(no subject)
I love the narratives that emerge in Echo Bazaar.
My character is a seasoned, cynical lady thief who came to the Neath to seek her fortune. All that she had on the surface, she has now left behind - including a good deal of her selfishness. The things she's seen in Fallen London! Slowly, grudgingly, she's come to broaden her horizons as much as her skills, and has found herself even growing something of a conscience. And what chafes at this newborn conscience the most is the Neath's trade in souls.
From the first it never quite sat right with her, the soft moaning shapes in their little bottles. Early on, she disposed of any she happened to receive nearly as soon as she got them - she didn't want to have to think about them, and certainly didn't want to keep any in her possession. But as time went by, and her roots in the Neath grew ever deeper, she began to have a change of heart. She has worked herself into the favor of mad royalty, rooted out traces of the unbearable Correspondence, held her own against beasts the likes of which the surface has never seen, and slipped quiet as night to take her spoils from no lesser targets than Hell itself and the Masters of the Bazaar. The mere possession of souls has long ceased to be shocking, or indeed more than mildly disquieting.
The taking and selling of them, of course, is a different matter.
Able at last to contemplate the matter without recoiling in disgust and dread, she has found very strong opinions in herself on the matter of the soul trade. She has found herself dealing rather more viciously with spirifers than she might have expected to - rage and hatred moved her to send Sour Elizabeth to her permanent grave. For months, she has collected each and every bottled soul she has come across, shutting them up in her lodgings and in a thousand secret boltholes across the city, as yet with no clear goal than to keep them out of the hands of Hell.
No clear goal, that is, until she came to join the Committee for Vital Restitution. This work, restoring souls to the soulless, seemed as natural a vocation - once she learned of it - as any could be. She gladly took her place in their ranks, and set to her noble work.
She has, however, always been a trifle reckless.
The Brass Embassy offers guest rooms, the height of sinful luxury, to any who can afford the lease. Forty thousand souls - very nearly the exact sum the enterprising lady thief had amassed. It was a move that defied her every principle: and yet, how brilliant! How better to restore lost souls, than to put a master thief such as herself so very close to the devils and their vast stockpiles, all the while tricking those very devils that she was in sympathy with them! She could thus smuggle the precious bottles out, just a little bit at a time, but reliably - and, occasionally, manage even greater heists.
It was just such a heist, in fact, that she was engaged in tonight. A vital appointment with representative of the noble Committee was upcoming, and she meant to have a considerable quantity of liberated souls for him. She had arranged her alibis, cased the familiar grounds, set up decoys all about. She grew overconfident. She had stolen from the Brass Embassy before, after all, walked away laughing with stores of brass and contracts and, yes, souls. And so she acted in ill-advised haste, success not quite assured, counting on her long experience to see her through. Was it hubris, or was she simply too close to the matter - the weight of those forty thousand souls she had delivered into the hands of Hell pressing too heavily on her for her to exercise the prudence that might have saved her?
Well. No matter, now.
Now she must somehow slip herself out of New Newgate Prison. Again.
... Yeah, that's the amount of story I've wrung out of a night's actions on a casual browser game. God damn I love Echo Bazaar.
My character is a seasoned, cynical lady thief who came to the Neath to seek her fortune. All that she had on the surface, she has now left behind - including a good deal of her selfishness. The things she's seen in Fallen London! Slowly, grudgingly, she's come to broaden her horizons as much as her skills, and has found herself even growing something of a conscience. And what chafes at this newborn conscience the most is the Neath's trade in souls.
From the first it never quite sat right with her, the soft moaning shapes in their little bottles. Early on, she disposed of any she happened to receive nearly as soon as she got them - she didn't want to have to think about them, and certainly didn't want to keep any in her possession. But as time went by, and her roots in the Neath grew ever deeper, she began to have a change of heart. She has worked herself into the favor of mad royalty, rooted out traces of the unbearable Correspondence, held her own against beasts the likes of which the surface has never seen, and slipped quiet as night to take her spoils from no lesser targets than Hell itself and the Masters of the Bazaar. The mere possession of souls has long ceased to be shocking, or indeed more than mildly disquieting.
The taking and selling of them, of course, is a different matter.
Able at last to contemplate the matter without recoiling in disgust and dread, she has found very strong opinions in herself on the matter of the soul trade. She has found herself dealing rather more viciously with spirifers than she might have expected to - rage and hatred moved her to send Sour Elizabeth to her permanent grave. For months, she has collected each and every bottled soul she has come across, shutting them up in her lodgings and in a thousand secret boltholes across the city, as yet with no clear goal than to keep them out of the hands of Hell.
No clear goal, that is, until she came to join the Committee for Vital Restitution. This work, restoring souls to the soulless, seemed as natural a vocation - once she learned of it - as any could be. She gladly took her place in their ranks, and set to her noble work.
She has, however, always been a trifle reckless.
The Brass Embassy offers guest rooms, the height of sinful luxury, to any who can afford the lease. Forty thousand souls - very nearly the exact sum the enterprising lady thief had amassed. It was a move that defied her every principle: and yet, how brilliant! How better to restore lost souls, than to put a master thief such as herself so very close to the devils and their vast stockpiles, all the while tricking those very devils that she was in sympathy with them! She could thus smuggle the precious bottles out, just a little bit at a time, but reliably - and, occasionally, manage even greater heists.
It was just such a heist, in fact, that she was engaged in tonight. A vital appointment with representative of the noble Committee was upcoming, and she meant to have a considerable quantity of liberated souls for him. She had arranged her alibis, cased the familiar grounds, set up decoys all about. She grew overconfident. She had stolen from the Brass Embassy before, after all, walked away laughing with stores of brass and contracts and, yes, souls. And so she acted in ill-advised haste, success not quite assured, counting on her long experience to see her through. Was it hubris, or was she simply too close to the matter - the weight of those forty thousand souls she had delivered into the hands of Hell pressing too heavily on her for her to exercise the prudence that might have saved her?
Well. No matter, now.
Now she must somehow slip herself out of New Newgate Prison. Again.
... Yeah, that's the amount of story I've wrung out of a night's actions on a casual browser game. God damn I love Echo Bazaar.