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Heard in Haven: August 1999Title: Death of a Kshatri Rumors have been rampant for days from the mysterious hallways of the Atesh-Gah, that bastion of Varati might within Haven's borders. First the news of a disappearance, then word of a mangled, mutilated body and identification of same by a mongrel shudra and her companion... and lastly formal proclamation, reluctant and dignified. The statement comes from the Pasha of Haven, though it has been styled as a pronouncement from the Shakir of Khalida, a rank held in tandem by the same individual. "The Clan of the God-King, Khalid Atar, mourns the heinous murder of Kiral Khalida, Varati Foreign Minister and noble kshatri of our Clan. His body, identified by two trusted and true to the Varati and to Khalida, lays at rest in the hands of the Atarvani, in preparation for a funeral in one week's time with the ceremony that one of his blood and rank deserves. Be it known that the Amir-al, He whose flame blazes eternally, is displeased and angered by what has transpired. Those who have perpetrated such an atrocity against the Varati, against Khalida, shall not rest. Those who have dared to raise a hand against our akraba shall have no rest. Those who are found to have participated in his death shall know no end of torment. So it is said, so it is promised, so shall it be." That Shahar, she who has issued this bold, black statement, is the former wife of the late Minister is a fact undiscussed. Any approaching the Pasha and those of her staff and household shall receive stony silence regarding this matter. Title: Apisachi Presence... That lurking Apisachi presence within Haven has finally withdrawn after a few, lingering days. Whatever brought these warriors into the walls of the stone-walker's city has now been settled, and each gladly returned home in silence. Title: Whispers from the Varati Whispers from the Atarvani, the Khalida guard... even one Agni-Haidar have been heard ruminating over those responsible for the violent death of Kiral Khalida, Varati Foreign Minister, descendant of the very brother of Khalid Atar Himself. Who could have perpetrated such a deed? Who could have so skillfully plotted the neutralization of four of those fearsome Agni-Haidar, the Lions of Khalid, and whisked Kiral to the Siren's Song? And who, who could have done what was rumored, torturing that kshatri unto death or, at best, mangling his body after death? The crime remains unsolved, The crime appears uninvestigated. Each begs the question: why? Is a political force behind the cover-up? Have the Orcinus or the Empyreans sought revenge of a nefarious nature against one of the most prominent Varati, against someone in Khalid Atar's own clan? Will a Varati be found guilty of using violence (a tradition with the Varati, it is said) to solve a sticky issue? Or perhaps a darker rumor is true: that once she was free of Kiral, the Pasha of Haven or her protective brothers arranged retribution for the assault on Shahar, who still bears the scars from that near-death experience. The question remains: who will uncover the truth.... ...and when? Title: Something Evil this Way Comes Under the pier, huddled in the cold air and frozen by a chill from within, Tral awaited -- and was found by -- his friend Mordal. Two young thieves who have so often shared the spoils of their finds, two young men finding home in the metropolis of Haven after their arrival from the now-volcanic remains of a city the Empyre once claimed, the mongrels meet here once a day. And today Mordal is somewhat late, quickly and worriedly greeted by Tral: "Mordal! I've been cursed!" "Cursed?" replies the other, "Cursed? How so?" Tral shivers, gestures with a scuffing foot to a bag some distance away. It's a small bag, a cloth sack handsewn and roughly so. A thong of leather is looped around the neck and to that is attached a small brown feather. The sack appears somewhat damp, has to it odors that one might find at the meat-stall. Mordal goes to reach for it, but Tral stops him. "I've already touched it. I'll open it and show you. No point both of us..." When the young man's unsteady hands finally open the bag, roll down the neck and reveal the gruesome contents, even Mordal, who had gone through that vile and recent war, blanches. Neither man understands the meaning of the collection of testicles nestled within the bag. Glistening. Slimy with mucus and not-quite-dried blood. Tral's wavering voice informs, "I thought it was payment of some sort, left hanging on the doorknob of Timin's place. I thought..." He swallows. "I think it's a curse. I think it's some dark magic that no one talks about, Mordal. I think... Oh gods-be-merciful, please don't let mine fall off!" An entire morning together with his morbid superstitions has rendered the man a wreck, and his shaking hand drops the bag, so one of the orbs within, rolls out. Both men stare, and finally Mordal reaches to squeeze Tral's shoulder. "I'll take it to Delphi, Tral. You go away, meet me in the park." But Mordal never arrives at the park. Instead some old grudge catches up with him and a corpse is found later, under bushes of the Old City Garden. Perhaps a bag of frozen rodent testicles is found beside him, perhaps it is not. Title: Gone Where??? "Jenean's gone where?" "Avalon." The sailor up-ends his ale, wipes the dregs from his mouth with the back of his hand and summons the barmaid in the Siren for another. "Fer good?" "Don' be bleedin' daft. No. Fer a look, like. 'Long with that Ashe, an' ol' Dremmond an' some o'those folk he's trainin'." "Fer a look? What on Aether for?" "Search me. Guess she wants to know what's goin' on with that Thomas." A sip of his new ale. "Anyroad, that Amber's runnin' th' girls while she's gone..." "Wonder what Stasi'll make of that..." Title: Dead Corpses in Alleys Though the presence of corpses in alleyways in not uncommon, especially in the seedier parts of Haven, the newest additions to the street architecture are no common bodies. Instead, mongrels, Varati, Empyreans, Sylvans, Atlanteans and even the occasional halfbreed have been found, lying dead in alleys all over the city with bloody spittle about the mouth and dried sweat encrusted into their clothes. Money and any items of value have been stripped from these bodies. Title: She did What? The aged Rodrick's son steps from the Citadel's gates to find his mark on the familiar stand whereupon so many pronouncements have been made to the people and residents of Haven over the past centuries of its existence. In that time, few of the Heralds who speak with such a booming voice have shown any sentiment in their voice. This is one time when it was not so lacking in emotion, and a hint of sadness passed within his voice. "Here ye, Here ye, People of Haven! It is on this morning of January 25 in the year of 3905 that I offer up the words of the Council. From this moment forth, the one known as Estrel Medea Althea Tritonides, Arch-Magus of Delphi, Teacher of the Magics of the Caducean and Cabeiri, is no longer a Member of the Esteemed Council of Estrella, nor a member of the body of Delphi." The young man then bows his head, having said his piece, and turns away. What follows behind him is stunned silence and whisperings of rumors. Even as the questions rise in volume throughout the Rialto, the Citadel remains silent, offering no more word of what has occured, or why. Title: Shake, Rattle & Roll... Not that the Rialto is a particularly tranquil place, but... The relative peace of the square was broken recently by the cry of an Empyrean woman. The commotion resulted in a female of the winged race in tears and a young Sylvan woman waving about a freshly-plucked feather triumphantly. This did not escape the notice of a Hound on nearby patrol and no time passed at all before the troublemaker was dangling on the end of his grasp. Is it coincidence that the ground started to tremble in proportion to the girl's growing fear and agitation? The situation was exacerbated when a Sylvan male came onto the scene. Perhaps he was angry that a Hound had one of his race by the scruff of her neck. Perhaps he had been jipped by a vendor. Perhaps he had a pebble in his shoe and was irritated by that fact. Whatever the reason, he caused the trembling to become more of a shake. Items fell off vendor's shelves, people stumbled to the ground. Oh, it was a madhouse. The damage to limb and property ... it wasn't catastrophic, mind you. But it wasn't anything to sneeze at, either, and was probably felt for some distance. In the end, both the Sylvans were carted off to the the Citadel by a