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For Grace and Gear May Shine!; A tale of conspiracies, souls and combustion
Topic Started: Sep 7 2017, 06:51 AM (35 Views)
InquisitorNero
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Among the alleys and alcoves of Spite, in the parlours and pubs of Veilgarden, even randomly throughout the Flit, a number of flyers had been turning up as of late. Ones on tattered, crumpled papers, usually nailed to walls where it's secluded and otherwise set out by the dozen where it's busy. The men and women leaving these papers always run swiftly away and slip into crowds. The Constables have spoke out against these rabble-rousers, calling it a public nuisance and telling citizens to simply ignore these flyers until they get to the bottom of this mess.

As for the flyers themselves, they read out:
AN INFERNAL OPPORTUNITY!
Any Individuals Who are Interested in Partaking in the Trade in Souls, Rejoice! There is Now a Special Opportunity for All Who are Interested to Join the Lucrative Soul Trade! Simply Visit the Singing Mandrake in Veilgarden at Midnight; Be Certain to Wear a Red Hat so that we will Know you.

Certainly a strange approach. Most spirifers tend to not want more competition, while Hell officially remains neutral when it comes to spirifage. Still, for anyone who is interested, they could always show up to the Singing Mandrake wearing a red hat, or possibly one could attempt to catch one of the people posting said flyers around to track them down to the source. Even current spirifers who are wondering what this is could certainly look into the matter, if they want to protect their trade from getting too saturated with suppliers.
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Alexander Voight
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The Singing Mandrake was almost always busy, packed, even, but a giant like Alexander would certainly be noticed in the crowd. Which was why he'd been careful to spread word he was in the Medusa's Head that night and partaking in yet another shirtless prize fight for rostygold. In point of fact, he was lurking in the Mandrake, seated and in a secluded part of the tavern, his face and exposed skin wrapped carefully in tomb-colonist bandages in funereal black and pearly white. Hopefully, it'd prove enough to avoid too much notice while he watched for this gathering of spirifers.
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Louis Ferdinand
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On the other side of the tavern, closer to the bar, was what would appear to be a longshanks fresh from the Flit. He (or she, it was hard to tell under all the soot and grime) wore a war-torn black greatcoat three sizes too big, mismatched combat boots, and a faded red beret which, along with the stiff, military bearing he managed to maintain despite being pushed around by the unruly crowd, suggested he was once of the Regiment.

Louis lingered nearby the small handful of other red-hatted guests who had already arrived. He was fairly confident in his disguise; he had acquired it directly from an active member of the Regiment, and after all the time he had spent in the company of Urchins, he possessed an intimate understanding of their customs, mannerisms, and quirks of speech. The nature of the event he was attempting to infiltrate, however, gave him pause. He knew more than his fair share of devils; such blatant, unabashed solicitation wasn't their modus operandi. They preferred to retain their pretense of neutrality regarding spirifage by neither openly encouraging nor discouraging it. Louis therefore suspected someone else must be at work; perhaps a successful spirifer looking to recruit for their operation or identify potential competition, perhaps an organization opposed to the soul trade setting up a sting operation, perhaps even a Pentecost Ape attempting to covertly access Hell's supply network.

Louis fretted over the possibilities as he waited for whatever was about to happen.
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