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Once upon a time, there was an impossible city. This city sat at the top of an infinite spire, at the center of the infinite Outer Planes. It was known by many names: The Cage, The City of Doors, Portalheim, Crossroads, The Ring, The City of Dreams, The City of Fog. Its proper name was Sigil.
Sigil was not laid out on ground like most other cities. It was ring shaped. If you walked in one direction you would arrive back at your starting place in about eight hours time. There was no native soil, no quarries of stone. Underneath its streets were endless catacombs reaching down and down to places no sane sentient would go. The buildings were made of imported materials, for Sigil was a city dedicated to importing. The city was the nexus of a million portals: Some steady for Millenia, some as brief as a sigh. It was said you could travel anywhere in Creation from Sigil if you knew the proper place, time, and key.
Sigil had no sun, no moon, no stars. What it usually had was rain and fog. You could tell how long a cutter had lived there by the quality of their cloak and boots. There was light, and it would let things grow after a fashion, but it was weak, and it faded quickly. The city dwelt in a near-constant twilight.
An impossible city needed an impossible ruler. Thus the Lady of Pain claimed suzerainty over the Cage. Few saw her, few wanted to. Her word was law, and she could send anyone to the Mazes who defied her laws. Her very shadow would cut you like a knife should it fall upon you. Her minions the Dabus maintained the city: sweeping sidewalks, pruning the ever-growing Abyssal razorthorn, patching cobblestones. These strange servitors were silent, only conversing by a series of bright pictograms that appeared over their horned heads.
The city was divided into Wards: The Lady's Ward, The Lower Ward, The Guildhall Ward, The Hive, The Market Ward, and The Clerk's Ward. These wards were further divided into districts, which were then further divided into neighborhoods. The scale of the city was staggering: Some ten million sentients lived here by some accounts.
In The Market Ward sat the biggest open-air market in all the planes: The Great Bazaar. A huge district in its own right, almost 2/3 of the Market Ward's area, it was bigger than many Prime cities. It was the home turf of the Indep faction, a loose affiliation of liberty-minded cutters who valued trade above all else. Fortunes were made and lost daily among the canvas-topped stalls.
One feature of this massive market was a subculture of young beings of every description tasked with moving goods from point A to point B. Horses fared poorly in the acrid air of Sigil, and merchants needed strong backs and fleet feet to get their goods to their destinations. Many young folks without prospects elsewhere try their luck among the shouting throngs of the Great Bazaar
Along one edge of the Market Ward is the mighty thoroughfare known as Copperman's Way. This broad boulevard anchors the eastern edge of the Great Bazaar, traveling through the rest of the Market Ward until it reaches the mansions of the Lady's Ward. Myriad side streets angle off it, and one such is called Fleet Street. A statue of Hermes guards the street's entrance. The Greek Power watches over Merchants, traders, messengers, and thieves. No one is more appropriate to greet cutters to Fleet Street.
Along the street a number of large buildings throng cheek and jowl. Young cutters race in and out of them, often at a dead sprint. Most have a scroll tube clutched in their hand.
Fleet Street ends in a circular plaza. Two other streets also end up here: Spoon and Whitecobble. Fronting the plaza is a large stone building made of some solid granite brought in from some distant world centuries ago. The keystone lintel features crossed lightning bolts on it. A sign swings in the tepid downpour
The Crossroads Lightning Guild Lodge
On the other edge of the Great Bazaar, close to where the stalls give way to the posh offices of the Planar trading consortiums and the Guildhall Ward, a plain sandstone building squats, fronting a section of stalls that are focused on writing supplies and books.
The building's pale stone is streaked with centuries of rain. Over the years the brownish, mildly acidic water has carved fractal patterns in the blocks. A sturdy wooden veranda surrounds the main doors, with chairs and what look to be several large tool assemblages. A large hound with chewed ears snores fitfully by the stairs, his hide a mottled green and black brindle pattern. Above the roof of the veranda, in faded chiseled letters the name of the building can be just barely perceived
St. Cuthbert's Lodging for the Lost
The Peak begins in Sigil, as it usually does: With fog and drizzle. The city is swathed in a blanket of thick sooty fog, redolent of millions of hearth fires and breakfast preparation. It is 6BP (Before Peak), traditionally Sigil's stand-in for dawn. Although the amount of light changes little from the previous hour of 6AAP (After Anti-Peak), there is a subtle change in the atmosphere of the Great Bazaar.
