Welcome Berks, Cutters, and Barmies- to Sigil! The City of Doors! The Center of the Multiverse- from a certain point of view.
I am the Mimir, your guide as you enter the Great Wheel, and Beyond- a creature of everlasting, one might even say omniscient multiversal knowledge.
What Came Before
How you ask, did our intrepid heroes get to Sigil? Well, that's a story it is better to let them tell you. . .
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Avesska looked around, once again slightly...misplaced. This city, it...played with the senses, confused one so easily. Her Mentors would be, as usual, disappointed - if they knew - but luckily they were far away, in their musty fortress, on the Astral.
Here was Avesska. Free. Her mission was open-ended - gather information in Sigil. Anything and everything, specifically that germane to the githyanki, and the hated githzerai too, traitors to the true gith. Though of late, Avesska wasn’t so sure of that.
She’s taken up with the brash Transcendent Order, who while a world away from the rigid training of the Direlocks were akin in their embrace of passion. And Avesska had found passion to be...exciting.
Unlike being mispla...lost. She turned another corner.
Damn. The Prison. Again.
She turned back the way she came.
Down a lonely alley, off a tired street, in the City at The Center of The Outlands, Sigil; a trash heap begins to stir. Seconds later, a sleepy-looking goblin crawls out of the refuse. Rubbing it's eyes and picking the last of the discarded food from his hair, Gribblix, self-appointed druid of Sigil, begins his day.
The goblin druid walks a few block down the Lower Ward, to find a nice lumpy piece of earth. Gribblix sits down and begins to commune with Sigil, asking for the spells he'll need to perform his druidic duties and survive another day.
Communing with Sigil always cleared Gribblix's bulbous head, and make him hungry. The goblin began walking down the street, looking for unguarded food and any cobblestones in need of repair.
Before she was named
The tiefling girl’s stomach rumbled, someone had thrown out some rotten cabbage yesterday but that had done little to assuage her hunger. She heard some rustling in a nearby pile of refuse, a pair of beady eyes, and then a rat’s head with an exposed brain and twitching whiskers. The tiefling’s eyes go a little wide and then instinct takes over, she pounces on the rat with starved quickness. She bites into it not caring about the rawness of the meat.
As she continues to eat the strange creature more eyes peek out from the darkness, they glow red and the tiefling is forcefully expelled onto the street from a blast of telekinetic energy. She runs, still clutching the dead brain-rat’s corpse.
Before she met Ridnir
Glutton was working her corner near Scab Way when she spies her cony, a brute of a basher. She yells at him, ”Hey! You filthy stinkard! Yes you leatherhead! Your sheer ugliness stabs pain right in my eyes!” Glutton braces herself, ready for the swing, he comes high smashing a fist right in her face. She crumples but only a trained eye would notice her hand dart for the large pouch of jink at the man’s waist as she falls. He gives her a swift kick to the stomach for good measure but she knows to play dead.
After joining the Cabal
Glutton stared straight up at Sigil’s sky around anti-peak. It was a clear night, either the Godsmen were taking it easy on the forges or a portal to the plane of air had opened and cleared the smog. She contemplated the stars above, knowing full well that they were light from some high house lord or high-up merchant. Before joining the Bleakers she would have fantasized about becoming one of those bloods, but now she kind of pitied them. She dared to tilt her head to the side a little and stared into the endless void that the Sigil floated in, it gave her some measure of peace and reaffirmed her newly adopted philosophy.
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'I hope you like doors.'
The words still echoed in his head as time-space bent around him 90 degrees as every direction was up. Briefly, recognizting this sensation as Teleportation, he experienced a moment of relief. 'Now I don't have to deliver the bad news' he thinks as suddenly -somewhere- begins to form under his feet, replacing the -nowhere- that had formerly occupied it.
He finds himself in an alley. Fortunate. And there are...people...around. Humanoids of all kinds. Better. At least it isn't the Elemental Plane of Fire. 'That's where I would've sent me.'
But it's not home. It's not even near home. It's not even seen the place that could see home. It's...
"See the edge on that? See the shine on it? I tell ya what Cutter that'll do ya ye business." The clarion call of the cutlery merchant cuts through the low-din of public traffic to bring a great clue as to his whereabouts.
'No. No no no. Not there, not...'
He's not certain of anything. So he does what he was just doing.
He exits the ally, and goes looking for a way to gather data.
