him, "How did I do?"

"No doubt you have improved. I have made sure to prepare detailed notes for you, and you will learn the procedure completely through careful repetition in time."

Agnor looks down at the vial in his hand and nods. "To make my own medicine... I never thought it possible. Not for me." He notices Felina out of the corner of his eye. "Felina, look!" He holds out the vial in his hand for her to see.

Felina steps into the room, "Incredible. It seems I came by at the right time." She smiles.

"I have taught him as much as I can in regards to the creation of his medicine. I must say I was not entirely sure he would be able to do it on his own, but he will have it perfected in time I believe."

"I know he can do it." Felina smiles over at Agnor.

Agnor grins back at Felina then stands and faces Pale. "Thanks for the lessons, Pale. I couldn't have done it with out you, obviously."

"Obviously. Give your thanks to Felina though, and it goes without saying that you should purchase your equipment, herbs and chemicals as soon as possible. Also, do not be frugal with your spending as the medicine will lose its potency if you do."

Agnor nods and turns to Felina, "He's right you know. I wouldn't have found someone to teach me had it not been for you. In fact, I'd be in a lot worse shape if it wasn't for your help." He bends down and gives Felina a quick peck on the cheek. "I've gotta get going now. See you back at the Blue Beer'd tonight?"

"Yeah, I'll see you tonight. I'll buy you a beer to celebrate." Felina smiles back up at him. Agnor gives her one last grin and walks out the door.

"Did you see that, Pale?"

"That depends on what you mean."

"The way he walked out of here. He walks with his shoulders squared, head held high. He has confidence."

"Yes, our giant of a gladiator is all grown up now. He will be able to kill at his own whim now instead of doing it for the crowd."

Felina chuckles, "He's a good guy. He'll do the right thing." She then looks back at the empty door way. "It won't be long now."

"You're usually less cryptic in your musings. What exactly are you referring to?"

"It won't be long before he leaves me. He's going out to look for jobs now, and with that confidence, it won't be long."

"Is he any different from what I would imagine to be one of the other many men that have left your side when you let them loose? Not that I am condescending you, but I don't recall you worrying after your flings."

Felina cocks a crooked smile at him, "I've never kept a fling around that long. I guess I just... got used to having him around. Now that I think about it, in all the years I've been in Ceranna, I've never really gotten to know any of my... flings."

Pale clears his throat. "At any rate, did you just come here to see what progress was made or was there anything else I could do for you?"

Felina represses a smile of amusement at his discomfort and then sobers, "I wanted to come by and thank you for all that you've done. You've really gone above and beyond to help Agnor and me. I'm not sure how I can repay you." She looks down as if she's thinking deeply. "Unless... I have an idea." She turns and walks out of the room and over to her own room in the manor.

She grabs a piece of parchment and her quill and quickly writes a note. She hurries back over to Pale's room blowing the document to dry the ink. The ink dry Felina begins to hand the note to Pale and then stops. "Oh wait. I forgot to seal it." She starts to walk back out of the room and stops. "Ah, hell. This should do." She raises the note to her lips and kisses it, leaving behind the pale pink of her lip makeup. She then hands it over to Pale. The note reads:

Whatever you desire of me is yours. I owe you.
Felina Silverleaf


Pale narrows his brow momentarily, then looks up at Felina "Well...to what extent I am to take this? I am not sure what to make of it really."

"It's whatever you want, Pale. If I can do anything for you or help you in anyway, just let me know."

"I see. Although it was not necessary, I will keep this in mind."

"Good. Thank you, Pale." She turns and walks out the door and back to her own room.

*************

16 Saman 11:00am

Felina arrives at the DeMarian manor and breathes a sigh. This is better. There's always someone coming or going here. I have friends here, and it doesn't feel quite as lonely. I'm glad I decided to stay here after all. She heads up to her room and has a seat at her writing desk and opens her journal. She dips a quill and begins to write.

It wasn't long. In no time, it seemed, Agnor had found a job at the City Watch, he found a woman he fancied, and we parted company with the promise that he'd visit from time to time. I'm happy for him. He deserved better, and I'm glad to see that his life's his own at last. I'm not sad that he left... exactly. I guess... I'll just miss him.


She lifts the quill from the page. But who will be my protector now? As she sits watching the ink dry, there is a knock at the door. "Come in."

Pale, in his full suit of armor, morningstar at his side and shield in his off hand, opens the door, "We have neglected our combat training too much lately. We should devote as much time to it as possible."