mass of Hounds and a number of Delphic clairvoyants. There were bumps and bruises, things cracked and broken -- but there was no serious injury. No serious damage done. This time. Title: Fire! A huge bonfire was built outside of House Augustus today, its flames clawing upward as it belched smoke into the wintry sky. Consumed by the blaze were all manner of strange odds and ends from within the confines of the House: mattresses, pillows, bedclothes, clothing, towels. Servants kept watch over the blaze for hours on end, feeding wood into it as needed to keep the fire hot and hungry until every last bit of the items thrown upon it were completely consumed. The coals still cool and one servant keeps watch over the smoking remains to ensure no passerby meets with accident. Rumor has it that either the sick inhabitants of the House were cured or that someone died. No word has come from within and none of the servants are talking. Deus Augustin has not been seen for several days and after today none of the servants venture out either. Not even for supplies. Could Cassius Augustin be dead? Or his sweet, lovely daughter, Arianna? Title: Consumed Shaper? Word slowly filters through Haven of more odd events related to the Delphic Citadel. It seems that there had been a rash of run-ins between Espers, Hounds, and a small Atlantean woman. When confronted, she has been rumored to have shattered cobbles in the streets, leave her footprints in solid stone, and even melt good-sized benches. She was also rumored to constantly be speaking to herself in whispers, looking haunted and utterly confused. In only two days, Delphi, through the work of Okalani, dropped the woman into the care of Aine. Title: Bodies and More Bodies Any large city is no stranger to death, but the number of refugees seen wandering the streets of Haven has increased in the last week and some of them are found later, cold and dead, in the alleyways. These Empyreans and mongrels are found with all their worldly possessions intact, thieves eschewing to rob them. The pyres north of the Tent City are larger and constantly in action, permeating the air about the refugee camp with the scent of charred flesh. Refugees found dead within the confines of Haven are collected by Varati volunteers and taken back to the camp to be burned. But, Empyrean refugees are not the only ones -- other races are also found dead or delirious with fever and huddled against the cold earth. Whispers now follow the coughing that afflicts many within Haven and the word that is most repeated is, "Plague." Title: Plague? Death Squads? As the reports of dead start flowing through the chain of command over at the Bastion, orders are given out by Reeve Altair Januarius. The new orders create the formation of new Hound Squads that start marching through the city. These squads are not your standard brigade, however. Two to three people per squad, they carry an extra set of gloves and a white cotton mask with them. Some have started calling them the Death Squad, not because they kill, but because they have been found taking care of the dead and the dying that wander into Haven. When asked what is going on, they tell people that there is a malady going around the tent city. Some of the delirious have wandered within the walls of Haven and are being treated. They also say, for their own safety, that they should stay within their homes unless they are out to take care of something important. Work, groceries and the like. Minimize outside contact. Title: War Averted? With the disappearance of Orcinus Kuronbo, things have seemed quiet among the Atlanteans. Some wonder whether the 'sign from Pasiphae,' in the form of an eclipse, has brought the ocean-living race to its senses, or whether this is only the calm before the storm. Orcinus Shinjukou, Kuronbo's younger sister, has quietly been named as Heir, in her brother's place. Her first act as Heir has been to remove the fleet within Haven's bay. The black ships departed quietly, with little fanfare, leaving only one smaller (and unarmed) vessel behind. With the departure of the onyx ships flying the silver and black shark pennon of the Orcinus, things seem to have returned to normal. Whispers hint that the new Heir has retired in solitude into the ocean for an unknown period of time, in mourning for Kuronbo. Others say that she, and her rather talkative handmaiden, have been seen wandering the Atlantean quarter of Haven, inspecting the unique buildings that can be found there. The reasons for this are left to anyone's best guess. Title: Wedding Postponed? Well, this is an interesting sight. The servants of the Palladium, after spending all day setting up decorations for a wedding, are taking them down again! A Chryseis representative standing guard over the site greeted guests as they came, offering sincere apologies to them all. Apparently, in the light of the impending natural disaster that may face Haven, the bride and groom have decided to postpone the joyous event for more joyous times. Some say that Altair was there, talking to Dea Acesian, organizing the event, but was then called away by men in indigo and black armor. He was not seen in the garden again after that, and has been spending a lot of time at the Bastion, organizing and reorganizing squads of Hounds. Makes you wonder what is up, doesn't it? Title: From the Office of the Provost A report circulates through both the rumor-mills and through the messages of city officials and embassy messengers. While most of what comes from the Provost's Office is generally not a concern for most, this snippet seems to get most people's attention... "and in the response to the recent illnesses coming from the tents outside the city, I have diverted funds from some of the less important construction and renovations to pay for more healers, herbs and so forth, as well as more Hound patrols and increased work by the sanitation crews. Any aide from the various nations would be accepted and can be routed through the Office of the Provost. On the matter of north side taxes ..." The report continues on. And on. And on. Title: Patrols, Hounds, and Delphi While earlier reports may have been exaggerated due to the sudden and distinct presence of the Hounds on the streets of Haven, one cannot escape the feeling of seeing a patrol every time one turns around. People are being encouraged to stay out of the streets and keep their interactions to a miminum for fear of spreading the sickness that seems to be creeping through the city. There is even talk of isolation -- trade routes being closed and Haven itself bottled up to contain... whatever it is. Delphi's Healers have been working themselves into exhaustion, only the most powerful of them able to do anything more than ease the symptoms. As each one wears themself to a thread, less and less help is available. Title: Rumors Rumors circulate that Delphi has been slowly contacting each government and making a request of each that they voluntarily curtail their trade in and out of the city. So far, it appears to have been recieved positively, as the number of caravans passing through the area has dropped off drastically. Sea-trade has come to a stand-still, most ships unwilling to risk being caught in the ocean with a crew quickly falling ill around them. Those trying to leave are very thoroughly disuaded from the idea, although those that arrive with food and the like are readily allowed inside the city again -- along with a warning to keep to themselves. There is growing talk of Haven closing its gates to keep whatever sickness it is that is spreading so quickly from finding its way to other cities. Herbal remedies have also been published -- things that any corner herbalist might know as to what teas and tisanes are known to have even a slight effect on the virulent illness, although none have been touted as a 'cure.' The city is not yet formally closed, but many ask just how long it will be before it is... Title: Restrictions on Empyreans The whispers that suggest it began with a visit by the new Empyrean Estrel, Constantine, would be partly correct. At any rate, there is an increased Praetorian presence in the Empyreal quarter of Haven: there always were patrols, but with the Hounds so desperately needed in other places, larger contingents of Empyreal soldiers have been set to keep the quarter safe from the crime that would otherwise creep in when the streets' guardians are otherwise tasked. And for the past few weeks the influx of Empyrean healers -- most not magical -- has grown, giving the Empyreal section of town a new and bustling life. Sales of herbs and other medicinal items