Most likely, he'll enter the first tavern he sees.
Or library. If such can be had.
"Cheyanne, that was alright but very...blunt. You have more grace than you are displaying and could choose your targets more wisely," lectured the instructor, a young man still, only three years Cheyanne's senior at the monastery. As she tried - and failed - to hide her smirk Cheyanne bowed to the man, as required, and responded with a silent nod of her head. "You also must learn respect - I saw that smile and do not appreciate it," he chided her, his expression showing all the spirit of a wet wash rag in spite of the anger that flashed in his eyes.
With downcast eyes the female monk bowed lower, this time careful not to smile, and excused herself. She had about ten minutes before the next prayer bell and wanted to look at the sacred relics some more. "Perhaps one day I will earn the right to use one of them," she muses out loud, eliciting scowls from several of the nearby monks who were meditating in silence. With a blush she moved faster, not quite running to the display hall.
Once there, in the quiet and austere majesty of the place, her steps slowed and she looked about with the wonder she perpetually felt in such a place. Walking up to one item, a solid stone doorway with a peculiar symbol above it (a mobius strip), she stood and stared for several seconds...or so she thought. As her mind wandered and she lost track of time, Cheyanne imagined what purpose the doorway could possibly serve...
BONG! BONG! BONG! "Oh no! I'm late again!" cried the young monk as she spun in place. Then, seeing the door to the chamber starting to open she sprung backwards, through the doorway, looking for a place to hide...
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Landing in a busy street, Cheyanne cried out in surprise at the sudden din of noise - merchants advertising their wares, discussions in dozens of languages she didn't recognize, and a hideous monster pulling a cart and yelling at her to move!
As she turned back to the doorway, the woman saw a heavy metal portal swinging shut. Lunging for it from her position in the road, she barely missed stopping it from closing and saw it vanish before her eyes! "Um...what is happening? Where am I?" whispered Cheyanne as she looked around, her expression shocked and more than a little frightened. Then, taking a deep breath she tried to focus for a moment, closing her eyes and trying to think. "Alright, I don't know where I am or how I got here, but I cannot just sit by this...wall...waiting for a door to reappear. Let's look for a friendly face and see what we can learn. Irori - guide my steps to greater perfection."
Opening her eyes, Cheyanne saw a busy market place with a bewildering array of forms, from clearly angelic beings to elemental-infused figures to at least one tiefling and several...were those demons? With another deep breath she looked for someone less exotic.
Seeing no one, Cheyanne stepped into the flow of traffic and allowed herself to be swept along until she ended up in a tangle of back alleys and cul-de-sacs. Turning one corner she found what looked like a human corpse - a wizard, if she were to guess - with a long blade in his back and no one around. Looking down she found his back and picked it up to see if there was anything to identify him. Finding some scrolls and a wand she nodded and looked back to the corpse to find it covered in rats...with their brains showing?
Gulping and turning to run, Cheyanne carried the pack and got lost again.
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That was last week. Since then she's wandered Sigil, sold off much of the gear she found in exchange for lodging and food, and generally just tried to figure out what to do. "I doubt anyone back at the monastery even minds me being gone...I suppose this could be a good opportunity, if I can just find some direction to go...I wonder if there is work for a monk like me..." she mused as she wandered into yet another of the strange, otherworldly taverns in the City of Doors.
The spray felt fresh against his face, and Throrgar smiled even as he struggled against the pull of the sail - it would be good to return home after his indentured years, and he welcomed the fact the Blood Sea fought against the crew every inch of the way.
Such was the way of his race, and for the mighty warrior it was how he wanted to live his life - the struggle was truth, and this was no more than another test - minotaur against the sea. The victorious would take the spoils - if the crew mastered the waves, they would reach their destination. If the sea won... Then it would become evident who is the stronger. For the defeated there could be only one destiny.
Here, surrounded by his traveling companions, he reveled in that pitted fight against the wild nature, but during the last year he had learned reality could be very different from the 'Might makes Right' litany the young minotaur had listened to during the vast majority of his life.
Even if it was not fully acknowledged in Taladas, Throrgar quickly learned there was much more than that out there - and even though his posture and attitude was as proud as any other minotaur, his head was always different - more leveled and pragmatic.
His year of travels with the crew of the 'Sea Horn' confirmed what he already knew - life is made of victories and defeats, and while most of his companions would resiliently deny this fact, Throrgar carried each of his scars with pride - marks of experience and learning.
