WEATHER
Carpathian Chronicle: The Storm-Cloud's Procession Over Scarlet Ridge
A sudden, resinous chill creeps through the observatory's stone walls, borne on a northwest breeze that whispers of ice and ancient firs. The mercury in my barometer has fallen with alarming haste—now at 29.72 inches and still sinking—while the thermometer clings to 72 degrees Fahrenheit, a deceptive warmth soon to be devoured. Above, the sky is a bruised canopy, 95% obscured by storm clouds that churn like a witch's cauldron, though a pale mist clings to the lower slopes, ghosting through the valleys.
The wind, though gentle at 7 knots from the northwest, carries the metallic tang of distant…
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