The Crimson Fox Seeks a Hand

After a period of silence from the Crimson Fox, it seems he’s made off with a sizable amount of loot from a vault in Stromness Castle. Following the crowing of the new Queen of Stromness, the Fox broke in made off with a large sum of valuables. While his signature blood-stained gloves were lacking from the scene, some servants were left incapacitated and a guard was killed. Left sitting in the pool of blood was a little wooden carving of a fox believed to have been made by the pixie called Clover. Is it possible that beloved Clover is behind the string of Red Fox thefts? Continue reading

Seeking Derek

It seems the lovely Admiral Redy  is seeking one Derek Bloodsworn after a mix-up involving employment with Absalon. If you’re Derek or know him, send him on down to the docks to meet with the one and only Redy. Remember, if you’re seeking employment with Absalon, you’ll need to be inspected by Redy first!

Tomorrow is the Absalon Bazaar, so you’ll get no better opportunity to catch the redhead! If you’re looking to make coin working out at the harbor, find Redy. Even if that isn’t your line of work, be sure to come to the Absalon Bazaar for the shopping experience of the month! Continue reading

Wanted: Apprentices

Apprentices Wanted

Adults, are you hoping to send some children and teens off on tasks to get them from beneath your feet? Well, now you can. If you know some children, you can direct them toward the docks to learn the ways of ships and trade. Their care will be fully taken care of by Captain Brom. They will also learn the use of money, life skills, and proper trade in our society. Any children are also welcome to come at their own will. Captain Brom is seeking young willing workers to work on a ship and learn some tasks of merchant work. All apprentices will be supplied food and lodging. Orphans welcome. All children are required to be between the ages of 6-18.

Seek out or ask for Captain Brom at the docks by Absalon Trading.
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My Time with the Red Gloves

At the end of last month, I was in the middle of my duties as a Tribune journalist when I was whisked from my desk in a most unceremonious fashion. It seems I’d become the target of a contract placed upon me with the infamous Red Gloves. I spent the better part of a week with them, simply observing as I awaited my imminently grisly fate from the confines of a place that can only be described as the very essence of death, even before it claims a person. Continue reading