"Land ho!" - came the shout from the navigator - with another smile and a grunt he joined his mariner companions effort as the ship veered for a sharp right - "Land? Already? It cannot be?" - he pondered, remembering the charts he had looked at earlier in the day in the captain's cabin - "we are still too far from..." - his remaining words got caught in his throat - the ship was hit so hard from beneath it actually raised a few feet above the water, to come crashing hard. It held together, but barely - "What is that...!?" - he heard Krarg shout to his left, but his head would not turn, it felt heavy... His eyelids weighed a ton.
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"Bah! Another nightmare" - the massive minotaur stood up in his cot, looking around at the dismal room he was in. Every single night since he arrived, he had been assailed by the same dream... Fortunately it ended before the worst part of the whole event who brought him here. Wherever this was - Sigil - yeah, he knew the name of the place and nothing more.
Absently rubbing his dented shield, he remembered the first painful lesson he learned as soon as he arrived, when some sort of demonic creature simply shoved him easily aside and against a wall at the entrance to a tavern - obviously Throrgar would not stand for it, it didn't matter where they were! He was lucky to get out alive, and the dent on his steel shield was actually the least painful part of the beating he took.
He woke up in this place - he did not know what it was, though from the noise it seemed like the back of some sort of tavern like place - every once in a while this most strange of men (or at least Throrgar thought he was a man) comes in with food and drink. He is... almost like a shade, features always covered in darkness? Or is that the cowl? Throrgar has not come to any conclusion yet.
All he knows is he treats him as 'clueless' and has been the only single reason the minotaur is still alive... As he started to recover, they managed some quick conversations. Though these have not been very helpful - expressions like 'the center of all' and 'crossroad of the Multiverse' are really not that self-explanatory...
"You will have a chance to learn" - Alyx's voice sounded ominous as always, in contrast to what seemed to be a kind nature - "I have seen many come and go, and one thing I can guarantee you - you will learn. Or you will not survive" - he chuckled, an eerie sound if Throrgar ever heard one - "All the faster, if that necklace means what I think it does" - he nodded to the horned battle axe iron symbol dangling from a cord around the minotaur's neck... Apparently Alyx thought no further explanation was needed, and left.
Most of the communication was like that, in half words, poorly explained, but the bottom line was always the same - that all that Throrgar thought to be was probably wrong, and that he would have to 'learn' - it mattered not though, he was fully recovered now, and Alyx had agreed he was free to go the next day. And so he will.
It was a dark, hazy day in Sigil; everything was feeling a bit foreshadowed. Unbeknownst to them, six strangers wandered the streets, about to be drawn into a series of great events. But we begin with small events, and small things, and each of these six travelers, as they move about their day in Sigil that day notice something a bit small, and quite dusty following them.
As our intrepid travelers move about the city, the following creatures continue following, until such a time when they stop and the small, truly pitiful looking creatures present a note unto our travelers hands--
"Please, do me the honor of attending me in my shop in the Market Ward, the Dusty Mephit, 1 Dusty Mephit Way, Regards, PBT" the message delivered, like a shot, the creatures disappear into the throng of Sigilians and Sigilites without a word of explanation.
Glutton-for-Punishment stoops down to the dusty creature’s level and looks it directly in the eye while taking the written missive, ”Why thank you!” After reading the note she passes it to her tail which reflexively grasps it. As an afterthought Glutton thinks to tip the pitiful creature but it seems to have disappeared. With not much better to do, Glutton makes her way to the Market Ward.
Gribblix leans down and tastes the dust the strange creature left behind. "Hmm." The goblin regards the taste and walks back down to the Market Ward to find this Dusty Mephit Way, unsure of why.
Throrgar has no idea what the creatures is, or why they may be following him, but grinding his teeth he turns around - "Ok, here I am - what do you want" - he grunts, air expelling out of his nostrils.
He is immediately deflated when the creature simply places a note on his outstretched hand, and actually chuckles at himself - "Very well then little one - thank you" - he nods, reading the note.
"Hmmmm, and why not?" - he ponders out loud - "Now, if I only knew where this Market Ward could be..."
Shortly after sitting down in the tavern - a place with a sword and buckler over the door full of military-types - Cheyanne is about to order a drink when a little puff of dust with arms and legs hops onto the bar in front of her with a piece of parchment in hand. After a high-pitched and embarrassing squeak of surprise the monk leans in and takes the note with a hesitant smile. "Um...thanks...?" she calls as it flits away and out the door.