She sighs. Not looking up from the page she says, "I know. You’re right. I just haven’t been quite myself lately.” She looks up from the page. “If you’ll give me a moment to get ready, I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

“Of course.” Pale closes the door.

Felina stretches as she stands and walks over to the wardrobe. She opens the doors and removes her leather armor. Since I’ve been in Ceranna I’ve never really needed protection… or friendship. Not until recently. I have to wonder, will my friends stand beside me, or will they leave me too? Perhaps this armor will be all I have in time. Will it be enough? Can it possibly protect me from the evils and the horrors and the cruelties of this world? No. Only friends can do that. She shakes her head. And right now I have one waiting for me in the courtyard. I guess I’d better hurry up.
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Jesse
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Read/Write - "In Dreams, part 2"
Chrys
The open-air market is bustling. The vendors shout their offers and try to lure in passers-by, while the buyers try to push through the crowd to get to whichever stall has the goods they want. You can't make out exactly where you are. Istanbul? Tangier? Tehran? (Wait a sec, Tehran was annihilated decades ago by the dragon Aden.) Well, maybe this isn't now, maybe this is then, some other time in history. There are no commlinks or augmented reality advertisements, but then there are metahumans of all kinds in the market. Odd, but I guess that's dreams for you.

There are guards in the market. Every ten yards or so on both sides of the avenue are medieval knights in full plate, visors down, hands on the hilt of their swords, perfectly motionless. Despite this danger, you feel the need, the need to take. A bright red apple in a fruit vendor's bin catches your eye, and the glowing green 1s and 0s scrolling around its form look fresh and delicious. Walking briskly past the stall, while the vendor is distracted with a customer, you quickly tuck the apple into the folds of your baggy sleeves. Walking away, you're careful not to do anything suspicious, such as looking behind you to see if you were caught, until you're a suitable distance away. When you finally do look, there's no sign that your theft was noticed, so you take a moment to savor your small victory.

It doesn't last long. You've already spotted a bigger prize: resting on a jewelry maker's carpet is a beautiful beaded necklace and it looks like the encryption on it would be a snap to break. Less than a minute later, the necklace isn't laid out on the carpet anymore, and it looks like you got away with it. But you notice something odd; by all rights the jewelry maker would notice the missing necklace any moment now, but he makes no move to call the guards. You push this nagging doubt to the back of your mind, but a half-hour later after a series of more and more daring heists--a bolt of silk here, a few gigaquads of files there--the vendors don't even seem to notice you, let alone your thefts.

Your heart is beating, and a rushing sound fills your ears. There's got to be something... There! A rolled-up oriental rug, worth a fortune on the data market. No distractions this time, no sleight of hand. You walk up in full view, heft the carpet over your shoulder, and stand in front of the vendor, waiting to make eye contact before you dash off through the crowd. Instead, he seems to look right through you, unseeing.

In a panic, you run right up to one of the knights guarding the market. The silent sentinel continues to stare straight ahead. Is there even anything in there, or are these guards just empty suits of armor? You throw down the run and shake all the valuables out of your sleeves, screaming for the guard to arrest you, but no response is provoked. Finally, as you're just about to break down totally, the steel gauntlet shoots out like a bolt of lightning, seizing you around the neck. You bang on the arms and chestplate with your fists, trying to break free, but the fingers grip unrelentingly, crushing your windpipe, and your vision starts to go dark as you feel yourself passing out.

Grit
The streets are in black, white, and shades of grey. With the rain that is typical of Seattle, it's like one of those trid noir simflicks. The lack of color is worrying at first, like this might be some kind of nightmare, but you start to get used to it. The people on the streets react to you normally, and a few people you recognize from the Plastic Jungle greet you with smiles.

Everything seems like a normal dream, except for the lack of color. But wait... there's a spot of color, just a speck really. At your feet is a dot of bright red, quickly being washed away by the rain. There's another dot next to it, and another one just appeared in a puddle, landing with a "plip" and mixing with the water like ink. Is it ink? You look for the source, but it's not falling from above you. Then you see more red on your forearm, flowing out of a gash down the inside of your wrist.