have certainly increased, both for Empyreal merchants and those in the Rialto. But with the coming of the plague, the Empyreans have set aside one portion of their quarter -- the portion nearest the wall -- as a quarantine zone: those healers who still wish to brave the plague area of the Tent City and the sickly streets of Haven find their night's rest in buildings kept separate from the rest of the population. So far the zone is of moderate size, although those worried about plagues mutter darkly that soon it will encompass much more. As the healers come into town, there is a mass exodus of another kind going out: nobility, mostly, and some of the more affluent merchants are fleeing the city with their families, heading to their estates in the countryside before the inhabitants of Haven are prohibited from leaving altogether. Rumor has it that the Praetorians have taken their names and destinations down and that local governments in the outer provinces are being notified so that an eye can be kept for outbreaks of plague elsewhere. House Tritonis continues its support of the refugees unabated, seemingly oblivious or fearless of the virulent disease that is coursing through the Tent City and, now, through the streets of Haven. The hopeful poor of Delphi's city wait for the day that the famously compassionate House expands its relief efforts to include them. And another figure has become illuminated against the darkness of the hour: Empress Aurora Jove leads several of the other House matriarchs in a campaign to contribute useful goods such as blankets, buckets, food, and clothing, and to gather unneeded household items to be sold to raise funds for the same. Her campaign's popularity is growing by leaps and bounds, especially among the lower-classed merchants and commoner Houses, whose people are beginning to embrace her work and person as Empress more readily than the nobles of the Houses still laboring to pay off their wartime indenture. And this is for certain: neither the Emperor nor his wife have left Haven -- whatever panic there is to flee the city, it seems not to touch them, and they have appealed to their citizens for calm and compassion. Title: Keeping Abreast of the Disease Wave Though Nefer Maat Al'Samar remains in Haven to continue feeding the sick refugees, a small caravan was seen leaving the gates of Haven last week before the plague had become quite so obvious. Only now does it become known that the Shakir had send her only son and heir, Adalhard, back to vara al'Samar, accompanied by her unruly mongrel slave, Lailah. Rumors abound that the Shakir knows more about the plague than she is letting on since she removed her son from the scene, but given the haggard look in her eyes -- no one having seen this woman's face -- few have dared to question her actions. At least so far. Title: Hissed Rumors A rumor runs through the Empyrean quarter and beyond, like a fire or like the plague itself: could it be that the Varati have somehow crafted this plague as a further attack upon the Empyre? It's well known, too, that the Varati have little regard for Delphi: after all, don't the actions of the Nayaka speak loudly and clearly? And he is answerable to none but Khalid himself... Perhaps Haven is the testing ground for this new kind of weapon? Title: Avalon Closed As word reaches the newly-founded realm of Avalon concerning the epidemic in Haven, concern spreads as to the exact effects the illness would have upon it. Barely more than a colony, and lacking the magical aid which many of the pure races possess, it is feared that if the illness settled upon these people, there would be little left of them come spring. This rumor is certainly confirmed by the fact that all traffic entering the immediate area surrounding New Hold. The gates of the city have been sealed tightly and blockades have been established along the roads leading both to and from the city proper. All the citizens have been encouraged to remain inside their homes and not to leave Avalon to try to reach or contact loved ones in Haven. Due to the radical nature of this disease, it is similarly feared that if it persisted into the spring planting, it could damage the new realm's trade and harvests for the coming year. Thomas Murako, one of the realm's key figures, has released a statement which was delivered to the gates of Haven by a lone runner, its contents suspected to support the nation's neutrality in assisting with this matter directly, mirroring the feeling of paranoia which now sweeps Aether in the face of this potential crisis. Title: Bar the Doors! "Blimey Cor -- nay, ye can' be serious? The Eyrie?" The word spreads like wildfire upon a dry prairie at the news. The Praetorian Guard has barred the doors to the Eyrie, allowing none to enter nor leave. All guards seen upon the patrol within the past thirty-six hours have been exiled to the streets of Haven. Among them are some of the more notable characters like Dominus Ceterion Antoninus, Dominus Optio Acesian, and even that surly darkling, Domina Optio Zorelle. The Praetorian Guards continue to make their patrols and rounds upon the streets, aiding the fallen and burning the bodies of the dead. Still, some refuse to believe the rumors, instead determined to find for themselves the truth. Mongrels make their ways to the gates of the Eyrie, finding twin guards like large columns standing guard outside. "The Eyrie is closed by the decree of Dominus Praefect Marcellus," the guardsmen reply to all who ask -- giving no further reason as to why. And to those winged that wish to take their chance with the skies, they are soon forced out again. Only healers of Delphic Order are allowed free passage. As the city gives rise to the paranoia of the plague, could the elite guards have fallen victim too? Are the guards hiding in fear of the potential decimation of their order? Do they care so little for this city they call home? Or are they merely following decorum and serving the Empyre through the preservation of their lineage? There are so many questions probing the minds of many -- but the answers remain unseen. Title: Delphic Announcement Information spreads slowly through the city from the mouths of Hounds and Heralds: Delphi has succeeded in contacting three of the four governments of Aether and all have agreed that the situation is dangerous. Many people flee the city and none are stopped outright, although all are offered the chance to be examined for signs of sickness before they leave so it will not be spread. It's doubtful that many refuse once asked. Those that are found to be carrying the plague are forced to remain until a Healer can see them, but there is worry that some leave in the dark of night, in secret. Word is also spread that the Pandion now show their force in support of Delphi's wishes, making sure that each vessel that dares to enter the Bay is fully aware of the danger in Haven and that leaving again may not be so easy. That, along with the presence of each race alongside Hounds in their own Quarter, shows a city marshalling its forces against an indiscriminate enemy. Title: The Gates of Atesh-Gah... ...have been closed, save for a narrow gap wide enough to allow passage only one at a time. Those who enter -- or, rather, try to enter -- are met by the stone-faced Agni-Haidar, and all those not of Atesh-Gah or on the most urgent of business are turned away. Occasionally, a servant will be allowed to slip outside, but only to toss food or water into the gutters, or leave clothing and bedding in a heap away from the walls before vanishing within. Title: Raining Deer and Bunnies Screams break the muddle of noise usually hub-bubbing through the Tent City, and when eyes turn toward the source, they find that the Food Distribution Headquarter's Tent has partially collapsed. Apparently, the tent was under attack, for it did not simply collapse. Something large and heavy was dropped upon the tent and whatever it was, it is now buried in the soot-blackened snow and canvas of the tent itself. When those few who were within the tent are helped out -- some dazed and wounded -- a few startled screams begin, anew. The object that landed on the tent was once alive but is now thoroughly deceased! Then, a roar of speculation begins as the object is identified as a deer carcass. Flying deer? The gods have returned to the Empyreans, and now they are dropping skinned rabbits and deer -- field-dressed and with only small parts missing -- from the heavens? "Sure would be nice," one head-rubbing Varati mutters sarcastically, "if the Empyrean gods would develop better aim." Oddly, as those picking through the wreckage