Times are in SLT.
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The Vault Grand Re-Opening
The Vault
Brings You the Them of
The Wizard of OZ
Fancy Dress is optional
Times are in SLT.
The Vault
Brings You the Them of
The Wizard of OZ
Fancy Dress is optional
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Word on the street... The fog of Hathian never really lifts, and yesterday's shadows ran deep. Word is, chaos erupted at Rader Records—some say a Molotov cocktail lit the sky, drawing half the city’s sirens, while whispers claim a vicious brawl broke out inside, leaving a bloodied trail and a bite wound that’s raising questions about what’s really prowling these streets. Elsewhere, a small-time runner got herself cuffed after a wild chase through damp alleys, igniting debates about police brutality and blurred lines. And the most chilling rumor? Someone dragged a body through a warehouse, teeth left in the blood, sparking talk of a killer hiding among us.
Whispers in the bayou... . . . you didn't hear this from me . . . A pale crate slid from a skiff at the marina just before sunrise, its paint cracked and oozing dark water. No one spoke, but four men in slick boots watched it vanish with loaded eyes. Voices out on the bayou last night, calling names that aren’t theirs to use. It’s happening again, and closer every time. The root woman on Cypress Lane muttered as she swept her stoop at dawn—cutting salt in a circle, glancing over her shoulder. Townsfolk say she’s taken to sleeping with a candle burning blue, her dreams restless. Whatever the Syndicate brought in, it isn’t just cargo. Muffled chanting from the cypress grove, and someone’s gone missing, following a light into the water. Not all debts can be paid in coin; not all things stay buried. . . . ✨ ledger's latest: https://news.backwaters.sl
Rumors on campus... Columtreal University’s moss-draped shadows clung to secrets last night, as the old asylum’s halls echoed with more than academic debate. At the heart of the frathouse, a murder mystery party blurred lines between play and confession—rumor has it some were a touch too convincing, their glances edged with something darker than competition. Meanwhile, bruises and wary optimism spread through dorms, hinting at behind-the-scenes skirmishes—perhaps the result of old debts or new rivalries sparked at the Burger Pit. And in the sterile lecture halls, whispered talk about psychological experiments and group control left more than one mind questioning just how much of themselves they’d willingly give up to survive.
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