It's blood, pouring out of you faster and faster. Your other wrist has a similar cut, and by now the blood is puddling at your feet and covering the toes of your boots. Another deep cut appears painlessly across your stomach, and the blood soaking through your pants tells you that your inside thighs have been laid open, letting all the blood out of your femoral arteries. But you don't feel light-headed or on the verge of passing out, just a little nauseous at the sight. The people on the street continue to walk past you, not noticing.

By now the puddle is almost ankle-deep, more blood than you knew was inside you. Suddenly a portion of it rears up, and you step back in shock. The blood, no longer a puddle, now takes the form of a metahuman nearly a head taller than you. Its face takes shape, and you're stunned when you recognize it as your own face. The expression it wears is not anger or hatred or malice, but far more frightening than that: it's adoration, pure love.
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Read/Write - "In Dreams, part 1"
Simon
You're in a room you recognize intimately, Dr. Lance Beksinski's personal study. There's the fireplace, with the remarkable and somewhat expensive 3D simulated fire crackling in it. The faux-wood writing desk against one wall holds the blotter, inkwell, and parchments, which are just decoration to disguise the commlink interface. The high-backed overstuffed chair, facing away from you, is where Dr. Beksinski usually sits, but it's just sim-leather and mahogany-printed false veneers over the plastic frame. About the only real things in the room are the smell of pipesmoke and the books. All the shelves of real books represent a small fortune. Each volume was printed before the matrix made such things obsolete, making them all very valuable, even the ones that aren't rare first-editions or misprints.

A puff of smoke rises over the back of the chair, alerting you the presence of Dr. Beksinski. You approach tentatively, clearing your throat to get his attention. He sets down the book he was reading on the arm of the chair, but when he looks up at you there is none of the warm recognition with which he usually greets his friends and associates. Instead, it's a guarded inquisitiveness. "Yes? Can I help you?" You're caught so off guard that you forget for a moment why you came. Then you notice the small sheaf in your hands, the rough draft of your dissertation. They're just print-outs, but you know how he prefers to handle real paper rather than matrix documents. You hand it over, eagerly awaiting his input. "Huh, well I don't think you're one of my advisees, but I'm happy to take a look." You're more than a little taken aback by this; after all, he's the one who helped you narrow down the topic for the paper in the first place.

He reads for a few moments before giving a displeased grunt. "What is this? Some kind of joke?" He stands and thrusts the papers back into your hands. You look at the paper to see what could have angered him, and it's immediately apparent what was the cause: the coverpage looks fine, but everything after that is the extra-wide-ruled paper used to teach kindergartners how to write. The letters are big and awkward, written in crayon, and the words are full of childish misspellings, but you read on: "See spot. See Spot run. Run, Spot, run."

You stare unbelieving, but Dr. Beksinski grips you on the elbow and escorts you to the door. "I don't think you belong here. You need to leave." He opens the door and pushes you out, right into the middle of a firefight. Someone with cybereyes and a cyberarm and a number of other mods grabs you and pulls you down behind a burnt-out car. "Getcher head down, chummer! Lone Star's got us pinned down and you don't want to get your head shot off, do you? Now use that thing!" he says, pointing to what you hold in your hands, which you see with some astonishment is now an assault rifle. Someone to one side of you makes a gesture and you see the resulting fireball across the street, while a drone buzzes angrily just over your heads. Is this where you really belong?

Faust
The humid, oppressive heat makes wearing body armor an unpleasant chore, but the constant threat of ambush means going without is borderline suicide. So even here, in the squad's camp where safety should be all but assured, everyone trudges about in pounds of stifling equipment.

"Hey, Faust! Get out of your tent, we're taking a group photo for me to send home to my mom." "Yeah, I'm sendin' some pictures home to yo' momma, too." "Shut up and get in two rows." You take your place among the ghostly forms of your dead comrades. Everyone says "Cheese!" in unison, and you smile big for the camera.

Somebody says "I'm sending a copy to everyone's commlink.", and you look at your screen to see how it turned out. There you are, smiling big, and there are the phosphorescent outlines of your squadmates, like astral forms made real on the material plane. Everyone, except... he's as real as you are, but his face is blurred except for two glowering, hate-filled eyes.

You look up to see the camp is deserted. There's no one else here, no one at all. All your comrades are more than just dead, now, they're long gone. You're all alone. And that's when a shot rings out, a crack as loud as thunder. The bullet hits you square in the chest and cuts through your body armor like it was nothing. You feel the hot lead piercing your flesh, cutting through your vital organs and neatly bisecting your heart. As you lay dying, you have a moment of clarity, and your thoughts are dragged back to the sound of the gunshot. You'd recognize the sound of an AK-97 anywhere, after fighting so many drug cartel and blood cult thugs who use them, and this shot wasn't from one of those.