notice and speak of in hushed whispers, all the male creatures are missing two very important items -- yes, the family jewels. Title: The Bay With the departure of the Orcinius' ships, many might start to wander about the mixed fleet of Pandion and Ormani ships drifting in the bay; the self-stylized observers. With the absence of the obsidian-hued ships, what is there left to observe? Ironically enough, these very same ships floated like so much flotsam on the waves throughout the turmoil that ensued among their own people with the death of Orman Kai and the disappearance of what was then the heir to the Orcinius, but it is only now, with the the ships and the people that were so much a center of it all fading into the horizon, that those ships begin to take a pro-active role. It seems the plea to stymie the flow of refugees trying to leave by sea routes has been heard and taken up. Any ship attempting to leave Haven is immediately intercepted and asked to state their business. If anything is suspect, they are asked to turn around. All comers are still allowed in, but with the dire warning of the consequences such an action entails, and most traders are allowed to leave, though discouraged from it. A few of the swifter craft plying the watery ways have managed to elude the blockade with the large galleys seeming unwilling or unable to take more drastic measures. But how long can that last? With most concerned with more important matters, such as their own survival, there are not many with time nor the inclination to watch the comings and goings of ships within the bay. Those few who do choose to watch would notice that, amidst the heightened activity of the one-time watching fleet, a new player has joined the fray. Beyond the line the ships have drawn within the bay, a large ship of clearly Pandion make has weighed anchor; the ship is flanked by two of its brethren, larger and grander then the rest of the Pandion galleys patrolling the comings and goings, with sails dyed a midnight blue that blends in with the twilight sky. For the moment, it seems to ride the waves in its chosen spot and wait. But for what? Title: Strange Happenings A steady stream of people from Delphi have traversed a singular path through the city gates to a somewhat remote spot near one of the many ponds that collect throughout Haven's farmland. Each one has prominently worn Shaper grey. Once there, they have worked in shifts to draw stone from the ground for some obscure purpose and then returned to Delphi in shifts. With the efforts of so many, the structure is quickly taking shape and will likely be recognizable within the day. Title: Atlantean Announcement "There comes a time when some hard, unpopular decisions have to be made for the overall safety and good of all." Thus begins the herald making announcements to the Korallion staff and residents, guests. "Because of the deadly plague in the city and the contagious nature of the disease, we are closing ourselves off from the public for the time being. Those in the Korallion are asked to, if they present any symptoms, move to the guest rooms in the residential wing. Those are set aside for quarantine, one for known cases, one for possible. There are no known cases at present among us. Anyone who is symptom-free for four days should be considered healthy. Supplies are plentiful enough to last for us. Jasmine has volunteered to help with things to occupy time." There is a mental swirl of discontentment at this announcement, an impression of friends, appointments, my health is my own business, contracts, trade, land dwelling family. Finally the thoughts become subdued. One servant finaly asks *Is it really that bad?* Nods respond. *Yes. We have had to blocade incoming and outgoing sea traffic with the Pandion fleet, have supplies floated in on rafts with offshore unloading. Those healers among us who are already landside will stay and lend what help they can. Any necessary business will have to be conducted by messages sent across the bridge, Those exposed Atlanteans in the city and those here who are disease-free can use thoughts from opposite ends of the bridge. Guards will be posted to bar passage for the duration. Our apologies to those who frequent the Temple and for any inconvenience this causes, but the attempt to keep us alive is necessary.* The Ormani Herald withdraws and guards step into position at the bridge. Title: Empyrean Quarter: Proclamation Official Proclamation: On the tenth of February last year, the city of Lycenae was destroyed at the hand of the ruler of the Varati, Khalid Atar. Although many of the city were given leave to evacuate, many others were not, and lost their lives in a lake of fire and molten rock. I, EmpEror Drusus Marcus Jove, hereby declare the day of February tenth and the nine days preceeding to be the Empyrean week of Remembrance for the lives, the city, the livelihoods lost, for the loss of the bonds of families destroyed or torn asunder by the cataclysm wrought on Lycenae. Let all remember the event which, in fear and fury, transformed mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters into blessed lares -- and let us pray that they watch over us now as we struggle to rebuild those shattered places within the Empyre. And we will rebuild the shattered places. Already, great progress has been made, and more will be made, for what makes the Empyre great is not its wealth, or its cities, or its art, but the indefinable quality within from which all those things are a natural byproduct. We are a strong people, honorable and noble, and no matter how much we suffer, our greatness resides within us always, ready to serve as the source of our recovery and rise to even greater heights. In the names of the lares of Lycenae, let us mourn for them, and in our mourning let us band together and make for them an offering of an Empyre rebuilt and bright with glory. Thus I have written. Drusus Marcus Jove <The proclamation bears the imperial seal, and is posted a week before the 9th day before February 10th. It is accompanied by another notice from lesser officials: that in light of the current crisis in Haven, that Haven's own celebration of this solemn event will be postponed until the danger is passed, and will be combined with a remembrance for those whose lives were claimed by the sickness. In the meantime, families are invited to observe the remembrance privately.> Title: Mother's Mercy... Along Palisade, within sight of great Atesh-Gah, stands the Behzad Clan hall. A woman stands before the half-closed gates, the crimson and black of her Clan colors covered by a long white apron. One of the Ushasti, priestesses to Ushas, Mother of Mercy, with the pure white robes. Well. They were pure white robes -- and smudges of earth and grime mar them, now. She has been at the gates of her Clan hall for many hours, tending to those Varati living outside the embassy's walls. She gives small bundles of herbs and powders to those who come to her, with instructions for their use, or simply clasps hands for a moment to offer a short prayer to the Amir-al's holy Mother for those ill and dying. She has no healing magics -- this is admitted often to those who come to her for help -- but assures those that accept her herbal remedies that they will ease the pain and blood-flecked coughs of the afflicted and help keep the sickness from returning. Title: Plague? Who cares! Unconcerned about the plague, the Captain of the Memphis, known as 'The Whip,' has taken to continue roaming the streets as she sees fit. It is rumored that she knows some sort of healing magic, but no one has ever seen the woman use anything other than a dagger, a sword, or the infamous whip. As for the rest of the town, things have started to go missing in places boarded up due to the plague. Is this because Giraldine allows her crew to roam Haven whilst everyone else sits boarded up in their homes? Perhaps. Title: Locked out Pasiphaeans The closing of the Korallion had an ... interesting result when Pasiphae's High Priestess, known as Estrel Lehuan among the non-Atlantean citizens, was locked out of her own temple. You have to admit it, Atlanteans don't discriminate. And it wasn't just the High Priestess, a substantial amount of the local priests and priestesses were deprived of their lodgings and praying center. Instead of reacting angrily or sad, however, they simply continued their good work for those in need of spiritual guidance or some attention, at least until their leader in exile had decided what to do. It wasn't long before an unofficial statement was made: "Those Servants still within the Korallion's walls