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Heard in Haven: December 2000
 Title: Memorial in the Rialto - Fin In the mid-afternoon of Friday, June 29th, 3907, the vigil of the Hounds ended. The Memorial of Shields was carefully taken down, each shield respectfully borne from the Rialto by a single Hound. No other ceremony was made, no proclamations issued. The patch of ground where the Memorial of Shields had stood with its' honor guard of Hounds remained empty for a only a few moments before the bustling crowds of the Rialto filled the empty space once more. Life in Haven goes on.
Title: A Hound Resigns Word trickles slowly sometimes, but it does eventually get out and about. A few days after it apparently occurred, it begins to become common knowledge among those interested that Altair Chryseis has resigned from the Hounds. Apparently there was a conflict between him and the Archon and he tendered his resignation to her. What this means for the trouble he's been facing as of late, no one is sure.
Title: Bordertown Housing Authority "Always knew them Delphi types'd run us over someday. Didja see them mages and Hounds storm 'round like they owned th' place?" "Sure. Sure I did. But didja see why they were 'ere? They fixed up ol' Tommas' place right good. You know, the one what got knocked down in th' windstorm? You oughta see it. The Sylvan kid that was watchin' over th' work said it was bein' Shaped, he called it. Never fall down again, not for years 'n' years." "Ah, yer a liar. More'n likely they were puttin' it up so it could fall down on ol' Tom's head when they were gone. Them Delphi folks never do nothin' for nobody." "I ain't no liar. The Sylvan kid said they're fixing up lots o' places 'round Bordertown. I'm thinkin' a talkin' to 'im meself, see if they'll fix up that ol' squat I been beddin' down in. Th' roof's more holes than roof, y'know." "Bah. You just watch. They're gonna want somethin' someday, and when you can't give it to 'em, you ain't never gonna be seen again." "Not this time, methinks. Something's different now 'bout them Delphi folks."
Title: Riot at the Docks! What began as a boisterous, yet peaceful open market at the docks yesterday turned into a violent riot in the afternoon. Sailors wanting to make more pure profit and fishermen with catches from that dawn transformed the pier into a kissing cousin of the Rialto, offering wares from around the known world and fish fresh from the sea, kept cold with sea water readily available. What began in profit and pleasure ended in a disastrous riot. Witnesses say that two crews of opposing ships met over some quarrel or dispute. One of the Captains, some tainted blood Varati, called for a duel to settle the matter, but in the end it was the Empyrean shipmaster who won. Seems that it should have ended there, but for some reason the crews of each rushed one another. The duel had already incited the crowds bloodlust, so it was only touching the ready tinder with a flame to make the entire dock break out in feverish fighting. Hounds were fortunately entering the area after a report of tension and a duel had been reported and the riot was subdued without too much loss of life or property damage. Many sailors and merchants have been taken in to the Bastion for questioning. There are rumors that the Captain of the Amarada, seriously injured, was seen being escorted to the Bastion by a large patrol of Hounds and that an Oracle of the Delphi order was seen following in his wake, clutching a bloodied sword in her hands. It would seem that there is some suspicion that Captain Demetrius is responsible for the riot, but no official statement has yet to be released by the Hounds.
Title: The Panther Returns <The rumors fly through the Varati district like wildfire, and in all of them the first statement is one of surprising alacrity for the normally dour race.> The Panther has returned!!! Hakan Adham-Numair al Behzad, The Fiery Black Panther of the Behzad, and the rightful Warlord of the Clan Behzad. He who has not been seen in Haven in nearing two years, has come back, but not in the way a ruler would normally. He was seen collapsing at the feet of a shudra girl outside the Atesh-Gah, covered in wounds and blood and nothing else as he had just shapeshifted from the form of a mighty black panther (an ability rumored for many years but never confirmed until now). Behzad Hall is chaos at the moment as its inhabitants rush about preparing for the arrival of the Warlord they thought dead. For the last news of the one once known as the Dark General was that after over a year of putting down rebellions in his Clan territory, his retinue was accosted at the beginning of the Varati rebellion. By all accounts, Numair was killed along with his men, but if rumor among the shudra serves, Numair has actually been imprisoned since the beginning of the war and has only now risked everything to honorably come forth and warn the Amir-al and Queen-Maharani of some forthcoming danger of the gravest consequence. None know what this danger is yet, but then most are too excited by the return of Numair to worry overly much...yet.
