Fall has fully set in over Tyria, and even just walking through the streets of Hoelbrak, you can notice a difference in the air. The chilly breeze is sharpening its edge, preparing for the bitter cold of winter to settle in.

Tove can’t wait. All of the recent Pact activities in those cursed hot lands have given her a real craving for the cold of home.

The strong smell of nutmeg and cinnamon are impossible to miss, and there is an excitement that seems to work its way through the people. Trade has picked up to good levels this year, despite the fact that the Lionguard still struggles to field enough folk for patrols. 

While finishing the errands that brought her to the city, Tove is stopped by a man dressed in torn and dirty clothing. His face is marked with streaks of ocher and his hair, a dirty blonde, is spiked upwards and tied with red bailing twine. He laughs and reaches out a hand to shake yours, a little hay falling from his sleeves. You now notice the tattered clothing that is also tied off with the red bailing twine is stuffed with hay.

What a strange human that has stumbled into Hoelbrak. Isn’t the hay itchy? It always makes Tove itchy. Makes her glad her primary mount eats meat, really.

“Hello! Festive Hallow’s End to you!” He grins flashing a bright white smile. 

Is that what they’re calling it now?

“Are you familiar? Familiar with the tale?” He crouches low for a bit holding both hands up with his fingers curled and glances around. “The tale of how the barriers weaken this time of year, of how close we are to the other side? Or how close the other side is to us?” He waits expectantly and watches you, his excitement clear in his expression. “Tell me one of the tales you’ve heard–tell me and then come join us for our Hallow’s End party!”

“My dear man,” she said, with only slight hesitation over the term. “I am a skaald! I am replete with stories. And my understanding of the…ah, veil, is that it’s not merely thin! I have walked through a shard of the Underworld itself. I have battled ghosts, and succored them as well. And I think, dear sir, that there is no tale I can tell you that you do not already know.” She leaned forward, whispering. “Have you not escaped the Mad King’s realm a little early?”

She thought of the last…Halloween party she had attended. “Alas, I shall have to decline your invitation. I’m much in demand with the Vigil, you understand, so I must always be ready to go at a moment’s notice. Norn scouts are much in demand at the moment.”

Tove declines the invitation to the party.

Author Ambrosine
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