will continue to serve in Pasiphae's Home away from Home. Those who have been temporarily exiled will do the same and gather upon the beach where the Farewell and Welcome ceremonies will be held and open for all who wish to witness such an event." And so it is, a small cabin has been erected for those in search of priests, but most Pasiphaeans can be seen wandering through the streets and bays of the Atlantean quarter. Title: Rumor Runs Before the Wind Like the Yapping Dog The sound of coughing in the alley is broken by a hoarse voice, "The Sun was et, I tell ya. Et all up. It's the end. His mama and papa are mad at him and they is gonna kill us all to prove it." There is more coughing and then another weak voice answers, "You ain't got no God. He's a freak. We's lost the war. My God's mad at us." A third voice now adds to the conversation after making a spitting sound. "Eh, shut your yaps. It don't matter whose God is upset. We's all gonna die." Title: Refugee Removal A rumor spreads quickly through Haven and many people begin moving to the northern part of town, finding places to watch over the wall, or through the gate. Others even venture out near the Tent City to see what is going on. In the center of all the commotion was the Provost and a large group of Hounds. It seems today's order of business was the forced removal of the refugees. Apparently, the Shapers of Delphi had worked through the night to provide a new place for the refugees to set up. Far to the east of the city, surrounded by farmland, near a pond and stream, the refugees were moved. Some permenant structures were already formed there, as well as spots for many tents cleared and well-marked and pointed out areas for the sick. After all the refugees were out, the Provost, looking rather grim, made the last order of the day. "Torch it." Huge piles of old trash, tents and so forth, were burned and the entire area of the old Tent City was leveled. Workers have been seen since, tilling up the ground and tossing seeds over the land. Title: Reactions from Atesh-Gah? While the rumors are unconfirmed, a member of the Atarvani was overheard mentioning to a Khalida minister that the reaction to the refugees' move was... wry within the walls of the Atesh-Gah. Apparently, the Pasha of Haven, who has herself visited the Tent City and its population, has been quoted as saying, "So the Shapers of Delphi built a settlement overnight for those plague-infested candala? Perhaps if the Empyre would be so diligent in rebuilding their cities we would have no refugee problem. "...and no plague." Title: When the Dawn Breaks... ...the darkling will fall. Men and women alike continue to succumb to Aidoneus' touch -- whether punishment for their arrogance or mere innocent victims caught in the fray. As the toll continues to rise, rumors begin to question if anyone is safe anymore. Though the Hawks and Hounds continue their near endless patrols throughout the city -- they too have begun to fall. Whispers gasp in astonishment at the latest news: The darkling has fallen! In a self-exile of what may be only construed as a possible suicide mission, the darkling Optio Zorelle has finally collapsed, exhibiting strong signs of the plague and no longer capable of maintaining her patrol. Who shall lead the remaining Praetorians who stand in exile? Better yet, who, if any, will dare risk catching the plague to tend the much-disliked darkling? Perhaps some answers are best left to the decision of the lares... can the solemnity of the countless losses among all races hope to unite them in destroying this foul disease before all is lost....? Title: No Fear Despite the increasing anxiety about the plague, and the fact that going to the refugees results in being locked out of the main body of the Empyreal quarter, the Empyrean healers who have gathered in response to the call from Haven continue their sojourns unabated. First they went to the tent city, then to the stone buildings built by Delphi. Some still go to the former, hoping to glean clues in the standing puddles of water and collected garbage, in the few scraps unclaimed by the fire. They pore through the nooks and crannies of the stone hospital built at the first site by Haven, seeking a hint of something that might give them an idea on the origin of the disease, while their comrades assist the charitable Houses by being the ones to convey donated goods to the new camp. Such are left outside the buildings in the Quarter that have been set aside for quarantined healers, and a few still-hale guards stand watch to make sure it is not stolen. In the meantime, word comes that the shattered cities of Thermopylae, Arx, and the half-blasted Parnassus and Delios are on the way to being rebuilt. But more of everything is needed: more workers, more supplies, more money. It seems that the tax relief offered to merchant Houses willing to assist in the rebuilding is still being offered -- something which is sure to hurt the cash-strapped Empyre down the road -- with breaks also offered to those willing to transport available workers from areas of surpluss to areas of need. And the land grants offered to refugees who are willing to commit to a future in one of the destroyed cities is still in place -- a lucrative opportunity, surely, to give one's descendants a plot of land in the heart of what, hopefully, will once again be a bustling metropolis. Indeed, the news from the Empyre is that there are precious few refugees remaining in the lands ravaged by the Varati... except for those in Haven. Title: Shaven Diplomats? Amid the hectic tales of plague, and the woe of death in the very streets of Haven, some rumors are lost; two Bezhad guards talk, words mixing with those of the Mongrels outside the Clan hall, not of plague, but of a shaven-headed diplomat. Vayu Khalida Sirat, Deputy Foreign Minister, was said to leave the Bezhad Clan hall with Clan warriors looking on with stern faces and dark eyes, with a poorly shaven head, as though the hair had been hacked off with a knife. The mongrels sat and stared, laughing at the idiotic-looking pureblood, while the Behzad guards conversed: Jamil: "I don't think I've seen the Warlord that angry in ages. Have you? What did he do, impugn the honor of the Clan?" Hazim: "No... Evidently the Warlord told him to leave the Clan hall, so that he could speak to that witch-woman, Devi. The stupid Khalida told the warlord he was rude, as he had business with the witch himself. So the Warlord was going to cut off a finger, but the Khalida told him something that made him pause -- a statement that made the warlord so angry that he nearly killed the diplomat!" Jamil: "Truly? What stayed his hand?" Hazim: "Something about wishing to marry the witch. He's truly insane; I would never dream of taking a wife who would curse me, should I displease her!" Title: Words from Behzad A small contingent of Behzad clansmen make their way to the Rialto, several guards in their crimson and black brigandine and a small woman in a black rabbit's-fur cloak -- Devi, the Ushasti priestess offering herbal remedies outside her Clan hall's walls. They move for the benches and tables near the food vendors, the guards flanking the bench Devi stands upon as she calls to those gathered in a strong, even voice: "In the name of safety, the loyal Clan Behzad has closed our gates. No Behzad will leave the Clan hall until the sickness has passed; any wishing entrance will be checked for any signs of illness. No kafir will be allowed entrance until it is clear the sickness they have brought upon us all has been purged. "The great and wise Delphi has moved these sick and dying kafir -- moved them to the farmlands where much of Haven's food is grown. We of Clan Behzad do not believe this to be wisdom, but folly of the highest degree. "To keep our people safe, we have instituted a two-year ban on all foodstuffs produced by the farmlands surrounding Haven, and we call upon the other loyal Varati of Haven to support this ban as well, lest this sickness return. "So has the Warlord Sakhr Behzad decreed. Let it be so." Title: Sticks and Stones Though words can never hurt, new ones issued from the mouth of Shakir Al'Samar intend just the thing. Anounced in the Rialto and before each embassy by criers then posted for the literate to read: Citizens of Haven, be you of any race, sit not in fear in your homes. Plague has come to Haven because its citizens neglected the needy which lived just beyond its walls. Now these refugees have been moved even farther away. Do not allow the thought of 'out of sight, out of mind' prove true. Leave your homes and come help the Healers cure the