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EVENTS, CAMPAIGNS, AND NEWS — Alastor Vane

A MINOR SETBACK

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I… can’t believe it.   After all that.   Everything…  Gone.   All I’ve worked for.  All I owned.   Sitting at the bottom of the bloody Firth of Forth.  Now I see that Mr. Vane never had any intention of returning anything.  It was all a cruel trick.  A game.  A show of force.  He wanted nothing more than to watch me dance—to jump and kick to his oh-so-clever tune.   Well, we’ll see who gets the last laugh.  Greyburne’s has weathered far worse than the Nightshade Gang.  Will do it a thousand times over, before all is said...

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NOT CLOSE ENOUGH

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I swear, when I get my hands on that Alastor Vane I’m going to hang him up by meat hooks and tan his hide in front of him.  I’m tired of these bloody games, and I’m tired of being late.   For those of you who weren’t paying attention, the second riddle was referring to the Great Fire of 1824, which started at Kirkwood’s Engravery, above Old Assembly Close, where I found not a trace of my possessions, but another God damned note instead.   Here is what it said.     “You’re getting faster now my friend, Have you...

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WHERE WALLS ARE CLOSE...

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We made a fair go of it.  I’d like to thank those of you who tried to help me solve Alastor Vane’s first riddle—even if some of your motives were less than altruistic.  That’s what rewards are for.  We got it in the end, but as the saying goes: too little, too late.   By the time I arrived at the South Bridge Vaults, midnight had long come and gone, and I had little hope of recovering my things.  The possibility of our poetic friend being charitable with the deadline seemed unlikely, but I had to try.  As I’d guessed,...

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BURGLED BY A BLOODY IDIOT!

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Damn it all, I’ll have his head!  It’s clear I underestimated Mr. Vane.  The bloody singsong f...     Anyway.     I told you I thought I hadn’t seen the last of him.  It turns out I was right.  Well, technically, I haven’t seen him, but he’s been back, and he’s been busy.   And he wasn’t at all who I thought he was.   I woke this morning as on any other day, shortly after sunrise.  I showered, shaved, and dressed.  I breakfasted—a pair of eggs and buttered toast with blackberry jam.  I reviewed the day’s business over...

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SEVEN LEAGUE BOOTS

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There is one surefire way of recognizing both fledgling wizards and consummate imbeciles.   They rhyme. Unfortunately, there is no reliable method of discerning between the two.    When the man who called himself Alastor Vane walked into my shop, I was fairly certain I was dealing with a little of both.  He wore a wine colored suit with a black bowler hat, and carried a slender cane with a brass head.    “Good evening sir, I’d have a word, A Gentleman’s parley.   I’ve come in search of precious merch A ransom I will pay.”  I sighed, and hoping...

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