SIGN-UPS/OOC Dark figures passed through the night, moving furtively through back-alleys and down darkened streets in a kaleidoscope of activity that went on for blocks. Each followed their own instruction, specific details laid out weeks beforehand and drilled into their heads with exactitude. Amongst the wilful workers moved the mindless, just clumsy enough to require supervision as they set up components necessary for the mass. Those that retained their wits cried out in the cool air and though their words differed the message was the same. Come to the place where liberation awaited and be granted the means to rise from this shadowed prison. They were words that had been circulating for months now, most every lowlife could recite the message from memory and more than a few bought into the picture they painted. Just as many disparaged the ideas exposed by what they saw as little more than street preachers, exposing the ideals of something too good to exist. After all, when one has fallen from grace what shining future could time hold in store. Those however were the unfortunate few, many more it seemed bought into the fevered vision of hope and prosperity when all about them lay despair. So it was that a mass of humanity moved toward the place of meeting, a disused warehouse remade into chancel for transmission of that holy verse. Remade an arena, seats ranged in tiers on all sides while in their midst a flat circle of empty space stood open and illuminated with the promise of expectations. The milling crowd sent up a low murmur as the mass took to their seats, anticipation mounting until all at once there was silence. It began with a whisper, subtle movements in the air building in the massive room, moving amongst them until with a snap of displacement a figure stood before them. Bathed in light at the centre of that unbroken space a figure stood, pieced together from the umbral shroud that dominated the rest. Height was first to mark the passive form, a measure above most present in that place and what reached even those in the furthest seats away where the smaller details could not reach. These consisted of flowing garments, pieces that seemed almost alive as they rippled in a breeze that didn’t exist. Such movement set to chiming the various silver fixings that brought colour to an otherwise monochrome wardrobe, artfully bringing out the shape of those who wore them. Then the figure spoke, tones those of a warmth and welcoming at odds with though rough and tumble demeanour most often seen in the depths. Velvet in voice to match the handsome features that expelled them, the figure seemed tailored for a role as speaker.