I have my eyes set on a church nestled in the back of Watchmaker's Hill. It is mostly unvisited and its clergy highly absent, but it tends to have visitors from the descendants of those who tend to be rather important. Whispers of relatives to the Traitor Empress - or Her Enduring Majesty, however you see her - and those of the Admiralty are said to be resting here. But why, you might ask, am I going to a church for the potentially famous or important? Another question you could ask is why they are laid to rest here, whereas graveyards would, no doubt, be a far more prudent place, especially private lots? I will tell you why in the form of a rather drawn our monologue in which I say a lot but mean very little.
To understand why I look to this place you must first understand the Spirifer. As a Spirifer, one must acquire souls through any means available to us, legal or otherwise, and choose our buyer, especially legal or otherwise. Some of us prefer to sell to the Brass Embassy as they tend to pay better than Bazaar prices, though I will not be giving names as the list may or may not include me. In any circumstance, Spirifers must take care when we trust our clients and meeting places. Sometimes, a load is simply too hot to offload so it must be stored. There are, throughout London, vaults of souls, so to speak. Some will never be opened by their original owner thanks to them suffering an untimely true death or facing permanent exile, so they are simply left waiting for an enterprising individual such as I to come to them and plunder their riches. Now, some Spirifers become incredibly crafty in where they hide their souls, as discovery means a dire hit to profits. It must be done carefully. However, some, like Saint Pyranese, have a flair for the dramatic, and, if I must say, enjoy a good taste of irony.
Saint Pyranese is the pseudonym of a Spirifer currently in exile in the Tomb Colonies, having been removed from London after a particularly heinous offense of dining with a priest and then offering him a pinch of strychnine instead of salt. It was never meant to harm, and it never did, but apparently openly stating that it is worth killing a priest over, and I quote, their 'terrible bald head' was enough to send enough gasps through polite society to merit expulsion. This is good news for me as this church, owned by Saint Pyranese, it no church at all, but instead a Brilliant Soul vault. I doubt it will have all the souls I will need to gain the Green Eyed Devil's backing but it will put a considerable dent in the amount required. If you need me, I will be at the church for as long as required to steal the souls away. Would you mind feeding my fish in my absence? No doubt, he will be glad to see you. Or is it a she? Perhaps I will refer to it as 'it', if neither suits it. Regardless, I hope you are well, keep me in your thoughts. If you are particularly theistic, pray for me. No doubt, this irony will have me damned to Hell eternally, but that's fine. I'm making friends with the Devil.
