Times are in SLT.
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CU Looter Cheer Practice/ tryouts
November 5, 2025 @ 11:30 am - 1:00 pm
Bonus practice, for those who missed tuesdays practice!
Times are in SLT.
Bonus practice, for those who missed tuesdays practice!
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Latest in World...
Word on the street... The city’s shadows shifted again yesterday, whispers weaving through the cracked streets like smoke from a dying fire. The cops brought down a ghost armed and desperate, hiding behind the steam of fresh brews and stale regrets—her surrender at the grind a rare win in a city that chews up hope. Meanwhile, murmurs floated near the tattoo parlor and the voodoo spice shop, where a quiet power play brews—foreign hands moving to claim pieces of the underworld’s puzzle, while local ghosts watch, wary. And somewhere between back alleys and neon-lit dives, deals were struck with heavy eyes and heavier hearts, a reminder that in Hathian, trust is the deadliest gamble of all.
Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at Laveau, the woman in leather lay flushed and slick, eyes sharp as she watched the man with hungry eyes adjust himself slow and sure before slipping out, cash pushed aside like a promise. Breath heavy, skin glistening—she said he’d be back, not just for the night but as a patron to her shadows. ░▒ ▒░ But that heat was only one layer tonight. Down by the docks, whispers float thick—strange lights crawling over the water’s edge, casting eerie shapes where smuggling runs run silent. They say the Syndicate’s Veil is thinning, and with it, a shipment tied to dark rites is missing, tipping the scales where life and death blur. ░▒ ░▒░ Deputy Broussard got a look that said he knows more than he shows, eyes flicking to the door like the night held secrets he’s sworn to keep. The question hangs heavy: who’s next to vanish into that fog, changed or lost forever? ░▒ ✨ https://news.backwaters.sl
Rumors on campus... Columtreal’s mossy stones soaked up whispers louder than rain yesterday. The campus, cloaked in its asylum-born shadows, buzzed with a curious spectacle: a quiet rebellion against sameness. Petite figures floated through corridors, their uniformity sparking murmurs about hidden preferences and silent conformity. Meanwhile, the Bleu Wag Bistro became a backdrop for subtle power plays—an unspoken contest of appearances, veiled in playful provocations and daring touches that skirted propriety. Rumors swirl of a midnight rendezvous at Witch Way Alley, where rituals might be less about magic and more about messaging. The day closed under a velvet sky thick with secrets—Columtreal, as always, a labyrinth of desire and deceit.
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