While such a massive mercantile area never sleeps, the merchants and patrons change with the time of day. As Before Peak begins, the revelers, jinkskirts, barkeeps, thieves, cullybashers, and grifters all head to their kips, satisfied with another Antipeak well done.
In their place a swarm of bakers, chimney sweeps, drovers, merchants, and couriers exit their doorways. With a shrug at the drizzling sky and a shrug of their heavy Cager Cloaks over their brainboxes, they step out to begin another Peak in Sigil.
At the St. Cuthbert's Lodge for the Lost, a small stream of young children head out towards the Janus Fountain near their kip, jars upon their heads. The smell of griddle cakes and sausage issue from the kitchens. Tsun stands on the veranda, watching the young boarders as they complete their morning tasks. He frowns at the giggles issuing from Myriana as she, Annabelle, and several other girls walk to the fountain, immersed in animated talk.
Inside the plain well-constructed lodging house an odd-looking creature sets a long table with bowls and spoons. Looking for all the world like an animated trunk, the Modron known as Congruence completes his morning chores with precision. Assisting him is the quiet girl Sara, lost in contemplation as she often is.
The kitchens are a bustle of activity as the brothers and their charges ready the Peak's first meal. By the large hearth, a small halfling with milky eyes named Tollard carefully feeds a stream of razorvine bundles into the large blaze. He occasionally breaks off to stir an immense cauldron of brown stew hanging just inside the fire's heat on a swivel hook.
Another small figure helps pull fresh loaves from the baking ovens and slide fresh dough batards in their place to bake. The dwarf named Orla works diligently, winning her smiles from the brown-robed brothers supervising her.
Across the long expanse of the Great Bazaar the wide boulevard of Copperman's Way swells with Before Peak traffic. Carriages fight for precedence with drover's carts, their drivers screaming curses at them and the swarming foot traffic around them. Pushcart merchants set up impromptu bazaars on busy street corners, adding to the gridlock. Squads of red-armored Harmonium Movers March up and down, attempting to fashion some sort of order from the chaos.
Down Fleet Street, the beginning of Before Peak has been signaled by a swarm of young cutters running to and fro clutching scroll tubes and packages. Squads of young folk grasp palanquins piled high with merchandise, bound for the Great Bazaar.
Alyse sits at a table by the front windows of the Crossroads Lightning Guild Lodge. The light rain streaks the wavy glass with dark runnels as she sips a cup of Bytopian Kaveh. The bitter brew wakes her as she takes in the common room.
The Lightning Guild is busy no matter the hour, but much as its mother city what occurred within its walls varied as to the time. The last few bubbers of the night were clustered over by the lodge's long bar, several passed out cold. The jinkskirts and Knights of the post had fled, and the young couriers were thronging the tables, scarfing up a variety of breakfast foods. Frenjik, the crippled birdman who acts as dispatcher in the Before Peak hours sat behind his office glass, occasionally bellowing out jobs to the waiting youngsters.
Alyse notices a new cutter looking about. A dark-skinned elf, but not Drow, the newcomer seems a bit lost at the moment, looking for a free seat.
- jinkskirt=prostitute
- Cullybasher=low-level gangsta/thug
- kip=home/sleeping quarters
- brainbox=head
- Harmonium movers=Analogous to beat cops
- knight of the post=Implies a sophisticated thief, not a street thug. Usually in a guild
- cutter=dude. Typical slang for person , non pejorative
Under the campaign info tab is a detailed discussion of timekeeping in Sigil.
Another Peak in the Cage, thinks Alyse absently as she sips her Kaveh, trying to shift her brainbox into a more wakeful gear. Still slightly sleep befuddled, her attention shifts between glancing about the common room and listening to Frenjik with half an ear for any interesting work, and staring out the rain-streaked window, wondering if she really wants or needs to be out and working today. Despite having lived in the Cage for some six or more years – she’s no Clueless berk anymore this cutter – she’s never quite understood why or how it rains here.