Title: Out of the Ruins... In passing whispers, which have but minimal interest to most, comes a tale from Bordertown...Several days past the homeless squatters of Bordertown who had taken refuge from the weather in the Ruins of an old Empyrean Temple were turned out of the crumbling Cathedral. An hour before dawn, some massive Empyrean had stalked into the structure, and ordered the squatters out on pain of death. Those few who saw the man and are willing to speak of it will whisper that he shouted at them to "Get out of my House!" And whether for fear of his anger, or more likely, for fear of the bare sword he brandished, they obeyed... in all haste. Few people waste any time thinking on it, after all, the homeless will always find another place to sleep. Besides, what does it matter if some crazy Empyrean has set up shop in the old ruins?
Title: New Services? It is inevitable that even the worst things float up out of the gutter and into the society of the higher class, and rumors are no different. The current one talks about someone with a new service - Cyprians, but without the trip to the "disreputable" parts of town. Think of it as happy meal on legs (except it is sex..) And it is said that specialized requests can also be accommodated. Now, the who to contact part is kinda of fuzzy.. It seems that a word on the street will eventually reach the person or people that need to know and people will be contacted..
Title: Darkling Deus... With Wings? It's been a few months since the gossips in Haven have had any reason to discuss the merchant Empyrean House Nemea -- but in the last week or so, the fires of rumor have been refueled by that particular House. And its infamous Deus, already the topic of a great number of whispers around Haven. As if it weren't enough that Julian Nemeides is rumored to have lived for years in Bordertown as a Mongrel, that he is a darkling who's seized control of his House through mysterious and perhaps even nefarious means, and that he is raising up Mongrel and Empyrean children side by side without the slightest sign of regard for tradition and propriety, the man's been spotted as of late by merchants in Haven, as well as their servants, with a noticeable physical change. Wings, sable-feathered, upon a back which had conspicuously lacked them ever since Nemea set up its new business in Haven. But no one has been able to get the Deus, now confirmed anew as a darkling, to comment upon what has brought about this change. Those who have been bold enough to ask him "But didn't you not have wings, last week?" have been met with a number of maddening replies: "AH HA! So THAT'S where I left them!" "Yes, yes, I know... the healers tell me it should clear right up in a day or two." "I have a VERY good tailor." "I've got gills, too! Would you like to see them?" "Oh, those wings! They're not mine, I'm just borrowing them from a friend. Do you like them? I'm thinking of picking up a pair of my own next week..." "Yes, I had a tragic accident involving seven pillows and a VERY big bucket of ink, but I'm fine now!" "Oh yes, I found them in my other breeches." "Well, confidentially, I'm really a raven shifter. I'm just taking my sweet time changing into my bird form. Tomorrow, I'm going to try for a beak." "I'm working on a Khalid Atar costume for the next masquerade at the Palladium! Think I'll pass for him if I get a tan?" "Wings? I've got wings?! PRAISE THE KRONIAN! I've got WINGS!" Each and every inquiry into his altered state is met by the Deus with an utterly polished calm... and beneath it, hints of an unshakeable resolve to keep whatever brought about this change in him to himself, forcing the owners of wagging tongues to have to speculate without satisfaction....
Title: Drama of a Different Sort... Word travels efficiently through the society of merchants who ply their trade in the city of Haven. "They're askin' fer all sorts... any who's handy with a needle, or who knows construction... painters, jewelers... shapers, too, for both metal an' wood, they be askin' fer." "But fer what?" The purveyor of this gossip leans forward with a husky laugh. "Fer some kind o' play! Some foolery them birdies intend ta act out, an' they want ta look all fine an' polished!" "A play?" asks the engrossed listener. "Ya mean actin' and struttin' and carryin' on?" "The same!" cackles the gossiper. "Well, it don't surprise me that them haughty birdies would want ta preen and act all proper, it comes natural. What's it about?" "Ya mean, the play? That's the best part o' the whole thing. Nobody'll say. Right hush-hush, they're keepin' it, as if it's some sort o' Empyreal secret!" The listener snorts. "Likely it's somethin' undignified... for all their fluff and uppity airs, them birdies take their pleasures just like the rest.... 'cept they don't want none to know they're doin' it." The gossipper laughs loud enough to make his compatriot wince. "From the way I heard tell of it, the birdie who's goin' bout talkin' to 'em in the market is a show all by his-self! Little bald bird, as round as a hog. Nervous, too! All fluttery an' wide-eyed, like he's waitin' fer somethin' ta jump out at im!" "Hog? Yer makin' me hungry now, let's get somethin' from the Song, before I die from starvation right here." "No danger o' that, with the belly you got there..." And so the two wander off to seek more mundane entertainments in the city of Haven.
