“From what I hear, there seems to be a lot of movement in Holy Wood. I don’t know why they need all those supplies for.”
“Aren’t they just getting ready for the Holy days?”
“I don’t think so. Why would they need mercenaries for?”
The last of the supplies have finally been put on the Caravans. The Trade Union Merchant looks through the last of the his wares before jumping into the Caravan himself. It’s been a good day for the Merchants in the area since the signing of the Contract with El Dorado. More and more wares from different places are able to go through El Dorado now. Let’s hope this agreement can last.
“I’m telling you what I saw! It was the Ghost of El Dorado!” The ‘Merican was in his fifth or sixth drink telling this same story. His friend would deny it. “There is no way this so called Ghost of El Dorado exist. There is no such thing.”
“I’m telling you It’s real. And I know how to call it out too.”His friend has a bewildered look in his eye, “Oh yea. How?”
“All you need to do is be on guard duty by yourself or with a friend. Then in the middle of the night you just need to…”
A Vegasian from across the tavern interrupts them, “Will you two shut up!? Some people are trying to plot and scheme over here?” He turns to a soldier with the Red Arm band. “So tell me more of this Spire…”
“Did you know that El Dorado is now an official Trade Union Route?”
“What does that mean?”
“Well it means that if you want to bring in goods, supplies, or want to sell anything in town you better have a Trade Union Papers or you’re not protected by the El Dorado Laws.”
“Wait? You mean I can rob any Merchant that doesn’t have Trade Union Papers?”
“They say if you listen carefully you can still hear it. The screams, the sounds of battle, the horns of retreat from the caravan. The Greek Tragedy is what they call it. Some say it was a fool’s errand to reclaim. Other say it was a glorious moshpit of music true to faith of the Kings. I say it was both. I say it has become a new song for the ages. A tragic song if you will. This is something that many can learn from and it’s story will be shared in years to come.”
“You’re weird, old man, you know that? Now get the hell of my porch!”
The rover sets his cup down, probably a bit heavier than normal, the faint scent of mint coming from his breath as he speaks up to the pureblood next to him. “Did you hear the noise coming from the Morgue on the way into town?”
His brightly colored companion sighs as he slides the empty cup away from his intoxicated friend. “Can’t say I did. Though I am a bit loath to believe anything out of your mouth, at the moment.”
The scarved individual chuckles, pushing on his friend’s shoulder a bit. “Bah, I’m serious. Sounded terrible, like an out of tune cow!” The rover would proceed to mimic the sound. Whether he was actually doing a good impression, or if he was just that drunk, it certainly did sound like an out of tune cow. The pureblood quickly put his hand over the rover’s mouth.
“For the love of my ears and my reputation, please stop.”
The green veined DJ sits in his office drinking and reading reports from the battle. A soldier walks in and hands him a letter. The DJ’s eye widen as he throws his glass across the room and storms out. He walks up to his crimson clover jumps on and drives off into the night. “What got him so angry all of a sudden.” the messenger replies “He just found out what is going on in El Dorado.” “Hope El dorado knows that shit storm is coming”
"Hey Zeke, you ever hear about that skinny man? The one that got folks all scared and shit"
"If you are referring to the seldom seen mysterious figure in black that appears this time of year, my good man, of course I have. And it is "Slenderman, and not "skinny".
"Well Zeke, you can say all dem fancy words you like, but I call it as I see it. And they say he's as skinny as a scarecrow right before the Devil's Wind rips him off the stake and he goes flying about!"