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redstripe

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From the Guild:

Contract? You malfeasant dreams of an addlepated madman dare to offer us a contract? You are correct, you are creatures of wrath, passion, and madness. Our wrath, our passion, our madness. Without us, your. are. Nothing! Dust on the wind. Mindless moans in the depth of the night. We birthed you, we gave you form. You are our willful children. And the Guild knows how to deal with children who misbehave.

You punish them.

From the Resurrectionists:

A contract, hmmmm? No, I don't believe I wish to sign that. You see, dear fellow, I have no use for your power, your strength. All I need is time, for Neverborn you may be, but that does not mean you will never die. And when your corpse lies cooling in the bitter Malifaux wind, your black blood a pool of shadow in the moon's pale luminescence, then I will come. Then we will have our "contract".

And you will serve me.

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