Creon Flecktar Blood-spatter

I had just been pulled through the stone, the pain was excruciating, my debt flensed through my soul fivefold, not unlike the pattern of folding a good sword goes through, but souls are not meant to be folded. I lay there gasping for an age, then the Master spoke.

"Creon Flecktar?"

"Yes, my liege?" I gasped.

"I have a mission, a trifle for you Flecktar, you will bring this letter to my delegate in Nexus."

"How will I know him?"

"You will ask in his place of business, the House of Golden Laurels, as is civilized, then, if you cannot find him, you will look for the nearest shadowland, and hire a ghosthound, like you were, once. But you don't have time to find him yourself, hire someone else. His name is Thousand Brushstrokes, for he is named for the sword he wields like a pen."

— Ghost-diary of Flecktar, 769RR.

"Despite what the Master had said, I had plenty of time to find him on my own, he was hidden within the shadow of his own Casino, as if he couldn't be bothered to hide himself.