Bri Bedore
Newbie
After all the hub-bub of the big tavern-night, Fossey, the habitually overdressed rabbitkyn, posts the following news bulletin:
Famous Journalist on Death Bed;
Wills All Assets to Attractive Apprentice
Armasol Ve'Sayd, world-traveling story-keeper, is dying, and all control of his newspaper, "The Mistwalker Journal", has been handed over to his talented, beautiful, and humble apprentice Gigi la Fosse, who is an incredible rising star in the world of society journalism and will surely eclipse her employer in a matter of--
Armasol blows his nose into her news bulletin before crumpling up the parchment and throwing it away. With another little cough, he bows his head to you. "Pardon my rudeness," he says, sniffling, "but I won't tolerate false news."
"It's not false," Fossey protests, "it's reasonable conjecture. Who else would you leave your paper to, Boss?"
"I'm. Not. Dying. I have a cold." He takes out a piece of parchment and tacks up a notice in place of Fossey's bulletin. This one reads:
---
OOG: TL;DR: Due to real-world deadlines, our March game day, and real-world actual-factual colds, the new Mistwalker Journal will be out in about a week, rather than its usual first-of-the-month release. Thanks for your patience!
Famous Journalist on Death Bed;
Wills All Assets to Attractive Apprentice
Armasol Ve'Sayd, world-traveling story-keeper, is dying, and all control of his newspaper, "The Mistwalker Journal", has been handed over to his talented, beautiful, and humble apprentice Gigi la Fosse, who is an incredible rising star in the world of society journalism and will surely eclipse her employer in a matter of--
As you're standing there reading this, someone pushes you aside and rips the bulletin from the wall.
It's Armasol himself. He coughs, and shoots a stony glare at Fossey, who is sipping fudge-wine at the bar.
"Oh my," she says, expressionless, "Boss, you're alive...!"
It's Armasol himself. He coughs, and shoots a stony glare at Fossey, who is sipping fudge-wine at the bar.
"Oh my," she says, expressionless, "Boss, you're alive...!"
Armasol blows his nose into her news bulletin before crumpling up the parchment and throwing it away. With another little cough, he bows his head to you. "Pardon my rudeness," he says, sniffling, "but I won't tolerate false news."
"It's not false," Fossey protests, "it's reasonable conjecture. Who else would you leave your paper to, Boss?"
"I'm. Not. Dying. I have a cold." He takes out a piece of parchment and tacks up a notice in place of Fossey's bulletin. This one reads:
Due to unforseen complications in respiratory functionality, this month's issue of "The Mistwalker Journal" will be slightly delayed in release. Please forgive us for the lapse, and look forward to picking up the issue when it becomes available.
--Mistwalker Management
--Mistwalker Management
---
OOG: TL;DR: Due to real-world deadlines, our March game day, and real-world actual-factual colds, the new Mistwalker Journal will be out in about a week, rather than its usual first-of-the-month release. Thanks for your patience!
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