HGH Staff Mixer

Name: HGH Staff Mixer
Start: 2026-06-19T14:00:00-07:00
End: 2026-06-19T17:00:00-07:00
Location: Hathian General Hospital

June 19 @ 2:00 pm - 5:00 pm

Mixer for HGH staff to welcome new employees. Free booze, snacks, and beautiful HGH rooftop views. Not at all ominous.

Details

Date: June 19
Time:
2:00 pm - 5:00 pm
Event Category: Crack Den

Venue

Hathian General Hospital

July 27, 2026

Word on the street... The city’s pulse skipped a beat yesterday as chaos brewed at the Clam Convenience Store—an elaborate trap set to bait the overworked law, leaving a burned officer retreating under a storm of hot coffee and machetes. Word on the street whispers about a staged EMS arrival that never showed, leaving the scene ripe for rumor and rebellion. Meanwhile, the infamous Jimmie’s Chicken Shack became the backdrop for a brutal stabbing; a red-headed suspect vanished into the night after turning chaos into carnage, only to be caught near the Bourbon Pier. And amidst the carnage, a brawl erupted—glass flying, claws out—between law enforcers and those too wild to tame. Hathian’s streets aren’t just turning—they’re boiling over.

July 27, 2026

Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at the docks, they say the man with blank eyes — cool as still water — nodded slow, barely flinching when talk turned to guns and the bar he couldn’t find. “Sure, I don’t know where the bar is though and I’m a lousy shot,” he said, voice low as Bourbon mist, never turning down company. You could feel the weight, like blood stuck in old bayou mud. ░▒ ▒░ But the real talk? Over near the crooked key, whispers spun about who’s signing off debts in the ledger, debts drowned in bayou shadows. The Syndicate’s grip tightens, and the bayou remembers every unspoken deal slipping between cracked lips—something stirs beneath the surface, colder than the prison’s shadow. ░▒ ░▒░ The man in the white suit watched all this, eyes sharp but silent, a slow twitch at the corner of his mouth. ░▒ ✨ https://news.backwaters.sl

July 27, 2026

Rumors on campus... The mossy stones of Columtreal still hum with yesterday’s whispers. A shadow slipped through the hallowed halls of the old asylum-turned-classroom, stirring murmurs of forbidden rites tied to that whispered alley where wiccan smoke curls at night. Meanwhile, whispers from the café hinted at a clandestine pact brewing beneath the surface of campus politics—something about old loyalties fracturing in silent fury. And late into the neon-lit hours, rumors swirled around the bar where chants and laughter masked an undercurrent of rivalry, one that might just spill over into daylight. At Columtreal, secrets don’t sleep; they evolve.

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