Night is falling, and shadows are gathering in crowds across the city, bronze and sable, flickering, or still as stone.
There is always an audience here, for anything - human, beast or object - that comes close to tell its story, or betray its deadly secret...
What now? Heartless unkindness - lust for riches - suppressed hatred and rage honed to a razor-? Or some epic sorrow passed into a silver scream.
Above everything, the drifting and unavoidable webs of the spinning City gods.
So, will you listen in the shadows, or become yourself a story-teller in the bronze half-light?
Or do you have another mission here, in Marcheval?
