Times are in SLT.
Come by for one of our mini workshops, this time focusing on courtesy and etiquette. A great class for new and existing writers to help learn about navigating the intricacies of group RP and how to make sure everything is done fairly!
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Latest in World...
Word on the street... The city’s shadows thickened yesterday as whispers swirled through Crack Den like smoke in a dive bar. A corner claimed by defiant ghosts of street justice erupted, leaving a dazed officer marked by brass knuckles and a cryptic note—revenge spelled out with broken cigarettes. Elsewhere, a silent struggle unfolded behind closed doors, where consent twisted into chains and whispered humiliation, a ritual played out like a dark dance on the edges of sanity. And across the bayou’s grit-stained streets, a missing cousin and a mailed eyeball stitched new fears into old fears, reminding everyone: in Hathian, secrets bleed beneath the surface, and trust is just another weapon waiting to be drawn.
Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down by the flickering lamps at the docks, they whisper about the woman in the faded cotton dress, darted through her shoulder in her own shadowed home. She yanked that sick needle free, stumbled out into the humid air, phone trembling in a sedated grip as fog thickened like the bayou’s breath. ░▒ ▒░ And that wasn’t the only chill twisting through Port Laveau’s veins—over near the rusted airfield, the silent wings of secret flights carry curses whispered by mad preachers, weaving dread deeper into the town’s swollen night. The fog’s thickening, and so’s the Syndicate’s clutch on every whispered sigh. ░▒ ░▒░ Down on Cypress Lane, the root woman’s eyes flicker, cool and knowing, a shadow’s weight settling heavy. She don’t speak, but the question lingers—who sent that dart, and what’s dragging the town closer to the edge tonight? ░▒ ✨ https://news.backwaters.sl
Rumors on campus... Columtreal’s mossy bricks whispered of old ghosts and new mischief yesterday. The campus buzzed with tales of a shady figure at Get Woke, sporting a fake ‘stache and hawking party drugs—shadows long and fake smiles thick as the fog rolling off the old asylum walls. Meanwhile, murmurs stirred of police raids gone sideways, rights trampled underfoot, and a shared unease hanging heavier than the humidity. Somewhere between gym whispers and poolside giggles, rumors of secret night classes and forbidden gatherings brewed, tangled with promises of costume shows and midnight movies. On a campus where every shadow tells a story, yesterday’s whispers don’t fade—they only deepen.
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