The beings that haunt the dark weren’t limited to the Rogaire Mansion that night. As the wagon entered the celebrated Do-Gooder’s Row, flowers and confetti and strands of human hair were kicked up by its wheels. The mules’ hearts finally exhausted, the shadows stalking the nooks and miasma of Nilghorde began to envelope the cart.

Some would suggest more Ordrid magic was at work, but the mob was just the poor, the slowest five among them sent to the Pauper Morgue.