Malediction of the Magenta Mantle

A bright red dawn beckons to rise over the traditional city of Korvosa. The scarlet of social upheaval, as the footfalls of the people on the cobble streets grow restless. The crimson of blood, as the many insidious factions of the city are start to be linked in a web of dark ambitions. The regal magenta of the ruler's mantle, which flutters enticingly as the king's health wanes, for all those who would dare to wear it next.

It's raining, and the hobbled figure of Gaedren Lamm limps his way through the back alleys, soaked by the rain so much that the constant splashes off his silhouette form the faintest halo of white around him, and yet something still makes him grin like a Cheshire cat.

Maybe you've heard this story before. Or perhaps only a similar one.
Fate is a fickle thing, and a Harrow deck is never shuffled the same way twice.
Tomorrow, the streets of Korvosa will run red.
This is MALEDICTION OF THE MAGENTA MANTLE.

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