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?