Squinting to read the script, she reads the note and mumbles, Well, I was looking for work.... After ordering a shot of something to steady her nerves and downing the amber elixir with a gulp Cheyanne stands and asks the bartender for directions. "So...it's basically up there?" she asks as she points to the ceiling, imagining the strange, donut-shaped city's other wards above her somewhere. At the bartender's nod she pouts her lips and nods in response before taking a deep breath and turning to enter the meandering streets.
It took her longer than she wanted, but less time than it would have last week - she only got lost three times! - but she finally found The Dusty Mephit. Looking around she shrugged and went inside, curious as to who might be interested in hiring a "clueless Prime" like her. "At least I've learned one thing in this crazy place. Now if I can just figure out what they all mean by 'cutter.' I mean, I'm not anywhere near as sharp as some of the people I've seen around here...That guy is basically covered in spikes!
Irori help me..."
From behind Cheyanne Glutton says in a cheerful voice, "Oh! It's just a term to refer to someone, like sir or madam, usually it implies respect. So good job you've made it! What's Irori? I'm Glutton-for-Punishment by the way!"
Glutton-for-Punishment is thin and tall, her milky eyes are sunken and look dead. The ashen color of her skin is punctuated by spots of bright red dots and dribbling blood. Her hair is dark green and thick with wild curls, it reaches upwards and refuses to be tamed by brush or comb. A thin dexterous tail whips about almost like it has a mind of its own.
She wears a burlap sack as a shirt and torn baggy breeches that threaten to fall if it wasn’t for her trusted rope belt. She struggles to carry her pack which seems to be bursting at the seams with mortars, glass flasks, strange powders, and viscous liquids. Despite her menacing exterior she wears a bright smile which juxtaposition is a little unnerving.
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Rankev was lost.
His attempts to find either a tavern or a library had played out, and he considered himself fortunate to have not been eaten. It seemed that he couldn't approach anyone without breaking some taboo, or saying the wrong thing or...stepping on a tentacle. (That only happened once and he was really sorry about that.)
It was with a measure of relief that he received the note, although the implications therein were simply staggering.
'Do they know about every newcomer that just pops into the city? Actually, nevermind, that might not be that hard to do.'
Putting into practice the lessons he had roughly won, he manages to ask for enough aid to decipher the few landmarks he'd noted well enough to arrive at the place indicated on the note with all his major organs intact.
'I suppose anything is better than just standing around here waiting to be eaten by that...is that a minotaur? Disgusting creatures.'
When you arrive at Dusty Mephit lane, it lives up to its name. The same small creatures which had summoned you (though of course, not LITERALLY because though a berk may not know, one cannot summon ANYTHING in Sigil) hence.
There was also a lot of dust.
If you had to guess, you'd say the things were dust mephits.
The Dusty Mephit, a small, relatively well kept shop opens up to you, and you find an assortment of other people there- strange creatures like minotaurs, humans, and goblins!
The shop seems to have all manner of alchemical draughts and potions, labelled in smudged script (you could find any alchemical items from the CRB here, plus potions of 1st and 2nd level). There are also a few other oddities- a caged skeletal bird, what might be some kind of ooze in a bottle, a handful of wands which are not labelled, and a section selling what for all intents and purposes seems to be dust- packaged in bars, bottles, and boxes, but sure enough, it's dust.
Also yet another dust mephit, and a tall woman with wings.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome! Welcome, one and all! I am Phineas Bel Thinnius, the Greatest of All Dust Mephits!"
"My associate is the lovely Simone, Sword Taker- hands off boys, she's mine."
The winged woman stares at you, with a glower.
"I sent six of my familiars out to find you, well, not you per se, but some likely looking berks, you know, you know so that you could assist me with a little problem I have- just a problem!"
The mephit holds out his hands, showing that they are empty, like a carnival barker or a two bit magician on the take, "So here's the chant!"
"My lovely lady friend has lost her favorite tooth-pick. You see, one day some while attending some business in the Hive, for those of you who don't know, that's here, in Sigil- it's one of the wards, and not a nice one if I say so myself, a mean and nasty berk named Gilbert Trom Bone filched the toothpick, would ya believe it?"