No, this was from the only gun whose sound you'd know better than an AK-97; it was from an HK G12A3z, and you recognize it because it's the same sound your own HK G12A3z makes. They were issued to everyone in the squad by the company. But it wasn't yours that fired the bullet, since it's laying there just out of reach, where it landed when you fell. This fatal shot came from someone else in your squad.

Mojo Murray
You stroll along the street, grinning that big grin. The show tonight was great. You really rocked out, and the crowd was really digging it. You forget what city this is, but it doesn't really matter. On tour you go to a lot of places. This could be London, Cairo, Seattle, New York. You notice the writing on all the signs and storefronts isn't English, but wherever you are, you're just looking for the fans. Well, not "looking for", really. More like baiting. Still wearing the same clothes you wore on stage tonight, it shouldn't be too much longer before someone notices you.

There's the shout in the distance, somewhere behind you. Someone's spotted you, and here comes the fun part. Where a lot of rock stars genuinely desire privacy, to you it's just a game. Get them to chase you, give you a little thrill and get your blood pumping. It's good exercise. And maybe when you duck down an alley to get away from the majority of the crowd, you can lure just one or two of the cute girls there with you. You start to walk a little faster, and give a glance over your shoulder.

But you don't see a cheering throng. Instead you see a number of very intent-looking men, all in dark suits. More than a few of them are carrying guns. All of them have the same lapel pin, and although you can't read it from here, you know what it says: written around an Eye of Providence are the words "Novus Ordo Seculorum". These aren't fans. You start running faster now, out of fear.

You sprint around a corner and dash into the first open establishment you can find, watching out the window to see if the men spotted your hiding spot. The patrons of this place--some kind of coffee shop, maybe?--are initially confused, but they seem to get that you're hiding from someone. One of the patrons gets your attention and beckons you to follow him into the back. You assume he's helping you escape your persuers.

But when the door clicks behind you and you look around into a circle of angry faces, you realize your mistake. You're not in the back of a coffee shop, you're in the back of a hookah bar. And the writing on all those signs outside and on the front of this very shop seemed unfamiliar because it was in arabic. You recall the hefty bounty placed on your head by the Islamic Unity Movement, and the warning the tour security team gave you about walking alone in a muslim country. You've jumped out of the frying pan and directly into the fire. Oh shit.
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Chapter XXIII: Reunion in Ranke
The battle was grim. Yuan-ti and Beysibian warriors swarmed over Stormguard, cutting down any in their path. Reluctantly, Thane-Garr ordered the retreat. I am Thane. Vanir. War-Chief of the Yssge. Today, I failed them.

Tristan surveyed the distruction from the back of his horse. This was not how it was to be. I am the conqueror. How is it I failed?

Gaelen was unclear how long the army fought their retreat. His only goal was ensuring the survival of their now small fighting force. The gratitude he received upon reaching Riverland was taken with a heavy dose of guilt, I should have saved more. From five thousand soldiers, we have less than nine-hundred remaining! How can I lead the Eastwatch if I cannot protect them?

Beaten, tired, and full of guilty rage, the three heroes boarded a ferry headed for Ranke. They would have answers.

Meanwhile, Titus and Balthasar struggled to gain the footing they needed within the city. Many avenues were closed off and their list of allies shrank with each passing day. Titus carried the weight of asking Garr to sacrifice himself, while Balthasar continued to brood over the truth of things. What is the link? Where does the animosity between the Raven's and Pelorites begin?

With word of the catastrophic failure at Stormguard reaching the Rankans, discord was on the rise. Something needed to change.

Upon reaching the docks; Garr, Gaelen, and Tristan were reunited with their companions. Titus filled them in on the situation after a warm bath and hearty meal. "The council is divided and we have no idea who our allies are. Alphonse will do his best to find us some friends. The whereabouts of Kafen are still unknown and... The church has rebuilt the summoning circle from the Sunspire. They intend to use it to destroy the Yuan-ti, once and for all-but... They need someone with primal power to finish the ritual". All were silent as Titus spoke. Garr then stood up and flew into a rage of anger, "They sit in their rooms while people die..MY PEOPLE DIE! On the battlefield. That is where we win this war, not in some temple; begging for help like the defeated." All agreed, solemnly.

