Libretta d’Libella

Salut, dear readers, and welcome to the column of your own maven of agony turned social columnist extraordinaire; Libretta d’Libella. You may remember me from the Postal Office, where I was one of the only proof-readers to survive to complete my internship with all of my limbs still attached, or my days working as a manager of inventory in the Wailing Woman before its fresh new remodelling! Perhaps you’ve seen my work as a stage hand, working to reprise classic roles at the request of the nobles and guild elites that frequent those unhallowed halls of high society. No matter where or when our paths have crossed in the past, you will find that there are few people as well-positioned as myself to write to you through these fantastic new broadsheets, few people with their ears to the ground (outside the ranks of the geomagi of course!) and with the finesse and breeding required to listen to what goes said and unsaid, to help keep you, dear ones, in the know.

So much goes on behind closed doors, behind wicked smiles and knowing looks, so many stories and secrets and whispers that the average citizen must surely be left in the dark, and much to their embarrassment, be left in the dust as their peers rise above them by dint of social graces and firm friendships but remember - the key to both is knowing more about one another than either of you would like to reveal! You and I, dear reader, are going to make quite a lot of friends.
Why, just a few weeks ago, I was speaking to my nephew in the Silent Cathedral, and he told me of the most scandalous thing he has seen a citizen dare in recent memory, and needless to say, I was so shocked and amused that I could hardly contain myself! I simply had to put quill to paper and let you know all about it, and I trust you will keep the information to yourself, or else, my confidante, you might spoil this burgeoning relationship we share. At the heart of the Cathedral, a certain red-skinned viscanti stumbled blearily before the Weeping God to prostrate himself before our history and collect his thoughts. Now I know what you are thinking – so many fine lords and ladies sleep in the sepulchre that this is itself not out of the ordinary, any noble viscanti might wake from the sleep of undeath to walk the land any time. But my dear readers, you are not imagining this lich in the same way that he appeared, for he was stark naked, as nude as a wild wiccan in the woods, with his most intimate self on display for all to see! Why, so many undead jaws hit the floor that birds and bats were startled into flight!

Perhaps the lord’s blush was hidden by his lovely red skin, but his demeanour was entirely inappropriate, greeting priests with nods and scratching himself in the most inopportune places, presumably, we shall generously acquiesce, in the fading remnants of undying sleep. Well-built and as fit as the finest of the Empire’s soldiers, he attracted the eyes of several priests, including a certain purple viscanti priestess who reluctantly clothed him, chastised him, and reacquainted him with the city we all serve and its new, modern iteration with eloquence and patience beyond her years. We know from a very reliable source that despite leaving the man to dress in privacy, the priestess evoked the rite of Yesod, and returned to observe him in secret – such a delicious moment of temptation would be been nigh-impossible to pass up for, by all accounts, the man was, ahem, shall we say, gifted by the Master, with many admirable and masculine qualities.

The delight and consternation of the different priests was palpable, inviting a variety of different perspectives on the matter – some harrumphing at the violation of decorum, while others climbed the gargoyles for a better look! Perhaps as a cruel barb of her own, the charitable priestess provided a particular piece of clothing with the remainder of the ensemble that many would blush and discard off-hand, and she took perverse delight in requiring the newly awakened viscanti to wear it or risk offending his doting benefactor. For any of you having difficulty following along, this would be an intolerable exposure of weakness, if you will forgive the play on words. To offend someone who has you at a clear disadvantage is an act of stupidity beyond reason; bide your time, smile, fawn, scrape, and then stand and break their hold when you have gathered the standing on your own; these are the lessons of any properly educated aristocrat. Here, an embarrassing article of clothing was a sign of the advantage the priestess had over the man, and though it may be difficult to believe, to submit to that small humiliation is far preferable to incensing her and causing her to withdraw her charity and rake him over the coals for the violation of the laws of decorum all citizens are required to uphold.

The two entertained some more conversation, about the state of affairs in the Engine today, moving to discuss small things such as the weather, the recent push to enslave more spectres from the smoking ruin of Old Celest, the ferocity of the Necromentate and the state of politics among the minor states and major organisations. A woman after my own heart, the priestess was careful to avoid speaking much on the guilds, correctly intuiting that the confused and displaced viscanti was unaware of the events that have given rise to our new three pillars of Magnagoran society. The pair departed together, with one arm entwined – I know what you are thinking, dear reader, for I share the thought as well – damnation, that woman works quickly!