V | The Man of Branigan
The next morning found him once again garbed all in black as he emerged from the cathedral in the usual trappings: the slant-eyed death mask, the hooded cloak, the dark gloves not yet stained with anyone’s blood (which he considered a badge of honor, although he knew that for most ferrymen, Pepperlung, for example, the opposite was true).
He was to receive his charge at the Festival Saltus in Branigan, which lie just north of the capitol, amidst the Old English communities of the Ruby Wealth, hence he’d be back in port by orbset with his charge’s cooperation and fortune of currents. Nor did he anticipate any trouble; for the lawfulness and agreeability of the region was well known amongst the ferrymen, and it was of little surprise that a place that lie in the vir