They had much work to do, and very little time to waste. Balthasar believed their answers would lie with the mysterious friend he encountered in the docks. The address he supplied took them to a cobbler's shop in a poor district. Gaelen quickly noticed something was wrong; the lights were out and the door was slightly ajar. The heroes found the body of Leorn the cobbler on the floor in the back. The place was a mess in what looked like a robbery..What looked like a robbery. Balthasar was skeptical. Kneeling over the body, he painted the sigil of last-sight upon Leorn's head. His eyes went black and he saw the assailant wearing the red sash of the Crimson Guard; a guild of highly trained assassins well known for their uncanny expertise. No Crimson Guard would ever be found murdering a poor cobbler.

With a little searching, they found a secret cellar. The room was full of texts, parchment, maps, and numerous journal entries, along with Leorn's combat gear. "Another herald? I thought I was the only one..." Pouring over his notes, it was clear Leorn had found something the church was hiding. There was a room entirely off-limits to all members and non-members of the church that didn't exist on the cartographer's drawing of the temple.

"We know who killed him, and who he was, but not why he was killed. Our answers lie with the Crimson Guard.", Titus then grabbed the map and he stepped out of the building. Finding the Crimson Guard is easy for anyone with money and someone they need dead.

A few hours of rumor and money changing hands and the party sat at a nice table in a dingy dock-side bar. The bartender poured them glasses of red wine, which Titus confirmed was poison. A man who did not reveal his name spoke with Titus on their presence. He advised Titus to leave the bar and no harm would come to them. Garr made a counter-offer by throwing the table at the bartender. Balthasar and Tristan each brandished weapons in calm, while Gaelen launched a volley of arrows; pinning each tossed cup against the wall. Titus smiled at the man, who told them to seek a thief at a nearby warehouse. The thief was obviously the assassin and, after a bit of physical negotiations, gave the name Tarkenton before killing himself.

It was shortly after dawn when the heroes knocked on the door of Lord Martis Tarkenton. He greeted them in his study while eating some biscuts. Titus tried the direct approach, but Tarkenton was no stranger to delicate situations. Without evidence, the heroes, who were currently considered outlaws, could do nothing to the nobleman. He assured them he was working with them and that the death of that cobbler was necessary to ending the war. He offered them biscuts and let them know the back-door would be a better exit strategy, since the Rankan elite were fast approaching. Gaelen knocked over the biscuts on their way out.

Back at Alphonse's mansion, Garr paced, barely able to keep his anger in check. Balthasar continued to study Leorn's notes, working with Lyari to find any possible answers. Once again, Titus found himself between a rock and a hard place. Looking at the temple map, he agreed with the now deceased raven; the answers were in that room.

Alphonse assured them they would have time during the council meeting to infiltrate the citadel, as many priests meet with the lords at the consulate. They gathered gear and made their way to the Bastion of Light. Following Leorn's map, they successfully entered the temple and found the secret room.

On the floor was a massive warding blocking their entrance. Balthasar, no stranger to the wards of Pelor, advised everyone get back and studied the runes. With nothing short of coincidental luck, the key to open the door was around Gaelen's neck; a holy symbol of Pelor! The floor opened to a passage that appeared rarely used. Decending into the catacombs, they arrived in an undeground garden, sun-lit by carefully placed mirrors.

Along the walls were heiroglyphs that told the history of the church and their struggles against the minions of Zehir. While searching for clues, Titus was drawin to the main pool in the center of the room. As he drew near, a sword emerged from the pool. Everyone attempted to stop Titus from reaching for it, but found they could not move.

In a flash of light, Titus witnessed the true history of the church and Lightbringers.

The Dawn-Celebrant used the ritual of binding sacrificing Uther Lightbringer to banish the Yuan-ti. With it, he gained immortality and used his newfound power to craft the church of Pelor. He also realized that using the ritual on willing subjects who offer their soul as bargain could create vigilant warriors-soldiers he named Lightbringers-creating an army to ensure the preservation of the church.

Lightbringers were used to cull the other religions, those considered heretics, and protect the kingdom of Ranke. When the Illsigi, the original followers of the Raven Queen, discovered the truth behind the ritual, that it weakened the laws of life and death and stole her power, they revolted. The Lightbringers ended them.


