In the dim lantern light of Hathian’s village, a quiet yet urgent scene unfolded as a local caretaker applied a crude bandage to a visibly shaken figure, her trembling hands betraying the weight of unseen wounds beneath the fabric. The air hung heavy with dampness and whispered unease, the faint scent of rain mixing with the metallic tang of fresh blood. Nearby, worn weapons leaned against battered wooden posts, silent sentinels in the somber hush that followed the storm. The caretaker’s dry humor barely masked a vigilant eye, watching over the fragile form as advice for rest and sustenance passed between them—a fragile attempt at order amid prevailing chaos.

But this fragile moment of care has ignited unease across Port Laveau. The recent unrest and visible injuries among citizens have become emblematic of a deeper rot spreading beneath the surface. Rumors swirl that shadowy figures exploit the city’s vulnerabilities, leveraging superstition and the fear of the fabled Blood Moon ritual to unravel trust and sow discord. Local authorities report increased incidents along the waterfront and near Syndicate strongholds, escalating patrols and imposing stricter curfews in an effort to stem the tide of unrest.

Responding swiftly, the Silent Serpent Syndicate has tightened its grip under the guise of restoring order, expanding raids and surveillance to protect Laveau’s fragile peace. Their lieutenants, Baptême and Red Magdalene, manipulate ancient rites and symbols to intimidate rivals and reinforce allegiance, capitalizing on the city’s collective anxiety. The Syndicate asserts these measures are vital to prevent the city from slipping into lawlessness, promising that through their watchful eyes and firm hand, Port Laveau will endure the storm—both natural and supernatural—that threatens to consume it.