illness so that these refugees may go to the new homes promised by Emperor Drusus Jove. Even now, Praetorians, Velites, even the Empress, herself, labors at the camp. She is not afraid. Do not be afraid to join her. The Healers need those with herbalism skill as well as those without. Anyone can help. If you have not the herbalism skill, then you will be shown how to make potions to ease the cough and the fever. You may then take this knowledge home to help your own loved ones. But, this is not the least, the refugees need brave souls to venture into the forests and fields to find herbs. It may be winter but anything gathered will be of use. Come to the Tent City. Learn of mullein and licorice root. Help others and help yourself. Under the statement is a list of general febrifuges and anti-tussives that are required by healers. Title: Farmer Murmurs Those who listen -- that is to say, those who even care -- will notice a tide changing as many of the tides caused by the recent plague. The tide of closing doors. The tide of turning away, hiding, the tide of protecting oneself. And what of the farmers to the east, in the normally most fertile land around Haven? Those closest to the new so-called refugee camp -- the families Balta, Jeordon and Trimire -- are no longer selling to Haven or trading with this, again, so-called refugee camp. What they're doing with these goods is not very well known. And good thing for the rest of us farming families! Nearly the only people left willing to buy are in the all but dead marketplace and the Empyreans, both at what could be seen at a dwindling profit. Not out of cheapness, but out of fear. The farming comminuty is not happy with the camp. Not happy at all. And the murmurs in the Rialto are if something is not done to remove the threat, Haven itself may start to go hungry or feed itself fear of the plague. Title: Self-exile? The news flashes through the Empyrean sector like wildfire -- and how does it, with everyone afraid to creep out of domicile and cella? The fear must not be as prevalent as one thought. At any rate, the news: not only did Empress Aurora visit the new refugee encampment, but the Emperor accompanied her. Now, as if in answer to the suggestions that his wife be barred from the Palladium, he has barred himself. While Aurora remains in the refugee camp to oversee the work of the Velite half-legion sent there to guard, build, cook, and assist, he has set up for himself an office in the same building used by the quarantined healers. He visits the refugee camp a day or two out of the week, but he spends the rest of the time in as rapid a communication as he can maintain by remote courier: messengers can be observed at all hours of the day and night, arriving on the roof-top landing to pick up boxes of missives intended for those inside the Palladium and for recipients even farther away. The influx of messages is rumored to be just as numerous. A few who have contact with slaves actually connected with the royal household, though, murmur that this is not particularly unusual. Title: Hound Movements Changes have begun to take place in the way the Hounds have been operating in Haven, in certain areas of the city fewer Hounds have been spotted. On foot, that is. One of the major changes is a decided lack of foot patrols in the Bordertown district. The patrols there have taken a new, innovative approach. Numerous Empyreans have been seen flying over the area, with occasional foot patrols, all carrying whistles. When trouble is sighted, the whistles are blown, and several Hounds have the chance to 'swoop' down and take care of the problem. It hopefully will manage to reduce the manpower needed to do the same quality of job in the same area. That extra manpower, plus a little diverted from other sections as well, looks as if it were being sent to the Tent City. Made up of Hounds whom volunteered for the task, the troops were led to the Tent City by Reeve Januarius himself. Bystanders whom saw the marching soldiers claim as many as fifty Hounds were in those ranks heading northeastward. Headquarters and Company Quarters were set up in new tents outside the city, where the Hounds have started regular patrols and helping with public works projects. Some of those with light knowledge of herbalism have been found mashing herbs and mixing all kinds of various, foul-smelling brews that are supposed to be good for what ails you. Though their shifts are officially 12-hour shifts, many have taken to 16-hour shifts, four hours on their own time, to help out in the tent city. All carrying on much like the Death Squads, with their superstitious gloves and masks, their reception by the refugees has been mixed. Some have looked upon them as 'Golden Hearts,' watching them help all they can. Others have grown so resentful of the Delphi in recent days and weeks that they are looked upon with even more contempt than the Death Squads, seen as only trying to make the Hounds look good. According to reports, the Reeve Januarius plans to deploy another similar-sized group in time for the next 12-hour shift. Even though these Hounds are doing their best to help, that aura of difference still exists. The Hounds are isolated from the refugees, in tents restricted from civilian travel. Their water and food is shipped in from what are considered 'clean' Bastion kitchens. Now if they ever saw how the cook keeps that kitchen, they'd think differently. But that's for another post. Title: The Actions of House Tritonis The House Guard of Tritonis have found themselves with significantly less time on their collective hands, of late. A small circle of grey tents sit just outside the main throng of the main refugee camp, several of the guard setting up residence and dispensing blankets to children and food to any who will take it. And money! Oh, the money! Coins rain from their hands into those of the refugees like water, with promises that more will be given to those who seek them out and accept the offer of transport. Free transport to Edessa, that is. And the promise of shelter, food, and employment. House Tritonis continues to assist in the rebuilding of the Empyre with the one resource they have plenty of: money. Money to hire servants to rebuild the badly-damaged Empyre. Chariots arrive daily in Palladium, the screeches and grunts of the fiery gryphons becoming more and more common echoing from the Palladium's pens. After unloading supplies, they set off again, taking their precious human cargo to where they're needed the most. Not all of Kalypso's precious Golden Boys are shut outside Palladium, though. With the chariots arrive fresh faces to Haven, new guards to replace the old? Or perhaps Tritonis seeks a bigger presence in Palladium, with the recent closing of the Eyrie. Where has Kalypso been, though? Rarely is she seen, seen, and the Golden Boys are tightlipped in regards to her. Perhaps she's trying to avoid catching another disease from the refugees, or perhaps she's left for Civitas Dei? In other rather uninteresting news, candlelight shines brightly from the windows of the Tritonis Embassy in Palladium day and night. For each of the ten nights of the Remembrance Week, a slender white candle was lit in each window, and left to burn. Replaced daily, they are a silent homage to the innocents who lost their lives in the heartless destruction of Lycenae. Title: Good Riddance! Despite the general feeling of alarm around town caused by the outbreak of sickness, there's a sense from some at least of a mild relief. Reaction to the news of the Tent City's relocation has been mixed, and there are as many opinions about Delphi's unexpected move as there are residents of Haven. One of the most common attitudes, however, is simple relief. It's clear to most everyone that the reason people are ill has everything to do with the fact that the dirty, sickly residents of the Tent City were allowed to mix freely with Haven's general population. Now they're far away, and few tears are shed. Maybe since the source of the infestation isn't a part of the city, the disease will fade. Maybe the gods were punishing the refugees, and, since they're gone, people will start to get well again. Tyche willing, this will all fade into an unpleasant memory. Good riddance to bad rubbish! Title: Will it be Enough? Servants of House Thanatos have begun taking clean supplies to all Houses affected by the plague within Palladium, and gathering those things that have been touched by, or merely in close proximity to, the sick. Dirty things are burned, bonfires commonplace in the Palladium these days. An entourage is being sent likewise to offer bedding