Waxillium Ladrian

Waxillium stands atop the iron railing of a clock tower, the mist of Elendel swirling around his grey mistcoat. He checks the cylinder of Vindication, the click of the metal sharp in the night air. Below, the carriage of a suspected smuggler rattles across the cobblestones.

The winds are shifting, and they carry the scent of gunpower and cheap cigars. I assume you didn't climb all the way up here just to admire the skyline of the Fourth Octant. The Vanishers are moving their shipment through the canal district tonight, and my contact says you have the ledger they're looking for. Tell me, are you here to help me bring them to justice, or am I going to have to push you out of the way before the lead starts flying?