[!]

A body washes ashore. Bloated by the water and broken by the tides. Those familiar knew the old woman as Beyatris Jaynel, a seamstress and merchant from Caz-On-Bord, far from home.

[!]

Those that walk the streets at night have begun to feel the creeping sensation that they are being watched, only to find that there is no one else around. Well, there is, but he's just good at hiding.

Someone new has arrived in the Spire.

[!]

The local grass cutter has been spending less and less time cleaving at the greenery outside town. He's grown more elusive to those who frequent his usual spots in search for him, eager to live up to the names and titles others have begun to call him. This so-called hero might occasionally be seen in town, helping townsfolk with small jobs and miscellaneous chores.

The youth is as jolly as ever- but a weariness lingers behind his signature smile.

[ ! ]

Those paying close attention may have noticed our draconic councilor flying into town at speed, carrying an unmoving body in his arms late last night. Whoever it is, is taken to the hospital.

What happened...?

[!]

Word filters through mugs of mead and quiet informants that Yarrow Neredas is looking for any sightings of an individual with silver wings, silver scales, and a silver sword. Then, a shoppe. The Cork & Cauldron.

[$]

Word on the street is, Marcel Le'Clerc is back in business.
He can be seen setting up some things in the stall attached to the Thelwen Household, in the Southeastern corner of the Spire.  Some woodcrafts and basic off the shelf bows and crossbows are placed on display.
There's a sign set up, offering custom orders.

[!]

A shrill scream from the assembly, a woman's, loud and pained.
A bright flash of something, the smell of burned flesh and scorched
earth. The assembly entrance has scorch marks outside for any who
come to check, expensive heels lost somewhere on the path.

 [!]

A quiet day, in the marketplace of the Spire.

It was torn away by the crackling rip in reality, brilliant green, ethereal threads that found purchase in the ether; forming a gateway beyond. Some would recognize the magic, but the figure that collapsed through would piece things together.

”Hazel Smokewood”,

as the land knew her.

The portal sutured itself shut behind her, as if it never existed.

She lay still, bandages rotted. Hands charred. Her entire right collarbone was bloodied and shattered. A burn mark in the shape of a hand pressed in her left forearm.

She stared up at the sky, wide-eyed, blood dripping from the corners of her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

Figures crowded around her, shouting, screaming. Panicking. This shouldn’t be happening. What was happening?

But she could hear nothing but the ringing in her ears, the iron in her tongue, and the inability to breathe between each sob.

Two chains of grief hung heavy on her neck.

A bronze locket of her mistake,

and

A silver ring held by a similar silvery chain. A ring of her hope, though torn asunder…

Survived.

[!]

Something is off about the normally snarky, chatty bartender Meridy Illuma

They're quiet, withdrawn. They don't smile like they used to.

It's...concerning.

[!]

Some strange comings and going from the Hojo encampment can be seen, mainly children bearing letters-from whom is unknown