The girl sighs, takes another sip of the bitter-sweet Bytopian brew, and rubs her black linen wrapped arm across the face of the table, erasing the rough tattoo designs she’d been doodling in some spilled water earlier. Looking around the common room again she spots an odd looking elf – but then everyone’s odd looking in Sigil aren’t they? – across the room, looking for a seat. She glances down at the scarred timber seat a quarter turn around the table from her, currently piled high with her own gear. Sighing again – life can be a chore when you’re seventeen – she picks up her pack and sword scabbard from the chair and deposits them on the floor by her own, tucked against her leg, leaving the other seat free.
Calita has had a hard day. Hells, she's had a hard week. First she ends up in this Godsforsaken city, face half blown off.
"OK", she thinks to herself, "that may be a little bit of an exaggeration".
And then, after a week of living on the street and scrounging what she can, she was woken last night by some unsavoury looking Demons looking for a bit of 'fun'. After asking around, she's finally caught a break.
"Well, maybe", her brain responds "we'll see what happens after I figure out who to talk to here at the Lightning Guild".
Getting some advice to head over here, as they're always looking for fast workers with a good head on their shoulders, she was told.
"Half a good head will have to do" she thinks wryly.
Looking around the crowded bar area, she spots an empty seat over by a young girl. Spying a happy young drunk wobbling his way unsteadily towards the table, she zips nimbly through the milling people, sliding into the seat mere moments before the drunk tries to sit down. He sits in her lap and immediately jumps to his feet, a look of bewilderment on his face, before mumbling an apology and continuing his winding route through the room.
Smiling to herself, she looks over at the young girl, no almost a woman, and extends a hand cheerily. ""Calita", she says as she turns her gaze upon the rest of the room. "I don't suppose you'd happen to know who I have to talk to about getting some work around here do you?" She looks at the woman expectantly...
As the dark-skinned elf finishes talking a screech splits the air. Frenjik in his distinctive parrot-like voice bellows over the murmur of the common room, the ruins of his wings just visible over his shoulders behind his streaked-glass window
Two fast cutters needed to carry a box! Great Bazaar to Lower Ward!"
Sara has long red hair, held back by a bright scarf. Even tough its morning, she wears gloves.
She happily assists the Modron. Not really a morning person, setting the table, arranging the dining room and sorting out cutlery is a task she appreciates.
The Modron works like... well... clockwork. As long as she feeds it a steady amount of whatever it needs at the moment, plates, knives, forks, everything ends up neatly and precise on the table.
Also, it doesnt talk a lot while its busy like that. Which Sara appreciates.
With the table set, and the cutlery sorted, Sara turns to the Modron.
"Congruence, thank you for helping me. That was a job well done. We still need to fold the tablecloths that came back from washing, and air the carpets. Which do you want to do first?"
As the woman – Calita – puts out her hand and introduces herself, Alyse lowers her head and looks at both sides of the out-stretched hand, peery-like – you can never be sure some basher doesn’t have barbed flesh or acid for skin or what-not. Deeming the hand probably safe, but not wanting to get peeled, she sort of taps Calita’s fingers with her own and says, “Alyse.”
Before she can answer Calita’s question or counter with one of her own, Frenjik squawks out from his glazed booth.
“Him,” she says, making a snap decision and grabbing her bag and scabbard whilst standing. She glances out the window at the rain again, then looks back at the elf. “Two woman job … you look fast, are you in?”
Not waiting for an answer, she calls out to Frenjik, “Here!”, and begins sliding amongst the tables, buckling on her sword belt as she makes her way towards the bird-man’s window.
The elderly aarakocra c0cks his head bird like as he stares at Alyse. He dips his beak to the grill inset into the window
"A Lady apiece for delivery, payable upon return of signed invoice"
His taloned hand shoves a scroll tube through the hopper below his window
Alyse glances around to make sure that Calita is with her and looks to be onboard , then picks up the scroll tube from the hopper, opens it and reads the contents.
A little surprised by the Alyse's greeting and offer, Calita none the less jumps up and follows her over to the Aarakocra. She eyes him warily, but is interested to see the job on offer.
"How much is a Lady?" she whispers to Alyse as she stands on her toes to peer over the young woman's shoulder so she can see the contents of the scroll tube.
Myriana was enjoying herself, she had a really good show the night before and was adding in a few dance steps as she made her way towards the well with Annabelle and a couple of the other girls from St. Cuthbert's. As usual she was full of frenetic energy as she spoke, "And then, there was this hot older man, dark hair, green eyes, muscled and fit, he was human though." Her voice was a bit on the high pitched side, enough that it grated on some people's nerves sometimes but the way she moved as she spoke and her bubbly nature generally ,a definite people overlook that fact. "He's came up to me and said," She deepened her voice as she imitated the man, "What say you come with me sweet thang, I'd love to make you purr kitten."