"Now, I've sent one of my familiars as a spy, and I've got the peeps on it- it's in a particular lodge house on Pandemonium. Seems Gilbert got good and drunk there, and left it on a counter in the kitchen, so simple's simple, AMIRITE? One of my familiars, Zippy, will take you to the Gatehouse, pay the Bleakers to get you through the portal to Pandemonium, then point you the right direction and you'll run right into the lodge house. Slip into kitchen, find the toothpick, and come back, of course, you'll be on your own getting back to me, but that shouldn't be hard for canny berks like you lot, SO! Whaddya say, are we in business!?"
The smelly goblin is the first to speak. "This smells like test. Get insignificant item from guarded fort in Pandemonium, and come back. Toothpicks are extremely replaceable objects. Why not bar of soap or eyelash roller?"
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'None of these wands are labeled! What kind of a business is this? Mind you, I have a burning urge to study all these wands and label them. Perhaps I should approach the proprietor?'
Just then the proprietor saves him the trouble and addresses him. And some other people. Persons. Things.
'Oh my! By all the planes she can take my sword anytime,' he thinks, suddenly seeing why there were so many stories of people being taken into bargains with demons. They had quite the sales force.
He listens peacefully to the story of the toothpick. At the end he has big question. And one small one.
"Um, and for what remuneration?" Rankev asks. "I mean, that is to say...why should we do this thing for you?
But if we do um....then how are we to know this toothpick? It is unique in some way, yes? Something to ensure we do not just bring back any old toothpick? Is it gold? Hand-carved? Is it a Toothpick Of Unusual Size?
Oh, and, um, do you need someone to label all those wands for you? I could be hired for that."
Two small questions.
Cheyanne squeaks again when Glutton-for-Punishment surprises her. "Um, is it rude if I ask to use just one of your names? I don't want to be rude, but it's a bit of a mouthful," she asks as she stares. Then, realizing that she is staring, Cheyanne smiles prettily and deliberately starts looking around the shop. "I'm Cheyanne. I doubt you'd care for my family name, but it's Julus. I don't think there are any of us from Sigil..."
As she thinks about Glutton's appearance and her own, Cheyanne realizes that though she might look exotic at home, here she seemed nearly...plain. With lavender eyes and black hair, she isn't quite human, but doesn't really show her part-orc heritage at all. Cheyanne looks tough and strong and has several tattoos peeking out from under her monk wraps in what would be interesting places to some people, but on Sigil she was starting to think she could blend into the walls.
And then she saw the winged woman before her and nodded. "Wow. I'm ugly in comparison..."
Cheyanne looks at the woman as the little...mephit?...speaks and when he's finally she done listens to the goblin and the human - a normal-looking human! - ask their questions. With a shake of her head she then turns to the two creatures and asks, "This 'toothpick' isn't just a toothpick, is it? Is that some slang for a sword or something? And 'Pandemonium' is one of those places through the...doors...?" she gulps, having only seen glimpses of other worlds through the portals as she has wandered about Sigil. "What's it like in there?"
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"Rankev," Rankev replies as the--hmmmm, lavender eyes and black hair? Not drow. Must be another demon--asks about the toothpick. "Rankev Davis. But my friends know that I...am Power!"
He waves his hands and a small ball of light forms in his palm. He's quite proud of it.
"And no, I had taken the reference to a toothpick at face value. Pandemonium though? Surely he can not mean the plane of absolute chaos, and he did talk about someone paying to get us there, so I assumed it was some sort of large bar, or a district of town, perhaps?
And he expected us to get back, so it must surely be within walking distance.
Surely."
"You call me whenever you like! Berk, gutter-trash, fiend spawn, or even shorten my given name. I won't mind really. It's very nice to meet you Cheyanne and the rest of you too!" Glutton give polite wave, while her tail taps in what seems an annoyed fashion.
When talk of the Gatehouse and Pandemonium comes up Glutton prattles on cheerfully, "Oh I am a Bleaker so maybe we won't need to garnish my faction, that's great! And Pandemonium is a great place for contemplating how meaningless the multiverse is. Oh I'm so excited to show you. It's a dark and look like a cave, and the wind will drive you completely barmy. Don't worry the Gatehouse is an asylum so we can commit you after if you go too insane."
Glutton claps at Rankev's display of the Art, then frowns slightly "But you can't be a Power the Lady wouldn't allow that. I think you're trying to say you're a spellslinger!"
