Backwaters
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Word on the street... In Hathian, rumors swirl thicker than the haze that clings to the Projects after dusk. Word on the street is that last night’s so-called truce between certain faces shattered in a hail of fists and bullets—right beneath the noses of off-duty cops and the desperate. They say a wounded wildcat went berserk, turning on a one-time ally, leaving the brutalized body crumpled on grimy pavement as gunfire carved new lines in old vendettas. Paramedics loaded more than bloodied pride into their rigs—some say none will walk away unchanged. Whispers hint the gangs aren’t finished, and the badge may be the next target in the city’s endless storm.
Whispers in the bayou... Last night in Laveau, whispers slithered through the fog like river serpents, and not one soul slept easy. They say a shadowy deal soured at the Barracuda Bar, leaving a trail of blood and broken trust—rumor has it, the Syndicate’s grip on the marina is slipping. The air at Veiled Visions crackled; someone drew the Tower card thrice, then vanished into the night, and now folks claim the Disciples are summoning old magic down by the docks. Meanwhile, watchers at the prison swear the warden’s been making midnight visits—trading favors for secrets only the desperate could afford. In Laveau, secrets don’t stay buried long.
Rumors on campus... Columtreal University’s mossy stones remember every secret, and yesterday the shade of the old asylum weighed heavy on campus. Word drifted from the music rooms: a discordant crew, restless from schedule changes, channeled raw tension and shadowed ambition into haunting, voodoo-tinged jams—rumor says a faculty member’s cryptic challenge turned the session into a carnival of eerie screams and playful threats. Elsewhere, a detached presence stalked the winding paths, fueling whispers of power shifting between eager hands and cold hearts. And as dusk settled, the bistro’s outdoor lights flickered—some swear it was more than a power surge, hinting that Columtreal’s ghosts weren’t resting easy.
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