The Mayor’s Minutes: April 24, 2018

The Mayor’s Minutes continue with Mayor Lylia! She informs the people of the Landing about the return of Thadston, his gauntlets, what the loresong on the neckerchief told about Thrayzar, and how the local merchants want to cling to their “tradition” of fleecing some people just because of their race. ONE PRICE. ONE LANDING!

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Category: Towns
Topic: Wehnimer’s Landing

Date: 04/24/2018 05:17 PM CDT

From: UBERWENCH

Subj: Mayor's Minutes, Olaesta 24: The Return of Thadston and Casiphia, Recalcitrant Merchants, and a Bloodied Neckerchief

Written in a slanting copperplate hand on thick ivory parchment, a notice is tacked to the bulletin board outside Moot Hall.

– Last night, we welcomed Thadston Andrews and Casiphia Malatina back to the Landing. They arrived late at night at the head of a storm, having ridden throughout the evening on a steed that suffered from a wasting rot that Thadston said was Raznel’s doing. Casiphia noted that Thadston himself had been similarly afflicted, though not much is yet known of the extent of his injuries.

– Thadston wore a pair of gauntlets that some among the assembled crowd recognized. Casiphia confirmed that they belonged to Osment, who is currently not in full possession of his faculties and remains in an asylum.

– The town’s merchants retain their ‘tradition’ of charging more to some residents than to others, at least for the moment. Some townsfolk have become restive, and there are rumors of protests.

– Not long ago, a ship bearing Estorian banners arrived at night. A one-eyed man who gave his nickname as “Sketch” brought with him a distinctive neckerchief whom many in the audience identified as belonging to Thrayzar, our Town Marshal. Captain Stormyrain sang to the item to coax more information from it, and I have transcribed what she saw:

My vision blurs, colors melding together before forming a new landscape entirely. I watch as a red orc creeps low to the ground, his dark brown eyes coldly regarding the crossroads below his vantage point. The road was busy, with traders and caravans moving north along the trail, following the sign marked for the Swale. The orc sniffed as the salty winds of the coast still lingered, the coasts of Ubl to his back.

As I watch, the orc stalks away from his perch and disappears into some brush, reemerging in an open clearing. He can still smell the salt of the sea, but the sound of the teamsters has muted some. He clenches a doll in his hand, sniffs at it, and shakes his head, his eyes less cold, and now more confused. His trail had gone cold.

The orc suddenly blinks, eyes wide and alert as he spins around at the sound of others approaching. Stepping out into view, a dozen humanoids appear, their faces ghostly white and their bodies garbed in a ghastly assortment of patchwork skin, ranging from troll, to goblin to krolvin. They speak not at all, and rush in towards the orc.

The orc lies wounded, bloodied in the clearing, surrounded by his attackers. He reaches for his weapons, but can barely move. The others begin to tend to his wounds, as one finally speaks, “Thrayzar, we have been looking for you. You are most needed at this time.” The figure leans down, places a black bag over the orc’s face, and there the vision ends.

– The figures in the loresong appear to be members of The White Sparrows.