Say what ya like, but the Sensates are good to their word. With the help o’ that Gemmy cutter, Prixm, the Society built a ‘traption that could give the rest of you lot the your old memories back. ’Course somethin’ that big can’t be got without payin’ the sodding music. To tumble to the dark of his past, a sod’d have to let the machine nick his recent experiences. Even the most canny cager’d be a bit peery ’bout those prospects.
Regardless of your choice, chant is that you are truly some of the most canny cutters in the whole City of Doors. Even the addle-coved bubbers and barmies hear your names following what went down at the Signers’ case. Without your help, the Sensates and the Sinkers woulda both lost the highest of their high-ups. Sure, Factol Ambar had his name ‘scribed in the dead-book, but you kept a full-scale Faction War from breakin’ out. ’Sides, his successor, Bereth Avata, is doing just fine as far as the Godsmen lann it.
The factioneers among you soon find that small bunches of berks have twigged to your philosophical flavor. Even if you tell ‘em to pike it, the sods keep markin’ every one of your screeds. ’Ventually yo manage to get out-of-town and visit other burgs—whether in the Outlands or the wider Planes.
No matter where you park your ears, though, you don’t find any dark of the Illuminated’s high-up, Martran.
Almost before you tumble to it, a year passes.