Her voice went back to normal as she continued, "And then he reached out and grabbed my arm to lead me to the back. I glared at him and said, 'I'm not that kind of girl, I'm too young! And he said, 'You work here don't you?' And I said 'Not like that, I just dance', and he said yeah, well I just want you to do the horizontal polka with me' and I'm like 'No', and he's like 'Yes!', and I said 'Well fine, then taste my CATSCRATCHATTACK!" Somehow she said all of that in one breath and sentence then mixed scratching with her claws furiously in the air. "Believe it or not he started crying about how much his face hurt and I said, 'Victory meow!'"
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Alyse glances around to make sure that Calita is with her and looks to be onboard , then picks up the scroll tube from the hopper, opens it and reads the contents.
The scroll is covered in spidery script:
Pick up one crate at Peregrine's Custom tailoring, East Threadneedle, Cloth Quarter, Great Bazaar, Market Ward. Deliver to: Cleevar's Mercantile, Slipscale Alley, Little Draukari, Ragpicker's Square, Lower Ward.
There are two spots for signatures and signet press.
... 'Victory meow!'"
The gaggle of girls reach the Janus Fountain, giggling at Myriana's exploits. The fountain is in the center of the plaza where St. Cuthbert's sits, a huge oval with a central pillar. Atop the pillar is a representation of the Roman Power Janus, the two-faced God of borders and portals. A stream of water jets from either mouth, agitating the pool below.
The neighborhood dwellers are busy scooping up the water in various containers, headed back to their kips with them perched on their heads. Several stall merchants have set up shop by the fountain steps. A Kaveh merchant hands out small cups of the hot beverage to customers, his cart dominated by a steel boiler wreathed in fragrant steam. Another sells pretzels in a bewildering variety of shapes, sizes, and colors. A third has cheap jewelry on display, the colorful beads hanging like a rainbow waterfall on the rack above his hat
There are two spots for signatures and signet press.
Pointing over Alyse's shoulder at the paper, Calita asks "do we sign there, or is that for pick up and delivery signatures?"
Frenjik clears his throat and shoves a large ledger on a chain into the hopper
"Yeh lot sign off on me ledger , Clueless. An' if you have any thoughts of crosstrading get them out of yer brainbox. The Lightning Guild always takes care of crosstraders "
- Clueless=noob
- crosstrader/trading=stealing/backstabbing/betraying
- Brainbox=he ad
“It’s a gold coin,” murmurs Alyse in answer to Calita, thinking Clueless. “Enough to keep you feed for a few days.”
“I’m no Clueless berk Frenjik,” states Alyse, scrawling her mark on the bird-man’s ledger in careless hand writing.
Frenjik laughs, a sound like crows fighting
"I didn't mean you, my young monkey. You are as trig a blood as they come"
Alyse gets the impression the bedraggled birdman is being a bit sarcastic at her expense
- Trig=smooth/deadly/smart
- Blood=cool person/expert/someone who knows the score/has been 'blooded'
Calita c0cks her head and gives Frenjik a curious look, before taking the ledger from Alyse and signing her name.
Turning to Alyse, she asks, "do you know where we have to go, I'm only fairly new to the ci...Sigil."
Alyse purses her lips and squints peerily at the birdman, but makes no retort – hand that feeds and all that.
Pocketing the cylinder, she turns on her heel and makes her way to the door, gesturing Calita to come along.
“Sigil, yes. Or The Cage as most call it.” She pauses at the door to button her great coat and pull a shapeless black hat from one of the garment’s pockets. She quickly tucks her long black hair up into a messy bun, then crams the hat onto her head. “I know Threadneedle, and we should be able to find Little Draukari easy enough – just follow the kobolds. We’ll figure out the exact address when we get there.”
The girl appraises the elven woman’s slender arms, lips pursed again. “I hope this package isn’t heavy,” she grumbles. She looks out at the rain again, then asks a question, delaying the inevitable moment of stepping outside. “I can see you’re Clueless – that’s alright, most are at first – are you a Planar or a Prime?”
Calita looks at Alyse, not sure whether to be offended or not.
