A missive from the proprietor of the Riscauld-owned Pigsticker Bakery, across from the Square House.
"Damn and blast this oppressive reach of blackened skies. When shall this wretched spit of weather stop hounding the good citizens of fair Kurch? Some days ago, as I was crossing the Noble Bridge as I often must to meet with our gracious host family, I was nearly overtaken in some of the worst flooding I've ever seen. It was like the waters of Nazeth's chambers had issued forth from the deepest earth and come to claim the unwary. The cold, dark clawed hands of that heathen spirit seemed to reach out and grab hold of me, and I lost all purchase. I would have plummeted into the Bospher, likely to my death, were it not for my plaids catching on the iron working of a lantern post. I wonder how much of the city you've seen since these rains began, but whatever the case I feel you have gravely underestimated how much ruin they pose to bring to the family.
I cannot express enough that the businesses of the Riscauld need more protection during this hectic, riotous age. At the very least, to prevent your holdings from receiving even more damage at the hands of enterprising villains, a doubling of the guard and escorts for deliveries. The unrelenting downpour drives the mad madder, and instead of righteously drowning them, rather inflames the courage of scoundrels. Not two days ago my cart was thrown to the ground by selfish blackguards, sickly urchins of the most pitifully wretched sort, shaming even parodical depictions of the worst stages. It was pitiful, embarrassing and completely avoidable had more manpower been devoted to keeping the family's business operational and protected. Near all of my breads, buns and baked wares ruined. It would have been worse, I fear, were it not for that Burduni man your grace has placed at the Square House. I hope you pay him well for his services, from what I saw he deserves more than to simply guard the luncheons. Hells, the foreigner who was with the Burduni was of more use than that nephew of yours. Damned child couldn't even keep a loathsome creature from accosting me in my own shop not a moment after the event on the lane.
I need to talk to either you or your liaison personally. Please get back to me as soon as possible, sir.
Your humble servant,
Aved"
Every culture of the world has legends of great floods. It would seem the apocalyptic storms of those tales have come at last to the city of Kurch. The entire city has nearly been swallowed by the rising waters of the Bosphur strait and the massive, crashing waves that beat and pummel the cliffsides. The Lost District has once again become its namesake, floating away in the rushing waters and claiming many lives in the destruction.
"Damn and blast this oppressive reach of blackened skies. When shall this wretched spit of weather stop hounding the good citizens of fair Kurch? Some days ago, as I was crossing the Noble Bridge as I often must to meet with our gracious host family, I was nearly overtaken in some of the worst flooding I've ever seen. It was like the waters of Nazeth's chambers had issued forth from the deepest earth and come to claim the unwary. The cold, dark clawed hands of that heathen spirit seemed to reach out and grab hold of me, and I lost all purchase. I would have plummeted into the Bospher, likely to my death, were it not for my plaids catching on the iron working of a lantern post. I wonder how much of the city you've seen since these rains began, but whatever the case I feel you have gravely underestimated how much ruin they pose to bring to the family.
I cannot express enough that the businesses of the Riscauld need more protection during this hectic, riotous age. At the very least, to prevent your holdings from receiving even more damage at the hands of enterprising villains, a doubling of the guard and escorts for deliveries. The unrelenting downpour drives the mad madder, and instead of righteously drowning them, rather inflames the courage of scoundrels. Not two days ago my cart was thrown to the ground by selfish blackguards, sickly urchins of the most pitifully wretched sort, shaming even parodical depictions of the worst stages. It was pitiful, embarrassing and completely avoidable had more manpower been devoted to keeping the family's business operational and protected. Near all of my breads, buns and baked wares ruined. It would have been worse, I fear, were it not for that Burduni man your grace has placed at the Square House. I hope you pay him well for his services, from what I saw he deserves more than to simply guard the luncheons. Hells, the foreigner who was with the Burduni was of more use than that nephew of yours. Damned child couldn't even keep a loathsome creature from accosting me in my own shop not a moment after the event on the lane.
I need to talk to either you or your liaison personally. Please get back to me as soon as possible, sir.
Your humble servant,
Aved"
Every culture of the world has legends of great floods. It would seem the apocalyptic storms of those tales have come at last to the city of Kurch. The entire city has nearly been swallowed by the rising waters of the Bosphur strait and the massive, crashing waves that beat and pummel the cliffsides. The Lost District has once again become its namesake, floating away in the rushing waters and claiming many lives in the destruction.