<HR> IC:
Things had been going downhill in the Citadel for some time now, some said since the current Caesar had taken the throne over ten yahren ago now. Ill winds had begun to blow in earnest since the first of the month with the wild storm of high winds, red lightening and demons of fire flying about setting many establishments on fire. Having wiped out nearly half of the purple guard, the storm started the speculation as to what was going on. Some theorized a return of the dark forces to the world; others attributed it to the fury of the gods upon them for some grievous wrong on the part of leadership. No one was certain of anything, but nearly everyone had an opinion.
Circumstances only grew more dire on Samheen 4, the night of the Festival of Pan when several lost their souls and the festival was ended early by command of his highness. Though the coven had been destroyed that night, few knew about that event and the very public nature of the other, coupled with an already fermenting prejudice against Panlings had been enough to set tongues wagging once again, this time implicating followers of Pan as agents of darkness.
Now, bitter cold was followed by never ending snowfall that threatened to bury the island. Late summer, early fall, the weather should have been pleasant with warm days and cool evenings. Instead the people huddled in their homes, ill prepared for the cold and suffering because of it. Fear prevailed in the city and groups of frightened people were never a welcomed sight, especially with the guard's numbers still down.
Deep inside, people bury their fears, frustrations, hopes and dreams in an effort to maintain civilization and not lose face. Strong drink tends to bring that hidden person out and so the taverns tended to be hotbeds of angry debate as to the cause of the Citadel's troubles.
"Tis the Caesar, trollopin' about with Panlings!" the short burly man shouted over the noise of the crowded room. His clothing revealed him as a working man but certainly a skilled worker, one of some means.
"And how long has he been trollopin'? He's had a high an mighty one up in the palace all these years! Everyone knows what a prankster that Pan is. Be just like him ta do this to us! We needs ta make special offerins ta the Mother and close down the Temple a Pan!"
"Now now," came the strong voice of a tall slender man decked out in the robes of Illuminatus. "Violence will not solve any of our problems. We must have reason here. There is no proof that Pan or Panlings are involved in any of this. How would he send snow to the island? That makes as much sense as blaming the Ice Queen of Trothgard," the priest tried to reason with the crowd who seemed to grow more restless each moment.