and simply-made chitons and gowns to Delphi's stone hospice and to the refugee camp itself. Those wishing to return are, of course, complying with healers' examinations. It is something, an attempt at helping to stop the spread of the epidemic, but will it be enough? Title: Ripples Sometimes it is a simple thing. A pebble in the pond causes ripples and those miniature waves in turn disturb floating flotsam who in turn causes more ripples. In short order, the entire surface of the water can churn until things return to calm. In much the same way, a message can spread among the Atlantean people in the merest of moments. Where word is indeed thought, and from there to speech. In this case, the pebble is a messenger and a message. The content is simple. Many by now would have noticed the large galley floating out beyond the forcibly quiet bay, and most would have guessed it contained some personage of importance to the Pandions from the make of the ship and the respect it is given by the other Pandions who share the water with it. The messages confirms and clarifies the thoughts that might have flitted within the minds of those who took note of the ship during those few times they were not thinking about death by coughing. It is indeed the Pandion Decemvir who accords such a ship, and any and all are welcome to visit him upon it. Boats have been provided for those unfortunate enough to be drylanders who wish to sate their curiousity, though with the warning that a hint of a cough by a passanger shall have him/her tossed overboard and politely asked to swim for shore. The Decemvir himself will be coming ashore on occasion, but no scheduled arrivals are in the works. He comes when he comes. Concern over the plague is the likely cause of the randomness of his arrivals, or perhaps it is a personal love for perversity. Title: A Cure? That's right. The latest word coming from the notably less crowded streets is that a cure for the plague has been discovered. The details are pretty fuzzy, but one point is clear: the cure is in the hands of the Apisachi. So what can be done about it? These Apisachi Sylvans are the same ones who ruthlessly attacked a group of Tent City refugees who wandered into their territory searching for dry kindling. They're savages who've taken every opportunity injure and panic non-Sylvans unfortunate enough to come across them. If they have a cure and havn't come forward with it, is there any hope that they ever will? How did they, of all people, end up with the cure, anyway? Maybe they started the plague in the first place. They could have infected those refugees that they stuck with arrows two months ago. That was about the time that the sickness started. And what were they doing lurking in the streets around town a few weeks after that? If they're holding onto the cure, then somebody should go and take it from them. It seems like handling this crisis would be a much better use of the Hounds than babysitting the derelicts in the new Tent City. Instead of shuffling those people around, Delphi should be doing everything in its power to seize the cure and maybe take care of those Apisachi once and for all. Title: A Day for the Children Those in the refugee camp were met with an unusal shower this morn. For it was not rain or snow that fell from the sky, but treats! A small group of Empyrean guards from House Acesius flew over the camp, tossing toys and bundles of candy to the children below. Each gift was attached to a square of cloth which aided in the delivery. Each item drifted to the ground, proving to be no harm to anyone that was out of their tent. For at least one day, the sounds of children at play was heard through the camp -- from those well enough to enjoy playing out of doors. Mothers and fathers collected the gifts from above to take into their ill children so they too might have new toys to play with in their beds. There were curses amoung the cheers, refugees wondering where was the money or food or other supplies. But for this day, it was all about the children, a chance for them to actually be children, to laugh and to play. Title: Movement at Delphi There's been quite a lot of activity at Delphi of late. Just after nightfall, two groups left the citadel, headed in two different directions. Two empty cargo wagons were led northward through the streets of Haven and out past the city's north gate. These wagons were escorted by approximately ten Hounds, who bore insignia designating them as members of the guard normally assigned to the Citadel and the Estrella. Separate from the group with the wagons, a handful of Delphic magi led by the Estrel, Spirit-Whisperer, made their way westward out of the city. Accompanying them was a single Hound. Interestingly, all in this group except the halfbreed Estrel were Sylvans. Title: Herbs Wanted Volunteers working at the new Tent City bring back word that with the herbs provided by Emperor Drusus Jove plus supplies shipped in by Clan Al'Samar that refugees are surviving the plague. Many are still falling ill, but the number of corpses being driven to the funeral pyres has decreased. Yet, there still more sick than workers can handle and despite the influx of herbs from various sources, they are not enough nor, as the other rumors have it, as effective as the mysterious lungroot held by the Apisachi. Volunteers and members of Clan Al'Samar are now combing Haven and asking for merchants and citizens to donate herbs. Brave souls are still needed to search the dead winter forests and fields for any herbs and roots that might be used. Title: Empyreans Not Starving! With the plague having so seriously restricted trade, it is likely that many denizens of the city are going without their favored exotic comforts -- the poorer having scant chance to find food at all. However, the Empyreans are not starving: it seems that some serious negotiating and diplomacy have come to fruition in the delivery of grain from the farmlands and (for Empyreans) exotic foodstuffs from the Atlanteans. Not a lot, but no Empyrean is starving, not even the poorer members of the Empyrean quarter, and there is enough left over to go into the cooking pots of the Praetorian Velites providing for the refugee camp outside of town. For many Empyreans, this is their first taste of seaweed... Title: H A V E N S T A R V E S (While Delphi Fiddles?) Whether it's the plague, the refugee camp, or other forces in effect, food is hard to come by in the Rialto for families. Merchants, inns and other people who depend on Haven for day-to-day living are finding it increasingly harder to find or afford the staples of grain, corn and many meats. Some farmers themselves will occasionally admit, especially over drinks, that they're almost afraid to eat their own food for fear of the plague, but what is there to do? Other food merchants will gladly share their view on the grandiose mistake of Delphi for putting the dirty, diseased refugee camp in the middle of Haven's very breadbasket! How long will this go on? Only time will tell. Title: A Late Delivery From Avalon... It would seem that Jenean's visit to Avalon is over -- at least, those who had got used to seeing her around report that she's no longer there, and nor is the mongrel known as Dremmond. And precious few folks saw them go. Title: Feed me, Seymour! As Haven goes hungry during the farmers' boycott, the sick refugees and volunteers in the Tent City are eating well, if beans can be considered well. The food provided by Emperor Drusus Jove is keeping the cause of the plague alive, say some. Yet, the other word that is being spread about is, "Volunteers Eat!" Workers at the Tent City can be seen sneaking about Haven attempting to recruit more volunteers and exhorting Havenites with, "Food! Hot, yummy beans." Title: The Varati Relent? Not really, but the gates of the Atesh-Gah have opened sufficiently to allow more Varati to assist with the refugees and victims in the Tent City. No official word has been released as to why the decision was made, but the Pasha of Haven was rumored to stated that compassion, even to nonbelievers, is part of the almighty wisdom of the Amir-al... and therefore not to be questioned. Title: Missing Starvation Just as the refugees appears deprived of the delightful joy of starving -- a mongrel merchant appears to be donating rice rather than selling it for profit -- so it would seem that the Varati are continuing to eat. Perhaps the Varati have a stockpile of food within the bowels of Atesh-Gah because during the days before the recent opening of the gate, caravans were not seen passing within, though that may have been timing. While