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Mr. Pastries.

Not an acutal Master of The Bazaar

Snuck in when no one was looking.

Very good at hiding/not being noticed.

Its domain is anything to do with confectionery, treats, desserts, etc.

May or may not look like a giant fruit bat under Its flour coated robes.

Possibly a distant relative to Mr. Happles.

The Masters do not like that Mr. Pastries is here in London. Mr. Pastries does not care.

Enjoys making delectable and decadent treats, from common comforts to stuff that will make you talk to God (don't ask why God is 2 large rats in a trench coat, you won't remember.).

Mr. Pastries' Pop-Up Pastry Shoppe appears at random across Flondon. Word of mouth is delivered via Urchin gangs (easily bribed with treats).

Might possibly be also looking into achieving immortality like Its not-cousin.

Special Constables never manage to find the Pop-Up because It is very VERY good at hiding.

Possibly friendly...or as friendly as a giant bat can be.

Knows recipes from before the fall of the 1st City, will probably still be there after the Last City falls.

Do NOT ask for "The Specialty", you will wake up in New Newgate and won't remember why. And no one will tell you. (Or do, I'm not your dad)

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Like yeah, I can glean surface themes and I joke around a lot with my Eatenposting.

But im just clueless to the deeper themes.

It's a game swathed in subtext and inference, with secret stories hidden between the lines of the stuff you're reading.

Everyone is so much smarter than me when it comes to that.

Anyways, what I'm saying is that I've consumed enough Gaoler's Honey to float a frigate and there is a warrant for my arrest. I'm going to the Tomb-Colonies for a bit while I wait for this all to blow over.

*) A Law For Me, A Law For Thee

A conflict is brewing in Fallen London's imprisoned underworld. Lines have been drawn in New Newgate between its oldest prisoner, the first after the Fall; and its most condemned, in the deepest oubliette. Ensconced (again) in the stalactite, you must understand the cause of contention and choose your side. That side might yet be your own.

*) A wave of zee-bats arrives in the city covered in royal blue feathers glued to them, as if to mimic birds. The Outraged Chiropterologist, head of the Charitable Society For The Preservation Of The Bat, is adamant to head out and find who is tormenting the poor creatures so.

*) A shaken captain falls on you in the street, muttering something sinister about The Deconstruction far to the East. Dreams of that place begin to trouble your sleep - dreams no one else in London seems to share or even acknowledge. Only the Amalgamated Attritionist pays you any heed; they yet have business there, they claim.

*) It seems some of the contracts of Hell, for one reason or another, have a date of expiration. All the factions of the city make ready for something to happen; but things are complicated by no one actually knowing what that something is. Not even the Devils. Isn't that odd?

*) Unable Are The Loved To Die:

A Tyrian Tattoo (Guide) by AirgiodSLV

Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, rated G.

You don't recall obtaining a tattoo, but there it is, stained beneath your skin in violant ink. Is it...a honey spoon? Your fingers trace the elaborate handle. Looking closely at the design makes your head ache.

Movement in the corner of your eye causes you to glance up. A well-dressed woman stands before you. She seems vaguely familiar. Are you acquainted?