"By Clueless, do you mean I'm stupid, or are you saying that I have no idea about the city?"
"I want to say Prime? If only because I''m guessing that Planar means I'm from the Planes. I came here from the city of Axos, which is the capital of Gyr. The Gnomes of Gyr and their Gargoyle allies are a kind of neutral state in the hostilities of the Four Nations of Conchord. I was stationed there as part of the Dusk Elvaris Embassy. Around a week ago, I was helping a friend with one of his experiments, when there was a large explosion, and a swirling vortex opened, depositing me in an dingy alley in this crazy city."
Alyse shakes her head. “No, I’d call you addle-coved if I thought you were stupid. Clueless just means … you’re Clueless … about the Cage. You could call me that if I went to where you’re from – Gyr is it? It’s just the way we speak here – the Cant they call it. If you learn the Cant, and the Factions, and the three rules, principles, you pretty much won’t be Clueless anymore. Alright, so you’re from this Gyr place – sounds Prime. Prime Material Plane, not part of the Great Wheel. An explosion …” she looks closely at Calita’s face. “Is that how …?” She trails off, gesturing to the burn on the other woman’s cheek. “There’s plenty of temples here in the Cage if you’re hurt. It can be a lot of jink to get patched up though …”
Her hand going to her face, Calita looks sad for a second, before her smile once more reasserts itself.
"Yeah," she says. "But it's not nearly as bad as it looks. It stung like someone had stuck a knife through my face for a few days, but after that it just died down to a background throb. I don't really have the money, jink is it, to get patched up. Anyway, I think it makes me look exotic and dangerous. Most people tend to underestimate me because of my size, so maybe this will make them think twice about messing with me."
She shrugs. "Either way, it looks like I'll be stuck with it for the foreseeable future. The first thing on my to do list is to sleep in an actual bed and have a bath. Sleeping in an alley hasn't exactly done anything to help my appearance any."
She turns to Alyse as they continue walking. "How about you? Are you Planar or Prime?"
Alyse opens the door and waits under the stone lintel as Calita exits the building, before turning up her collar, thrusting her hands down into her coat pockets (her left clutching the scroll tube) and stepping out into the plaza and the drizzle.
“I don’t know really,” she says. “Prime I guess – most humans are. Planar humans tend to turn into … other things after a couple of generations. Depending on where on the Wheel they are.”
She walks a curve around the edge of the plaza, dashing between awnings and overhangs, slowing down in the dry spots, dodging other messengers and the occasional dawdling barmie or bubber.
“I don’t remember much about before I got to the Cage,” she continues quietly, stepping out onto Fleet Street. “I was just a child. Say, you’re an elf, right? Does that mean you’re really old?”
"Oh no," she laughed, "I'm only young. I haven't even cracked 100 yet, still a way to go before I get to sit at the adult table."
"I was only what would be considered an apprentice at the embassy."
Tsun gently shook his head and sipped at his coffee. If there were a Power of Lollygagging, Myriana would be its high priestess. He needed his cuppa in the morning to get his blood flowing and his brain in rhythm. He could not fathom being energetic, let along bubbly at such an hour. I wish she were as energetic at her chores.
Tsun briefly considered whether or not he was too young to be grumbling about today's youth, but then decided that it was today's youth to blame. Of course. Satisfied, he drained the last of his cup and headed back inside. He needed to drop his empty cup off with the kitchen and inquire with the master of the Lodge if there was anything was a priority. If not, he would make his customary rounds and check the floors, walls, doors, hinges, posts, lintels, windows, frames, ledges, shelves, tables, desks, chairs, cupboards, dressers, beds, and everything other thing that makes a home a home and see if anything needed love and attention.
"Oh no," she laughed, "I'm only young. I haven't even cracked 100 yet, still a way to go before I get to sit at the adult table."
"I was only what would be considered an apprentice at the embassy."
“One hundred hmmm?” Alyse quirks an eyebrow. She leads the way past the statue of Hermes and out onto Copperman’s Way, as crowded as ever despite the rain. “Watch your jink-purse,” the girl murmurs, turning out onto the busy avenue.
The two women push their way up Copperman’s Way towards the Great Bazaar.
