There are many ways to describe this city, many epithets to label it and
countless adjectives to apply to it and its people. A common one that is
heard from any soul who has walked the streets for any length of time,
whether they love or hate it, is that it is a contradiction; endless
conflicting worlds and antithetical ideologies all striving for
dominance, quieted by the armistice that is the One Law: "Love is the
Law; Love under Will." Even with this contradiction, this background war
always raging in the back of one's mind out of view, one can rarely
claim the city to ever be tense. These events, however, brought this
tension to the forefront. The signs that something was amiss were there
in the reticence of our citizens, the uptick in crime and sudden
disappearances, the whispers of ghosts. It started from the outskirts,
the far reaches of the city walls, and worked its way inward like a
gangrenous wound, and only when blood was spilled on the Road of Fiery
Salvation did we begin to realise the damage.

The words of an insane man harassing bystanders reached the city by way
of Beloch. Normally one to handle his own problems, this piqued the
interest of many, myself included, to witness what creature could
concern the proprietor of the Wasted Wakabi so, and it took not long to
find the hulking giant of a man, robes concealing all but a beard of
fleshy, writhing tentacles. He appeared to be searching for something,
though when questioned, none could make sense of his words. His
questions spoken only in Dracnari concerned a 'Paragon', a term none
were familiar with save the old ritual covenant between the Illuminati
and Templars during their time. While trying to make sense of the
matter, he was hounded by those concerned seeking more information, and
seemingly as a first step rather than a last, he offered a display of
impressive strength by snapping his own neck.

Further attempts to pry information from him failed suddenly as the idea
of immolation was suggested. In almost an instant, instead of returning
the man to life, he was incinerated much like any random piece of
unwanted refuse would be. Further questioning led to the Laboratory of
Mu, where a document was found explaining that the term 'Paragon' was
used by an old, exiled sect of Illuminati extremists who believed one
could be moulded through transmology into an avatar of the Fleshpots.
The document, though faded, was able to be deciphered to some extent by
the city, leading them to realise that the 'Paragon of Yig' the man was
seeking was likely to be the 'Enlightenment of Dacari Xlai'. Unfamiliar
with this term, myself and many others were educated of a hidden chamber
beneath the old Illuminati pyramid, a place known only to high ranking
members of the guild when such was a thing. I was not able to witness
this being myself, but eavesdropping revealed them to be a corpulent
blob of boneless flesh that spoke only in tortured screams.

The next piece of the puzzle came from a chance encounter with a number
of members from the Shibchoyi Syndicate. Their bumbling through the
north of the city and the Grand Bazaar attracted much attention from
many witnesses, a number of which mentioned that the three were
not-so-quietly impugning their perfectly legitimate employer by
mentioning they had been behind the recent disappearance of some
upstanding individual. Validity of these boasts aside, following them to
the backroom of the Dapper Dashro, their conversation could be heard by
all in the establishment clearly. The Shibchoyi's actions in providing
work and income for the poor of Gaudiguch notwithstanding, one
interesting mention was an ongoing war between the Shibchoyi and two
other groups: a mysterious cadre of transmologists fitting the
description of the man earlier, and a group of violent revolutionaries
following a mysterious figure known as the Flamewright. Unfortunately,
before more information could be recovered, the three were quickly
retrieved by their boss and marched out of the establishment. No further
questioning could uncover further details about any of this, as anybody
seemingly knowledgable was reticent to speak for reasons which would
soon become clear.

A sandstorm would herald the next clue to the ongoing matters of the
city, bringing the words of this aforementioned Flamewright to the
centre in the form of pages strewn across cobblestone pavement. The
words seemed to indict the government of the city and the guilds which
formed it for abandoning their citizens and failing their purpose, of
squandering the city's heritage and history while sitting on golden
thrones in blissful ignorance. Asking around about any details of the
author, it became apparent why none would speak on the matter as one man
who chose to speak found himself with a severe and acute case of being
dead. After the man was revived, he immediately fled into hiding.
Unfortunately, he could not be reached for comment for a later edition
of the Gossip. The information he was able to reveal and the earlier
meeting, however, led to the next clue for the city's intrepid
investigators.

