House of Books...new developments

Some of the mysterious arrivals in the library have been seen outside. One seems to have taken residence somewhere else now, but the sick red-haired woman is still sleeping inside.
She has been seen going for a wash towards the river and visiting the trade house, though.

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Reed carefully

The winds blow fierce through the open structure of what I shall call my home. It is hard to keep a fire going and it tends to even blow over pots and pans. I heard the rushing of a river when we came here so it is time to set out for a walk and see what I can find.

... This place is so unforgiving. I will need to find some needle and thread my pants are ripped to shreds, I should have worn the leathers. Curse those briars...

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Two more in to the fold

A woman and a girl have been seen walking (or skipping in case of the girl) around town. It is unlikely that the two are related, the girl looks cimerian, the woman is dark skinned and might be stygian. She seems curious in nature always looking for things, never shying to ask questions. She and the girl have taken residence in one of the inner wall towers, not too long after the scent of roasting meat drifted down from the upper floor.

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A cold morning

Looking over the desolate landscape surrounding the village,I can't help but getting worried. The morning cold is not just the lingering chill from last nights fog, there is a deffinate drop in temperature that feels like the prelude to a cold harsh winter.

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Goodwill and debt payment

With most of her possessions back, Ansy's been working diligently in an outside the keep. Fruit has been appearing in front of the library for several days, bundles of branches next to the smithy and food before souplady's door.

Thanks to Maeva, today Ansea could start actual cooking and leave a hearty surprise in front of various people's porches.

Unfortunately as the climate starts turning colder, it will probably be the last fresh meals she'll be making. Meat and fruit needs to be dried, fish needs to be smoked, and other longer lasting edible substances storied.

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Hunger...

Winter is coming, gardens are empty or destroyed in storm. Everyone in village seems to have more or less problems with getting food. Some managed to gather enough, fill storages and prepared for winter, but there is many who is desperately searching for solution...

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A new beginning?

Batteries recharged? Check! Arms at the ready? Check! Wits sharpened? Check! Someone in Tombstone has just gotten a merry turn in life...

After devouring whatever the inhabitants could provide, in no small part thanks to Marcuis and 'souplady' (Nohmi), the small queer girl Ansy felt reinvigored to new heights. Also, upon visiting the smithy, Maeva actually worked overnight to repair her bootknife and reincarnate her maul 'Bonk' which rose the little girl's spirits up. With a merry feeling did she leave the village for there was much work to be done!...

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Who knocketh without

Smoke rises from a chimney and where before the cold and the damp reigned supreme, flickering shadows and heat have taken up residence. The walls of the architect building are warm and someone is surely busy. Inside and out the derelict state of the place is slowly giving way to new timbers and planks. Those observant see a very skinny man working on the place. He has strange markings on his face and looks as if he has not had a decent bite to eat in a while.

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The thin thread bearing life

Eating pretty much all what Marcuis has to offer, Ansea quickly regains her strength again, resting in the library. She does not know yet for sure what her next course of action will be though...

This morning the Irani healer(Anyad) passed by Marcuis' place, demanding that Ansea return her 'stolen' property. After a heated conversation, the healer left the library, threating that if she were to die, she'd take Marcuis with her!
Whatever the case, the dagger Ansea had in her possession seemed to be a matter of life and death to the old woman...

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Pain, Nighmares, Discomfort

This morning, a strange sight greeted the locals herding their cattle out onto the dawn-bathed fields. At first light, the Irani crone that had arrived in the village but a few nights ago, had several men hammer a large, irregular board to one of the stable's crossbeams. On it, twisted letters drawn in reddish charcoal ink declare:

Pain, Nightmares, Discomfort

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