Tsun travels back into the warm confines of St. Cuthbert's. The main fireplace was fully stoked, a teapot close to the heat on a swivel arm. Two of the smaller children were feeding the fire and carefully sweeping up any stray ashes that escaped. Tsun went by with a nod and dropped his cup off at the bustling kitchen. Breakfast was in swing, and the cooks and their helpers were busy portioning out porridge and sausages to the bread trenchers a line of children lifted up to them as they walked down the line.
Tsun climbed up the main stairs, their treads groaning under his weight. At the top of the third floor were the offices and dormitories for the Brothers of St. Cuthbert's Mercy, the small religious order that oversaw the lodge. The abbot, Brother Meytal, was in his office reading a sheaf of papers.
Brother Meytal had that undefinable native Sigilian look. Outwardly human, he yet had a certain cast to his features that bespoke some planar ancestors. He was a kindly middle-aged monk, dressed in the black robe with a golden heart stitched on the breast that signified his office.
Upon Tsun's arrival, Brother Meytal looks up and smiles
"Tsun! How wonderful to see you. What can I do for you?"
Orla wipes the sweat from her brow after pulling her last set of loaves from the oven for the day. She looks over her shoulder at the brothers of the Lodge smiling at her. "Jeez someone might think the way you lot are staring that you've never seen a lass pull simple bread from an oven. Did you get an eyeful enough or should I bend over and load another?" She asks hotly while also mockingly bending over slightly.
Orla rolls her eyes and turns to leave the kitchen without waiting for a response or to see their reactions. Monks she thinks. She picks up her breakfast on her way out of the kitchen and starts to search for the halfling or the cat girl. Orla had the distinct impression that they knew their way around the city and may know a person or two that may have a clue to the whereabouts of her Spirelet.
This morning proved that fact when she felt someone she knew make their journey to the Lady of Graves. It was the evidence she needed that proved that her people where here. Now she had no excuses. She was eternally grateful to St. Cuthberts as without them she would have undoubtedly ended up dead or worse in the two weeks since she had arrived. But she couldn't just sit and play lost little lamb anymore. She had a village to save. Now if I only didn't get lost every five seconds in the DAMNDABLE HOUSE! She cursed inwardly as she now searched for a way out of the house as well as for the feline woman or the short statured man. She hopes to find one soon.
"Oh no," she laughed, "I'm only young. I haven't even cracked 100 yet, still a way to go before I get to sit at the adult table."
"I was only what would be considered an apprentice at the embassy."“One hundred hmmm?” Alyse quirks an eyebrow. She leads the way past the statue of Hermes and out onto Copperman’s Way, as crowded as ever despite the rain. “Watch your jink-purse,” the girl murmurs, turning out onto the busy avenue.
The two women push their way up Copperman’s Way towards the Great Bazaar.
The early Before Peak traffic surrounds the two girls in a panoply of exotic sights. A group of Dabus have clustered about a sinkhole that opened up on the thoroughfare at some point last Antipeak, filling the fog with bright-colored pictures as they brought sacks of sand and cobbles. A knot of traffic grows about this, as a palanquin held by brightly-dressed orcs jostles with a group of anthropomorphic rabbits dressed in tribal-looking gear for position.
The Great Bazaar opens up before them in all of its glory. Stalls covered in multi-hued fabric awnings stretch away into the distance, punctuated by a few large buildings. Alyse sights to the 20-meter-high green cylinder where Alluvius Ruskin keeps her famous gate key shop. The radiant letters etched diagonally along the curve of the cylinder can just be read at this distance, their glow lighting up the fog:
Tivuum's Antiquities
Who Tivuum was and what antiquities he was engaged in selling is one of those mysteries of the Cage. His magical sign still beamed out its message clear through the centuries and Lu Ruskin hadn't bothered to change it.
The two threaded through the stalls, heading for their destination. Merchants called to them as they walked by
"Cave crickets! Fried cave crickets'l
"Come visit Deremar's Pet Emporium! The finest in small companions from around the Great Wheel!"
"Cloth! Felt! Silk! Corduroy!"
They march on resolutely, shouldering past Hobgoblins, Aasimars, and Mind Flayers alike.
Threadneedle is a street of tailors. The 'street' is just the space between two rows of stalls, but by centuries-old custom the stalls remained in the same place. The two sight Peregrine's shop quick enough. It is styled like a Prime halfling dwelling, all organic curves with no sharp angles. A bright green cloth canvas cover stands in for the turf a real house would have.