Catanete Shibchoyi, the strikingly beautiful and unfortunately elusive
accountant of the Freedom Council, was able to offer some insight into
the ongoing war, noting her family had done much to keep it in the
shadows and alleyways where it belonged. She deferred to her brothers to
offer more information as she was not directly involved, and left to
arrange a meeting, but not before directing those who found her to speak
to Taschelin, the mysterious owner of the Golden Pavilion located deep
beneath the city. While I could not be present for the meeting with
Catanete, she did helpfully fill me in on what happened for the Gossip
and, quite unhelpfully, turned down my offer for a date. Such as it goes
in life and love.

Taschelin apparently proved helpful, as I was informed by my good friend
Hareatho who serves as the Pavilion's bouncer. While she seemed to have
little insight into the ongoing war in the streets, she could provide
insight into these transmologists. Named by the Illuminati as the 'Cult
of Transcendent Flesh', the sect left the city a short number of years
before the Taint Wars due to internal conflict and, since the loss of
the city, considered themselves the true heirs of the Illuminati name.
Their reverence of the Fleshpots bordered on fanatical, and members
would risk incurable insanity and psychosis by transforming and
augmenting their bodies with transmology permanently, a practice
considered overly dangerous and self-destructive by most practitioners
of the transmological arts and primarily used historically in
experimentation on traitors and prisoners. At the end of the meeting,
Taschelin implored Hareatho to gather information on the Flamewright,
and set up a meeting between the flesh cultists and the city's
government using, to quote, "what little sway she had left from her role
in the Illuminati."

As the preparations were made, cruel plots were weaved by the Sisters of
Fate, and responses were awaited, other answers would soon come in the
lull. A child wandered onto the Flame's platform on the Great Pyramid
seeking to play, and after a welcoming response by many of the city, the
child was reunited with a hysterical mother who seemed frightened of the
citizens who met her. Seeking more information on this mistrust,
directions were given to an alleyway that would lead to tunnels at the
city's south edge, a village that seemed to wish to distance themselves
from the city at large. The only friend found there, as few would give
these visitors more than a passing glance, was an elderly woman by the
name of Mama Moschomi, the matron of the locals and an old retired
Templar who considered all who lived there to be her adopted children.

Unfortunately I was unable to witness the majority of the initial
happenings there, but seeing this village for myself, there did seem to
be some truth to the Flamewright's words. Conditions were poor, and
people were made to sleep in tiny houses in closely packed conditions.
Many of the citizens there were missing limbs from work in the quarries,
were disfigured by accidents, or ill from the close confines and poor
hygiene. By Moschomi's own words the only way out for them was often to
be taken in by the Shibchoyi or the 'Illuminati', or to join the
Flamewright's war; the words of the latter seemed to have taken
particular sway with the young and disillusioned in this place. It is
rare I find something so egregious, so heartbreaking, that I struggle to
write of it for the Gossip, but this hit particularly close to home.
While many of the city who realised the depths of this lined up to
assist in any way they can, I could not write an article of their
actions being a beacon of hope without being disingenuous. I could not
write of the struggle of our citizens here as placing their reality in
the Gossip would do naught but make a spectacle of their suffering. I
could only involve myself, as many others have, and try to help mend the
wrongs we had been too blind to see.

So many questions had been answered by this point, yet so many remained.
It was obvious we would soon find more insights, and I think there was
little doubt many would be just as horrific. Would that we could,
however, smell the blood in the air before it stained our hands.

- Excerpt from "The Memoirs of the Editor-In-Grief" by Chixieya Ninchi,
Chapter 68 "A Brilliant Revolution"


Penned by My hand on the 25th of Estar, in the year 629 CE.