"It was a necessity brought upon us not only by the demands of our Art, but by Society's refusal to appreciate what must be done in its pursuit. But even without customers, they thrived: The advances we've made in the tobacconist's art are unrivalled." [1]
Rosegate is an underwater tobacco shop. Yes, really.
The Tobacconist's Art[]
This port is located under the beautiful Reef of Roses, and consists of little more than a shop with a zubmarine dock.[2] It is home to the artful and brilliant Crotchety Tobacconist and his apprentice, who have set out to this rather non-flammable location to create magnificent feats in the art of cigar making.[3]
The Tobacconist is a Surface-born Londoner brought down in the Fall, who twenty years ago set up shop in this remote spot.[4] Here he relies on commissions from his patrons (strongly implied to be either the Anarchists or Iron Republic)[5][6] to stave off starvation and boredom. He doesn't like losing at cards, and he'll do anything to perfect his cigars.[7]
Seek Perfection[]
Does this look like the face of a madman?
The Tobacconist recently lost his contracts, but seeks his ultimate work of art: a cigar so good it can stay lit underwater.[8] How far is this man willing to go for the sake of his craft? Expensive acquisitions? Torture? Teaching a blemmigan how to write romantic poetry? Where does the line between art and insanity end in the Neath? And why does he want a flame that burns underwater?[9][10][11]