Corus

[Graveyard Hag]

The Court of the Rogue is now a blackened, crumbling carcass. No one had expected the flames that ravaged the building at summer’s end, nor the death of the notable young Brenden Agentia, district commander of the Lower City’s dogs. Oh, there were other deaths that night, to be sure, however in this part of the city, a corpse or two can often be overlooked. Even were the case to be given the attention it deserved, the Rogue would not be at all pleased with the Lord Provost’s speed, and an antsy Rogue spells trouble for anyone who gets in his way.

The leaves are changing, both in the city proper and at the palace. If anyone at the palace knows about the hardships facing the Rogue, they certainly don’t show it. With Prince Boaz’s introduction, the summer tournament, and the queen’s birthday festivities out of the way, it looks to be a dull few months for the nobility—at least until November and the masquerade ball come along. For now, the court ladies must content themselves with idle gossip, while more and more of their husbands and sons are gradually sent to the border with Barzun and rumours of war are whispered by servants in the back corridors.

Autumn’s harvest is better than anticipated—but not by much. Clearly the king’s mages exaggerated a bit when they predicted a failed harvest. This year’s crops were enough to feed the kingdom, though only just. It is quite unfortunate, however, that several grain warehouses have already been burnt or raided, that cartloads of vegetables have taken to disappearing, and that post-war babies are due in a matter of months. What should have fed a nation is unlikely to do so, leaving growling bellies in the city and even more in distant villages.

Some say it’s only a matter of time before the world comes tumbling down around their ears. Famines? Fires? War? Tortall has had its fair share of chaos so far this year, however the gods have not even begun to do their worst.

None can say what will happen next, in this city we call
CORUS