Times are in SLT.
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Conditioning with Coach Nara
Get in a workout with coach Nara. Time to work off those holiday pounds in he Gymnasium!
Times are in SLT.
Get in a workout with coach Nara. Time to work off those holiday pounds in he Gymnasium!
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Word on the street... Another day bled through Hathian, and rumor clings to the gutters like oil. Word on the street says a young nurse has vanished—vanished enough to send even the grimiest residents whispering, and the hospital staff locking their doors a little tighter. Meanwhile, the Twister’s sticky floors saw more than spilled drinks: a brawl with flashing steel and a defiant femme snarling at a cop—some say she bit his arm for good measure. All the while, shadows claim someone sprinted from the Daily Grind, pocket heavy and gaze darting, leaving behind more than just caffeine jitters. Trust, as usual, is in short supply.
Whispers in the bayou... Another night slid through the rotten teeth of Laveau, and the bayou whispered secrets between the slick brick alleys. Word dripped from the marina that someone snuck illicit cargo off a battered trawler—boxes that glowed faint in the dark, guarded by men who didn’t blink at gunfire. Meanwhile, at the Barracuda, an argument between a wildcard regular and a Syndicate hardcase left a shattered glass and more than one black eye for the floor to clean up. And atop the old jazz bar’s balcony, a shadow broker met with desperate souls, peddling rumors that the Penitentiary’s silence is about to break. Watch your back—Laveau’s hungry.
Rumors on campus... Another day slips by at Columtreal University, where secrets seep through stone walls like the last rays of a dying sun. Whispers drifted from Murphy’s Pub—some say a faculty member was seen nursing more than just a pint, their words slurred with intentions better left in shadow. Over at the Grinder’s, rumors swirled of a clandestine meeting behind the herb-laced haze, perhaps plotting something that'd set campus tongues wagging for weeks. And in the gloom beneath the old asylum’s eaves, two rivals met—heated words exchanged, with a handoff no one saw clearly. In Columtreal, every whispered word is a spark to set the night ablaze.
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