The two approach and see a small figure busy sewing an article of clothing on a mannequin. The figure looks up as they approach. It is a harried-looking older halfling wearing a vest festooned with small pockets. A large pair of scissors are in his hand. He grimaces
"Can I help you two?"
Orla wipes the sweat from her brow after pulling her last set of loaves from the oven for the day. She looks over her shoulder at the brothers of the Lodge smiling at her. "Jeez someone might think the way you lot are staring that you've never seen a lass pull simple bread from an oven. Did you get an eyeful enough or should I bend over and load another?" She asks hotly while also mockingly bending over slightly.
Orla rolls her eyes and turns to leave the kitchen without waiting for a response or to see their reactions. Monks she thinks. She picks up her breakfast on her way out of the kitchen and starts to search for the halfling or the cat girl. Orla had the distinct impression that they knew their way around the city and may know a person or two that may have a clue to the whereabouts of her Spirelet.
This morning proved that fact when she felt someone she knew make their journey to the Lady of Graves. It was the evidence she needed that proved that her people where here. Now she had no excuses. She was eternally grateful to St. Cuthberts as without them she would have undoubtedly ended up dead or worse in the two weeks since she had arrived. But she couldn't just sit and play lost little lamb anymore. She had a village to save. Now if I only didn't get lost every five seconds in the DAMNDABLE HOUSE! She cursed inwardly as she now searched for a way out of the house as well as for the feline woman or the short statured man. She hopes to find one soon.
A quick bit of asking the other lodgers ascertained that the catwoman Myriana was seen heading to the Janus Fountain to pull water for the kitchen along with several others
Knowing enough not to actually draw attention to her coin bag, Calita never the less subtly shifts her weight so as to feel the (very lacking) weight of it nestled against her hip, tucked inside the top of her pants.
Neither notice anything awry. The halfling tailor looks at them expectantly
Tollard stirs the morning stew absentmindedly. The menial chores have a certain comfort to them - they mean food, a roof over his head, safety within the walls. He wonders how he can create that for himself outside. Maybe with a friend...
He looks down into the stewpot and sees the floating bits - small hunks of fatty meat, soggy root vegetables, neat cubes of potato - and then a blinking eyeball. All-seeing eyes and all-knowing faces, eons of knowledge from beyond the stars. The beginning and end of all things, and a grasping darkness that reaches out with ravenous hunger at the world beyond - his world...
And then the vision subsides. His hand shakes slightly, and he breathes deeply. The stew is just stew; there isn't even an eyeball to be found.
Satisfied with his work he heads past the oven and reaches for a loaf, only to find they are too hot. He heads back into the common room and almost bumps into Orla, the dwarf. She seems to be seeking someone out. "Were you looking for someone?" he asks helpfully. He looks at her through clouded eyes, but still seems to perceive much. He has seen her at the lodge before, and knows she is somewhat new to the place. It feels good to be helpful to people, as so many in the Cage seem so very lost.
Congruence busily goes about the morning chores with Sara. It appreciates having tasks and duties to perform, and performs them precisely as it was originally shown by Brother Tilner - even including placing the first 3 forks on the wrong side, and then going back and correcting them.
The modron is completely unaware of Sara's quietness and directs it's entire attention toward finishing the task with as much precision as possible.
Upon Sara's question about their next task, Congruence tilts his head slightly and looks at the young lady in mild confusion.
"Chore assistant Sara, I fail to understand your request."
Congruence briefly stares at Sara and blinks his oversized eyes while he formulates his next statement.
"First day," he struggles to recall a name and fails, "...the green child folded and then aired.
"Is that proper order or have I erred?"
Wth a forced frown Congruence attempts to convey regret over any incorrect behavior, but the result is rather comical. It continues to stare at Sara in confusion, awaiting her response.
Myriana was enjoying herself, she had a really good show the night before and was adding in a few dance steps as she made her way towards the well with Annabelle and a couple of the other girls from St. Cuthbert's. As usual she was full of frenetic energy as she spoke, "And then, there was this hot older man, dark hair, green eyes, muscled and fit, he was human though." Her voice was a bit on the high pitched side, enough that it grated on some people's nerves sometimes but the way she moved as she spoke and her bubbly nature generally ,a definite people overlook that fact. "He's came up to me and said," She deepened her voice as she imitated the man, "What say you come with me sweet thang, I'd love to make you purr kitten."
