[Broadsheets sold in all the lowliest of places. In dark corners read among suspicious eyes, shared amongst the refugees clasped around loaves of bread, and palmed by the under denizens as they engage in trades of illicit substances. Slowly, they trickle upwards from these dark places and into the hands of the general public.]
(https://i.imgur.com/ML4YWJM.png)
[The Second Issue is released.]
(https://i.imgur.com/Rqyvhxl.png)
[The Third Issue, Election Fever.]
(https://i.imgur.com/41qeOWC.png)
[The Fourth Issue, All Bark No Bite?]
(https://i.imgur.com/4JzADrp.png)
[The Fifth issue is released, and slowly trickles up from the hands of the destitute, and into the hands of the powerful.]
(https://i.imgur.com/CVLye5J.png)
[The latest issue, though slightly delayed, filters up from the gutters.]
(https://i.imgur.com/4u7MJwD.png)
[From the Gutters below, from the hands of urchins, distributed amongst the Stockade, from the dark recesses of the Well. The new issues slowly finds its way to the hands of the influential.]
(https://i.imgur.com/OhDV2kV.png)
[Another issue rises from the hands of beggar children, who peddle them for pittance.]
(https://i.imgur.com/11geKg7.png)
[Orphans wearing matching caps and newly bought clothes are seen distributing amongst the stockade and the refugee camps. As ever, the sheets eventually find their way from grubbier hands, to clientele within the Well proper.]
(https://i.imgur.com/6wgKsGF.png)
[From the hands of gutter children are the latest issues handed among the impoverished masses, and as always, slowly they filter up.]
(https://i.imgur.com/G2GhtXY.png)
[From the hands of urchins does the latest issue arrive. Some dabbed in the tears of those who remember, others dabbed with tears of joy at the visage of Marcellus Saenus. ]
(https://i.imgur.com/72f9mxw.png)
[Many tears are wept in the shadowy places when the latest issue rises. Many knowing of Grenth Flamebringer, friend to all, learning of his passing. Slowly, as ever, the news filters up.]
(https://i.imgur.com/Qppg2Tk.png)
[As below, so above. Each crinkled page works its way upward.]
(https://i.imgur.com/o6QSICJ.png)
[And from below, they rise. With great jubilation, and many whispers abound. Eyes turning to the Souk.]
(https://i.imgur.com/qwaGIRU.png)
[Tear-stained copies are handed out by orphans, who weep at the news of Marcellus Saenus's passing.]
(https://i.imgur.com/nomEcQ0.png)
[As ever do they come. Slid under doors in the Krak. Placed into window-boxes in the Palm District. Wrapped around falafel in the Souk.]
(https://i.imgur.com/NW4YNdH.png)
[Over the coming days, the ink upon every parchment the written word was placed upon begins to run. Words obscured, intent no longer known, and in time each one is forgotten as an almost fleeting dream. In the ink stains one might see a face looking back. As for the person, or people who wrote these strange broadsheets ... No word of them was ever spoken, and no letters were ever sent. They simply vanish into thin air.]