The Veche move from Shadow to Shadow. Their passages are smooth and calm. Plenty of time for deep conversations around the campfire, for watching whatever passes locally for the starry sky, for learning tolerance of the foibles of fellow passengers.
Veche caravans cross the deserts with the aid of tamed desert beasts. They cross the seas on vessels of improbable engineering and eccentric design. They cross the skies a-dragonback or on dirigible clouds. They cross the cities in chartered trains and omnibuses, or just circumvent them entirely driving their own centipede city-behemoths. Between the worlds their starships are rustic and beloved, or intricate trading ports with their own jumpgates.
Their symbol is their existence. Where it is: they are. Or will be. Or were. Like buses, their timetables are enigmatic. The folklore is, you draw their symbol and eventually They will come to you. They will listen to your needs, haggle with you for a fair price, and then they will either walk away, or take you with Them, or return at some future time with what you need. Not necessarily what you want, mind. Their perspectives are almost always more cosmic than yours.
Some say the Veche are free of the hunger for domination that mark their Weirmonken peers, that they alone have found the zen to just be. Some say that’s not true: that the Veche agenda is as definite as the Curiate’s. They say that you only have to look at how the Veche move objects, people and ideas from Shadow to Shadow: they act to erase differences, to smooth all Shadow into a homogeneous greater whole. …A whole that naturally, they control through their bargains, and because their bargains have erased all those things, enemies and philosophies inimical to them. Their progress, if this is true, is imperceptibly slow.