Everyone here at the Herald apologises for the recent lack of posts, but unfortunately we have fallen victim to the so-called Fimbulwinter currently afflicting the Royal City. Snow drifts tens of feet high run down from the city walls into streets where whole storeys are buried and thick icicles hang from every rooftop to create what look like sparkling prison bars to those living here. And of course there's the cold; the persistent, bitter chill that kept fires burning round the clock in every hearth until the fuel started to run out. Some were able to lay hands on enough blankets to keep themselves from freezing, others made it to the refuge halls dotted across the city. Too many managed neither.
As you might imagine, business here has ground to a halt. Few people can leave their homes, let alone get to work. Lines of communication in and out of the city are all but severed; many of the messenger birds have died or fled to warmer climbs. Whatever news is breaking across the Isles has fallen prey to the only headline in town; big, bold capital letters spelling out how winter is slowly crushing the beating heart of Abevorn.
We hope normal service will resume shortly, but we more fervently hope we can keep this fire burning just a little while longer.
Edmund Stroff