The sword spoke to Titus in his mind, I am Uther-sol, the first Lightbringer. It was prophecised that the one who was and was not Lightbringer would use me to restore the balance. That was supposed to be the Lightbringer Farron, who was and was not. You, however, were his greatest friend and most valued ally. His path falls to you, Titus Garibaldi.

Lyari, quietly spoke, "I know what must be done. We cannot let the Dawn-Celebrant perform the ritual. It will succeed in destroying the Yuan-ti, but further damage the laws and my Raven Queen. I was brought here to perform the ritual, sacrificing myself to the Raven Queen, restoring the broken link." Balthasar tried to object, but he knew all too well the truth of fate. "We will give you enough time".

Heading to the summoning room, the heroes encountered temple guards, alerted to their presence. They summoned Illuminaries, valliant guardians, and a phoenix to cleanse the temple of their enemies. "This would be a good time for some fighting." Titus smiled.

All the rage, anger, and hatred swelling up for months was released upon the temple guards. The heroes welcomed the chance to work together again, laying down all who opposed them. The skirmish was over in minutes with more guards pouring in and the Dawn-Celebrant staring in disbelief as Lyari entered from the summoing room.

She smiled at Balthasar and asked him to finish it, "Please; let me rejoin my mother." Balthasar kissed her and plunged Xiphoid into her chest. The black blade leaked out into the wound. It's purpose fulfilled, the power of Xiphoid was no more. Balthasar turned to his friends, teary-eyed. He would miss his companion.

"You have no idea what you have done!", screamed the Dawn-Celebrant, "We had a way to end this war without thousands of deaths. You smile as though you're heroes, yet it is not you who will preside over the funerals; not you who will console the fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters over the loss of loved ones. Your bravado places us in an uncertain path through unnecessary dangers. Leave my temple."
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Horizon MediaNet Headlines
Murder, Arson in Auburn
Tempers flared in Auburn over the weekend, as the corpse of James Broadback, a 29 year old ork was found on the grounds of the newly refurbished Precious Moments factory. Witnesses say that the corpse was cut and flayed in manner similar to the Mayan Cutter killings of last year.

Humanis Policlub of Auburn Hills representative Heath Zimmer issued this statement:
Quote:
"As members of this community, and the larger global world, we find violence to be an inadequate and disgusting means of solving problems. Fortunately, no human life was taken this past day, and we can all rest easily."


Later in the evening, FireBug Local 12 responded to a distress call from the Auburn Hills Humanis meeting hall, requesting assistance for a five alarm blaze that flashed up during a meeting session. Three people were treated for injuries related to smoke inhalation, although the building itself was declared a total loss. Lone Star arson units are cooperating with FireBug Industries in an attempt to discern the cause of the blaze.

Astral Space in Pullayup Distorted
According to a team of mages dispatched from MIT & T, a rather odd anomaly noted this weekend in Pullayup may be something far more sinister.

Some readers may remember that several nights ago, an abandoned building in Pullayup was marked and destroyed by a pillar of fire estimated to be nearly a kilometer high. An examination of the astral space around Pullayup reveals that a high force spirit was most likely the cause.

MIT & T officials would like to reiterate their warnings to those metahumans who have Awakened: while summoning spirits may be helpful in everyday life, it is wise to remember that they are sentient beings with their own agendas which may or may not coincide with the summoner's.

Efforts to track the spirit are underway.

Wolf Town Animal Preserve Celebrates 75th Anniversary; Preps for Legal Battle
Known for its willingness to nurse local and Awakened animals back to health, Wolf Town is a venerable institution of the local environmental movements, and rare outpost of environmental conservation in Seattle proper.

As I toured the preserve with Mindy Angelos, DVM from Washington State University, she gave me a bit of the history of Wolf Town.
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Play Embedded Interview

Ms. Angelos was unwilling to discuss the recent legal troubles that the preserve was embroiled in. A startling rash of accidents has left visitors injured and looking for compensation.

UCAS, Lone Star Prepare for Integrated War Games
Lt. Col. Bernard Wilson issued a warning to all Seattle citizens to be on the lookout for an integrated UCAS/Lone Star unit conducting spontaneous dead-fire exercises in and around the city in the future.

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Although it seems excessive, the point of these exercises is actually twofold. We'd like to work closer with our Lone Star counterparts to better facilitate security procedures and lower response times in the Seattle Metroplex, and we'd also like to remind any would be rioters, looters, and criminals that there is a force of law in this town, and we will not be ignored.

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