Here at the Silver Spike, among our many offenses against the Duke's endless decrees, you can add another. Your dear editor counts among his friends several citizens well-informed on occult matters. As such, I can share this with you: The Outsider is not likely to be forgotten here in the Southern capital!
Many of the shrines built to honor him have been disturbed of late, as if recently visited. That figure of myth apparently walks among us, gathering up offerings. Some leave ruin-carved [sic] tokens of bone in the abandoned corners of Karnaca, and others interested in such matter report that, yes, those tokens are gone a night later!
Trust your senses. Do you not taste him in the withered, sickly crabs you boil for dinner? Can you hear his voice in the hum of bloodfly wings? What else could explain our current plight here in Karnaca. Murder in the streets and firing squads as a response. Such times!
Believe me when I tell you, my fingers tremble as I scribble these truths, but I am willing to continue on for your benefit. Do not be seen reading this printing of the Silver Spike. Burn it as soon as you [sic] done, and eat the very paper should you see an Overseer approaching!