Her voice went back to normal as she continued, "And then he reached out and grabbed my arm to lead me to the back. I glared at him and said, 'I'm not that kind of girl, I'm too young! And he said, 'You work here don't you?' And I said 'Not like that, I just dance', and he said yeah, well I just want you to do the horizontal polka with me' and I'm like 'No', and he's like 'Yes!', and I said 'Well fine, then taste my CATSCRATCHATTACK!" Somehow she said all of that in one breath and sentence then mixed scratching with her claws furiously in the air. "Believe it or not he started crying about how much his face hurt and I said, 'Victory meow!'"
Annie just rolls her eyes at the story. though she never actually seen any of the shows, she is pretty sure that Myriana's version is a little bit embellished.
Annie hurries to catch up with the others, with her small size she is often mistaken as a child.
Once at the fountain, Annie suddenly looks lost in thought, she appears to be staring at a merchant.
has anyone ever seen that stall before? she asks as she puts her jug down and goes to investigate.
there is a stall full of all sorts of mechanical gizmos and gadgets.
Myriana knew she wasn't believed, not entirely. Truth be told she did exaggerate a little, but who didn't when they told a story? As they reached the fountain Myri noticed Annabelle's attention on a new stall with lots of parts at it. She shook her head as she replied, "No, I've never seen that one before. Meow! Maybe we can find some of the parts you're looking for." Myri looked at the other girls they'd walked with and said, "Fill ours up to meow, we'll be right back to carry them." She walked towards the stall with Anabelle and began looking at the various wares of the stall in curiosity.
"We're looking for Peregrine," says Alyse. She takes the scroll tube out of her pocket and glances at the script. "We're supposed to pick up a package for Cleevar's Mercantile in the lower ward."
While Alyse is taking care of business, Calita looks down at her now ragged clothes and then around at the many fabrics on display. "OK, second thing after a bed and a bath will be to get myself some more clothes," she thinks to herself.
Sara is unsure if she should give the Modron a pat on the head to reasure it. Her hand hovers for a moment, then she thinks better of it. Modrons probably dont show a lot of physical affection she figures.
"Ow, Congruence, I am sorry. I did not mean to confuse you. Sometimes, duties shift from person to person. Either because someone is sick, or has shown great skill and is better employed at a different task. So, today we have some extra duties to perform. And I wanted to know if you have a preference to do one before the other, to optimise our performance."
Sara has worked with Congruence before and tries her best to explain everything in terms the Modron finds easier to understand.
"You did great by the way with setting the table. Exactly as brother Tilner showed. He will be most pleased I think."
"We're looking for Peregrine," says Alyse. She takes the scroll tube out of her pocket and glances at the script. "We're supposed to pick up a package for Cleevar's Mercantile in the lower ward."
The halfling puts down his shears and nods, gesturing for the two to enter his roomy stall
"Crates over here, it's fairly light, but kind of awkward. A rack of tailored suits inside, so try not to jostle it too much? My client is very ... Particular"
A tall, thin crate of waxwood sits at the rear of the stall. The water-repellant Orange wood is marked FRAGILE and the destination is also stenciled upon it.
Peregrine takes the scroll and scribbles his name on a line. Taking a candle, he puts a few drops of wax on it and presses a signet roll into it
"There you are. Oh, and listen. Extra careful, hey?"
He flips each of the girls a gold coin
Myriana knew she wasn't believed, not entirely. Truth be told she did exaggerate a little, but who didn't when they told a story? As they reached the fountain Myri noticed Annabelle's attention on a new stall with lots of parts at it. She shook her head as she replied, "No, I've never seen that one before. Meow! Maybe we can find some of the parts you're looking for." Myri looked at the other girls they'd walked with and said, "Fill ours up to meow, we'll be right back to carry them." She walked towards the stall with Anabelle and began looking at the various wares of the stall in curiosity.
The stall looked promising, but the wares are cheap tin and gimcrack items. The other girls fidget and a somewhat neurotic girl named Danalia pipes up
"Breakfast will be over soon! We should head back!"
Alyse takes back and pockets the scroll, catches the coin and nods in thanks.
“Anything else we should know about this ‘particular’ client? Or how to find his place?” she asks as she critically assesses the crate, trying to decide how best the two of them should carry it.