lesser in number, caravans from the various vaisya clans are still travelling across the continent from the Varati varas to Haven. Verily, the Varati are rich enough to buy food from the disease-ridden farmlands, who would want to eat it? Not all the Varati are eating, of course. Those who have abandoned the ways of Atarism are fending for themselves, eating no better than the average mongrel. Title: The Bastion Remains Open! Embassies are closing their doors. The Citadel Infirmary is overrun with sick and dying. With city and embassy infrastructures either closed off to the common man or taxed to the breaking point, one place has refused to close their doors to the commoner, remaining ever-vigilant in their duties in this disaster. The Bastion. Ever dedicated to the people of Haven and their needs. One thing has changed, however recently. Two caduceans wearing the pure white cloth of their field stand at the gates with the usual guards, performing check-ups on anyone entering the building. Every now and again, especially after a shift change, you can see them sitting exhausted rather than standing guard, their energy drained from all the check-ups of the officers coming through the gates. And so it is this way that the Hounds of Haven, unlike the rest of the stationed armies in Haven, have managed to remain open to the public, for their sake and safety. Always there for the citizens of Haven. Title: Ague Plague Faltering The fires raised in the charred spot of the Tent City at the north wall of Haven, which burn the dead bodies gathered by the Provost's men -- and women -- have grown smaller in the past few days. Now the fires are noticeably smaller and murmurs pass about the city that the plague has lost its power. People are still falling ill, but due to some mysterious agent that none understand, fewer folk are dying. Many of those who caught the cough and fever early -- and survived -- are up and about, showing no signs of falling to the malady a second time. Yet, the road from sick to well is long and arduous as many are still afflicted and the supply of herbs to ease the symptoms has decreased rapidly. Some look at Delphi as worried voices speak about the dearth of herbs. There is still talk of the mysterious cure held by the Apisachi in conjunction with both anger and anxiety as to why Delphi's mages are not wakening the winter earth and forcing it to grow both the Apisachi cure and the desperately needed herbs. Title: The Delegation Returns There is encouraging news for those in Haven gripped by the plague. Last night, the delegation of magi that disappeared into the western forests returned to Delphi from the north, accompanied by the group of Hounds and the pair of covered wagons that left the Citadel when the negotiating team did. The entire procession went straight to the Delphic compound. From there, the rumors began. No one knows exactly what happened regarding the Apisachi savages, but news is spreading that the Healers in the infirmary have begun treating plague cases with a tea brewed from lungroot, the so-called Apisachi 'miracle cure.' No official announcement has yet been made. Title: Cure for the Plague! Word spreads like a raging forest fire across Haven. Delphi has a cure for the plague! The cure, known as the Apisachi lungroot, is already been distributed to the refugees in the tent city, being brewed into a tea and served by the Caduceans that operate Delphi's clinic. Even as Delphi makes it known that lungroot tea is available in it infirmary, word also hits the street that as of the morning of March 4th, Delphi will be distributing the tea from the Rialto and the empty stone structure -- the former clinic -- on the outside of Haven's north wall. At the moment, only the prepared form of the cure is available. The root and its plant are not available to any save Delphi. Title: An Unexpected Patient Morning breaks over the Rialto, quiet before the storm of activity that it will see later. Two mongrel women, both matrons of Delphi's kitchens, wander around to poke through the slim pickings of the delicatessens (or the Aetherian equivalent). It just hasn't been the same since that plague, but oh well. That's not a concern preying on the mind of the women at the moment... "I'm tellin' ya, Bertha, I saw him with me own eyes. That was the Acorn that came in the Infermariar last night. Sick as a dog, he was." "Pshaw! What would the Acorn need with with Delphi's infirmy? He's got his pretty wife! She's the greatest Healer that e'er lived. Healed me boy one time, she did. Sweet angel, she never did ask for payment." "I'm tellin' ya, I know what I saw! I even spoke to one of them Healers about it later. Rashid and Starsong took care of 'em. Y'know Rashid don'tcha? Eh? Wink wink? Nudge nudge? Say no more?" "Gertrude! Hold your tongue! There's no way to prove it was him kissin' little Kavindra. 'Sides, I think they'd make a cute couple anyway, so I hope it was him. Even if he's near old enough to be her father." "Aaaaanyway! I heard from Nadia who heard from one of the other Healers there that the Acorn had pneu... pneeuuu.. Pneumon-y. Mia. Advanced case of it, too." "Huh.. You don't say... Well, with his wife so pregnant, maybe he didn't wanna put more strain on her. I think that's sweet... And that would explain why he's been absent from his desk at the Bastion." "I think it's just plain dumb. Stupid men. Beef for brains, I tell ya." Title: Isolation Procedure <Crowding the skies above the Palladium are Servitor Praetorians, beginning the process of barring the way to and from the Palladium. Outside the gates, Velites rush to construct tents and seal off the road in front of the Palladium. Herald servants begin the announcements throughout the embassy.> The Palladium is now under quarantine -- no one may enter without spending seven days in isolation outside the gates. Those attempting to violate this policy will be detained at the Eyrie. Those attempting to evade the guards and land within the Palladium will be fired upon. Special requests from within are to be forwarded to Optio Cyrano Gracius, Chief of Palladium Security. The Guard regrets any inconvenience to those displaced by these orders. Title: Plague Fizzling, Starvation Continues During the night of March 7, 3905, the bright yellow and orange of the funeral pyres that had burned constantly outside the tent city and Haven were not stoked and subsequently burned down to red embers. The pall of black smoke which hung over the two locations has left. In conjunction with the arrival of the warm, moist spring chinook, the end of the funeral pyres seems signal the beginning of new life. Lungroot tea is being consumed in full force about the city -- though some unfortunates still are not managing to acquire any -- and the number of people surviving the plague is on the rise. More people are appearing on the streets as they recover and discover that they hate the sight of their beds. Yet, as the pale and weak totter forth, they discover that a dearth hovers over Haven. The farmer's boycott continues and fresh food is scarce to come by. What food there is to be had comes from the small farms far away from Haven and -- it is rumored, all those farms have been sold to the Apisachi -- the produce, having been moved out of frozen ground cellars, is mildly spoiled by the travel. Some fish is still arriving from the fishing boats at the docks, assuredly, but with the plague, Atlanteans are keeping to themselves and thus the ocean's bounty as well. The Empyreans are still eating well. With the new quarantine, an ugly murmur has arisen. "They're hoarding food and sitting pretty while the rest of us starve. That quarantine's a hoax, designed to protect their food." While the Varati are allowing people to enter and leave Atesh-Gah in a limited a capacity, it cannot be discerned where their food is coming from. Yet, they too continue to eat and seem to have an utter lack of concern for the mongrels starving in the streets. "Good riddance to bad rubbish," said an anonymous person at one of the embassies that refused to be identified. "That's people for you. Always wanting someone else to take care of them," said another anonymous source. The Provost's office continues to go about its duties with the regularity
that marked it during the plague, though its poor overworked minions are
no longer performing double and triple shifts. Yet, its workers are looking
as underfed as the rest of the population even as their pockets bulge with
money. It seems that even as one problem leaves Haven, another one continues
to plague its people.
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