Sigil: City of Doors

The cogs are in motion, cutters. We've got rights, we've been wronged. It's about damned time that we do something about it.

L'appel Revolutionnaire. Hear the call.

-(Signed with a Target)

Somewhere deep in the Hive, deeper than most civilized folks dare to go, a copy of the note ends up in the hands of a lone individual sitting in front of a warm fire, drink in one hand and smoke in the other. The note is tossed into the fire, a short burst of flame followed by the slow dying page as it turned to ash. The figure turned around in his chair, pushing another local out of his way, and called to the bartender

"Yo, Skully! Top off my drink, son... looks like I might have supmthin' to do fer a change."