On the Grapevine

[Raksha]

Once again, it would seem that rumor can outrun a racing horse.

• There are scattered reports from Viridale Forest garrisons that small groups of gnolls and orcs have been attacking the past few days -- not to kill, but to break free, almost out of desperation. A few died with screams on their lips that, to scholars of the feral languages, spoke of a "great shining destroyer." At least it's probaby not a vampire.
• The Exigo Syndicate has been sending out feelers for adventurers to hire on more delicate operations than standard kill-goblin runs.
• An female moon elf, apparently a bladesinger, has been sighted in and around the area. Rumors state that she's made delicate inquiries into the nature of elven warriors of note, and may be seeking contact with them for a task as of yet unknown.
• Among adventurers, some continue to gain accolades and respect among the people. The heroes of the week include Hans Summers, dedicated paladin and defender of justice, who folk tales depict as wielding a shining sword against the legion of vampires and fell beasts of the Black Hand. Also mentioned is the mysterious (or perhaps just airheaded) Lady of the Sword, Ember Egan, who was blessed by Swordopolis himself with a "blade that burns with three fires". Debate continues on who in the Hells Swordopolis is.
• A man was seen in the central square of Sundren City's trade tier, clawing his eyes out and screaming something to the effect of "Ah'landriel, how could you do this to me?" along with a great deal of other random gibberish. He was promptly taken into custody for disturbance of the peace, and is currently bound in a solitary cell awaiting decision.

[Vuzantar]

Sitting down at a barstool within Jimmy's Dice Den, a grizzled warrior named Rodrak orders an ale and settles into his chair. Once Jimmy has some time, Rodrak, as usual, inquires if Jimmy's heard of any jobs and grinning, he complains about how increasingly hard it is to support a good drinking habit. Jimmy gruts and informs the warrior that the Exigo Syndicate has been sending out feelers for adventurers to hire on more delicate operations than standard kill-goblin runs. Curiously strikes the warrior as he leans in closer to listen.
"Damn goblins are the only thing putting money in my pocket!" exclains the sun bronzed warrior. "Well, who in the Exigo do I need to talk to Jimmy? I could sure use a decent job for once. I'm tired of cleaning gobby blood off my clothes."
Jimmy grunts back "Donno... I don't tink I heard... or did I" The confused half-orc mutters to himself as he walks away cleaning an ale mug.
Muttering to himself the warrior looks for the waitress to order another ale.

[Raksha]

More rumors from around the Sundered Valley...

• Disturbances in the forest seem to have quieted for the moment, though random felled trees and hideously mutilated gnoll caracasses can be found here and there in piles. The druid's circle is appealing for help in destroying the "Nameless Abomination" responsible for these and many other crimes against nature.
• On a possibly related note, the Exigo Syndicate is offering a large but unspecified amount of gold for anyone who is capable of dismantling a "prototype work machine" that a Syndicate representative has admitted has escaped from the Syndicate's control.
• A five-year-old girl was found brutally murdered in her bed yesterday, the child of two wealthy noble parents. Speculation ranges from a Cyricist murder to a ransom gone wrong for the Kurz Cartel. Some are even whispering the name "Veritas", though they are generally discounted.
• [Lore (Knowledge: Local) DC 20 or language: Thieves' Cant] There have of late been subtle inquiries around some of the more prestigious (and therefore better hidden) black market dealers concerning the location of a powerful magical item, or possibly artifact, an orb of some kind.

[Blue_Wyrm]

Washing down his throat with generous amounts of whisky inside one of the shadier taverns of Port Avanthyr, Roger noticed a man at a table that he knew well, for the sailor often went to him to fence some of his more questionnable booty that he often smuggled around. Wrapped in a shapeless cloth outfit and wearing a turban, the fence was changing postures and frequently bringing his hand to his face, either to cough or scratch his nose.

Intrigued, Roger followed the direction of the fence's glance which fell onto another shady individual who was sit at the bar, looking slightly on his side to stare back at the dealer. The dealer took one, two, three sips of his beer before laying it down on the table slightly to his right. He then scratched his knuckles, his scratching thumb and index keeping the shape of a circle as he did so.

His heart beating a bit faster, and not because of the whisky, Roger stared back at the man at the bar, who looked away from the fence and ordered another drink from the barman.