Title: Altair in Chains? Rumors begin to travel across the town, many people having many opinions, but the central line stays the same. It would appear that Altair Chryseis, once Commander of the Hounds, has surrendered himself to the Empyre for trial. opinions range wildly about this point. Some question the move as stupid, others see it as exceedingly brave. Still more just see it as an attempt at suicide. The opinions on what the Empyre should do range just as wildly, depending on who you talk to. Some say that they should make him look more like the mongrel he is. Others call for his death. On the other side of the spectrum, with Altair having killed a murderer convicted in a Delphic Court of Law, they wonder why the Empyre calls for a trial at all, if they even have the right to do so. The only things that they all seem to agree upon is the fact that Altair's in Praetorian Custody, and that only time will tell what happens next.
Title: Paaaaaaaarty! The Siren is throwing open its doors for high summer for a party! Girls will free, the dancing will be wild, and the booze (which you'll still have to pay for) will flow like water. All welcome, be they regulars or not, as long as they obey the Sirens' rules (which boil down to no naked bladed weapons (knives, swords etc) and girls are allowed to say 'no').
Title: Heard in the Rialto In the marketplace of the Rialto, gossip always flows best in the mid-morning hours. The merchants and vendors need to do *something* in the lull between the crowds of the early morning and lunchtime, and idle chatter works wonderfully. "Did you see them this morning?" one merchant asks his neighbor. "See who?" the other replies. "Unlike you, some of us were working this morning!" "Well they were hard to miss. Small group of Mongrels, all gathered around that Atlantean Provost just over there at a table." "So?" "I think he was teaching them!" the first merchant whispers. "To read!"
Title: A New Varati Ambassador to the Sylvans It isn't exactly the most formal of diplomatic announcements; the carefully worded and copied documents are delivered without fanfare, or any sort of traditional diplomatic procedure, to Delphi, the Korallion, and the Palladium. To be sure, the writing is neatly and elegantly done and the parchment that bears it is fine, though it bears no official seal. The one who drops them off doesn't even seem to be any sort of diplomatic personage -- the shy figure in a black sari and veil, to be sure, has far more about her of the servant than of the ambassador. But she is nevertheless spotted at the gates of all three of those august institutions, presenting a copy of the documents she is distributing and requesting that they be conveyed to the proper authority. She does not linger, apparently content to leave her document with whatever Hound or guardsman might be willing to convey it, though she bows deeply in the manner of the Varati people before she goes on about her business. She is seen, too, delivering the same documents into the hands of a small number of Sylvan Heralds, who in turn are seen conveying the word through the city to what Children of Earth are not gifted with the ability to read. And once the word gets into Bordertown, many who are personally acquainted with that particular black-saried shudra begin to marvel amongst themselves, almost affable towards Atesh-Gah for once if the news they hear is a sign that the healer who has worked among them for two years now is finally being shown some recognition by those who seem to be her masters. And what the document distributed reads is this: "To the honored leaders of the city of Haven, and to our Sylvan neighbors in particular, greetings in the name of the Neverending Fire, the Hawk of Heaven, Khalid Atar; Ashur Masad His Holy Father; and Ushas His Holy Mother. The People of Fire stand strong in the light of Atar's Flame. Guided by His surahs -- and in particular, Honor, Duty, Wisdom, Compassion, and Respect -- we seek to acknowledge the strong presence of the People of Earth within the life of and around Haven. We wish to further understand and improve our relations with the Sylvan people, so that we may achieve a better tomorrow in which both our peoples may live. To this end, let it be known that in this month of July in the year 3907, the Imphadi Salmalin al'Sar now speaks as the Voice of the Varati to the Sylvans. He shall be the instrument of Atar's divine Will, but so also shall he speak with the voice of the Children of Earth to the Most High and Thalia Tritonides Khalida, His Queen-Maharani. Seek you the Voice in Atesh-Gah, Sylvan brothers, and you others of Haven who may need to speak of matters which involve both the Children of Fire and the Children of Earth. May he serve, Atar willing, with honor and diligence to both of our peoples. Written July 3907 by Faanshi
Title: Disappearance? Though he has valiantly maintained that Drusus has been "away," enough time has passed that Flavius Publius, the Emperor's major-domo, can no longer keep up the facade. He now confirms -- to those who ask -- that the Emperor is indeed missing, and with sufficient coaxing can be persuaded to admit that he personally feels and fears that Drusus was murdered. More he will not say, deferring to the Praetorian Guard, who are investigating the matter. News of this type is sure to spread like wildfire, but who can be sure whether it is a fabricated rumor or the truth? The only thing anyone can be sure of is that the Emperor, who normally maintains his household in Haven, has not been seen here for months...
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