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For the past few days no quips or puns had been heard echoing through the hallways of the keep. The sighting of a red plumed hat was rare and that of a golden jacket was lacking as well. The room that Tyr once occupied was bare and the bedding was crisply tucked as though no one had touched it in some time. No trinkets lay on the dresser but instead a small, unadorned, slip of paper graced the surface. It simply reads "Gone with the caravan, I hope that fate allows us to meet again! Signed Tyr Murkel."