Portents. Signs. Omens. From all over Rues, there are rumors.
The clerk in Braeus reports that a client opened his door on a stormy day, and the gust of wind that came in blew all the papers from his desk and shelves. They landed upon the ground in perfect sequential stacks.
The apiary in Inlyrico thanks the genesori for record honey production, and the massive new clutches laid by the queens, thanks in no small part to the prolific and long-lasting bloom season.
Workers whisper tales of turning the corner in a dark cellar only to be confronted with a long, strange corridor, emanating a soft glow.
The weaponsmaster was quite startled to enter the armory and find the weapons gleaming clean, honed to a razor edge even though the grindstone was broken and had been for weeks.
The paupers’ wedding guests rejoiced to find the great feast that had appeared on the tables, mounds of food that no one would admit to supplying.
Acorns are sprouting as they fall from the tree, barkeep’s glasses are found arranged by height, and artists can not sleep as they follow their endless inspiration. The sick recover. The forests gleam with life. Theater troupes flee their trailers, reporting that all of their masks have glowing eyes.
The determined underdog comes out on top, match after match. Townsfolk linger in the public spaces, chatting with neighbors. The Korol rejoice as every dog in their kennel is successfully mated. Mirrors have refused to reflect, much to the alarm of those who stand before them. Seats are flopping daily along the mighty Dragon’s Tail of Shiara. The sunset shimmers with unusual hues.
Bards and friars, all of them dreaming of the same song.
It is agreed that so many strange occurrences and remarkable coincidences can not be without meaning, but what? Sages, scholars, and priests have only theories.
Within the cities, conversations about the portents are sometimes interrupted by talk of the next Convocation at Fortune’s Bend. Word has it that a meeting has been called in the neutral territory, with all of the signatory powers asked to return. Many wonder what all these nations might have to say to each other, and speculation is wild. One persistent rumor is that the nations of Rues intend to claim superiority over the churches and eradicate the jurisprudence of the ecclesiastics. No one will know for sure until the Sunday when it happens.
Those with their ear on a more local drumbeat have heard murmurings- where is Mason Atasir? After all of the help he promised, and all of those he got to rely on him, he up and disappeared. Probably on another hunting trip, his old buddies jest but the more prevalent rumble is that he’s hiding in the Shade until a less dangerous time. Whatever the reason for his absence, it is brought him to the most cardinal of Shiaran sins, that of failing to do the best for his subjects. Others have covered for him, but his seat at the Dragon’s Tail is barely within yelling distance of the head of the table, and the citizens are seeing him in a different, unreliable light.
And those with their ear on the most local of drumbeats have heard that the Blue Mushroom Noodle House will be opening in Fortune’s Bend again on Saturday the 18th, ready with hot noodles for cold, weary heroes.