It is the dawn of the week before the beginning of Descending Air, and for Dalanth Ganharva this means a scant week before the skies will become darker than in other months and the bitterest cold will soon set it. A number of merchants, both scrupulous and unscrupulous, eagerly await the runner-criers of Lord Neti the 12th.<br/><br/>Ever since a visit from an Immaculate Monk five years ago, the lord of the city had begun issuing great proclamations before the start of the winter, all aimed at encouraging the citizens of his city from letting others starve or freeze. Last year those who could show that they'd clothed, fed, and sheltered one of the crippled soldiers or citizens from a fair folk incursion were given a generous stipend.<br/><br/><br/>This year the criers proclaim that a great blizzard will wash over the city at the end of the first week of Descending Air and last for three days. Those who shelter and feed anyone unable to take proper shelter from the blizzard will be given relief from the season's taxes depending on how many they shelter through the blizzard.<br/><br/>Additionally, the bounties set upon the brows of the fair folk Ansa-riti and the three brothers of the frost have been increased by a jade talent and a pound of silver, respectively.<br/><br/>It is not just into the dawn but well past it before the cries reach the furthest ends of Dalanth Ganharva, the distant islands being such long runs as they are, but by noon not only the whole of the city but all the inhabited lands around it will have heard the will of the city's lord.<br/><br/>But well before then the markets bustle, the lodges open, the forges bellow, and secretive doors open redolent with the metaphysical scent of rot.