Can’t roleplay a Newspaper without featuring my alts…
–
Blood in the streets, the clash of steel and report of gunfire! Nay, not another Docker strike: the Fourth Tournament of the Sanguine Ribbon Society is in brutal, delightful progress!
The Most Singular Magazine catches up with its very own senior editor and owner, after a fierce clash upon Wolfstack Docks. “Final duel and that makes fifteen!” says the Jaunty Mystic, proudly sporting a fistful of sanguine ribbons upon equally blood-stained clothes. “The clergy were out in surprising force. I have duelled a bishop, an archbishop, and a saint, as well as a red-eyed gentleman, some ordinary guy, and other worthy persons of importance. Tragically, the chiropteromantic readings didn’t favour me in the tournament. I was murdering fellow persons of the cloth, I suppose. But ah, most invigorating! Make no mistake: I’m competing in the next Society tournament!”
Accompanying this article is a daguerrotype of the Jaunty Mystic standing rakishly with a foot propped upon a bollard, ratwork derringer in one hand, kneecapping stick in the other, and surrounded by… a squad of Rattus Faber? Either those rats were indeed hidden in the shadows, or someone had very conscientiously effaced all their details from the picture, leaving only nondescript, rat-sized silhouettes.
–
In the latest edition of the Most Singular Magazine, you read this tiny obituary on the back pages…
V________.
The Shifty Spectre, Licentiate.
Descended to the Neath: Summer, 1889.
Departed to the NORTH: Neathmas, 1896.
“I have gone down, down, my love. Down, my love, to the well. To weep and grieve and remember and burn. Light a candle and forget me. O, my love! fare well."