It takes a while for the little dust creature to gain Avesska’s attention, but it delivers the message nonetheless. Avesska tries to follow the little creature but soon loses it, and takes her own good time becoming lost again, finding her way, losing it again, and then by sheer luck finding the Dusty Mephit. Late.
She just hears of the sad tale of the lost blade, which does interest her, githyanki proclivity for swords being what it is. She looks at the gathered souls - a goblin, a human, a half-orc, a horned beastman and a crazed tiefling. She shrugged her shoulders. None of this particularly looked promising as far as her “mission” went, but she was finding she didn’t particularly mind. And as a devotee of the Transcendent Order, she did like making sudden decisions.
”Avesska Yessakh. I will help retrieve the blade.”
"Look, it's a very special toothpick, a magical toothpick even- maybe if you were the right size for it you would swing it around like a sword, but it was made as a toothpick, so that's what I'll call it. You'll know the one I mean when you see it, clear as day."
"Oh no," he says turning to Rankev, "Those are all wands of summon mephit."
"Sure I mean the plane! What're you, primes? Oh, yer are? Look kid, this here's Sigil- the City of Doors. There's probably a door here to any Plane in the multiverse if yer knew where ta look-- but Pandemonium's an easy one, everyone know where ta look- in the Gatehouse, that's where the Bleakers call their home here in Sigil, it's on the edge of the Hive Ward."
"Renumeration, ya say? Re. Nume. Errrrr. Rayshun! Indeed, is a simple task, but it'll be well rewarded, no? Six of yeh, say, three hunnerd a piece? I can round er up- an even two thousand smackers for yah to split."
"It seems I am delayed to this... Meeting" - Throrgar's deep voice rumbles after he approaches the others - the minotaur is a massive one, but he seems to thread somewhat... Lightly?
"I am Throrgar. Well met all" - he nods at the others, his eyes delaying just for a split second on Cheyanne before he turns to Phineas - "May I ask why it is you chose us specifically for this task?" - he grunts.
"I mean- I didn't chose you- I just sent the boys out to find some canny berks, eh? You musta looked strong to em or something. . . if you'd rather, I can find someone else."
"I mean- I didn't chose you- I just sent the boys out to find some canny berks, eh? You musta looked strong to em or something. . . if you'd rather, I can find someone else."
"I guess that is... Fair enough" - Throrgar tried to sound confident, but his muzzle was scrunched up in confusion.
"Is three hundred a good offer?" - he looked around at the others.
Glutton does not think to mention how to prevent the rest of the party from becoming addle-cove. She sees it as a good thing.
"Is three hundred a good offer?" - he looked around at the others.
Glutton fiddle with her fingers for a few seconds, counting, "It'll feed you for amost ten years! Well maybe five year for you. You strike me as the hungry type."
The goblin groaned. "Fine. Gribblix will go."
Glutton fiddle with her fingers for a few seconds, counting, "It'll feed you for amost ten years! Well maybe five year for you. You strike me as the hungry type."
"Sometimes I guess" - Throrgar concurred - "That seems like a good sum of money then" - he pondered, weighing his own dwindling pouch of gold - "I am inclined to accept also" - and nodded at Gribblix.
Avesska’s eyes brighten as she realises that there is “pay” also. Having never had to buy anything in her life this should be an interesting and new experience.
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"No, reMUNeration," Rankev corrects, quite unable to help himself despite this being a desperately stupid thing to do. "'Remuneration' is to pay moneys for services rendered. ReNUMeration is to just re-count something again, as to re-number something." But then he didn't really want to be rude, so he ended with a bit of self-depreciating humor' "Ah-HA! I have made that same mistake many times. Indeed, this one time, see, there were these Cresent Hawks, and they wanted revenge...." Then he just winds down realizing no one wanted to learn about the first time he heard an arcane word.
"Um, yes! Two thousand will be quite good, I should say. It is ah, standard, where I come from, to give over half now, for travelling expenses, and half upon delivery. And, I mean, I can see that some few things might be good to have, going into the literal embodiment of insanity. Perhaps I might purchase from you some Meditation Tea? And, I guess, some Vermin Repellant?
If that is amenable, then on behalf of all assembled, I accept!" he gives a small bow.
'What am I doing? What have I gotten myself into. Well I don't have much of a choice now do I? It's either this or choose between starving to death or being eaten to death.'
"Um, no, I'm not 'a' power, per se," he starts to explain to the--y'know, he wants to ask what she is, but something about her just says that that would be a bad idea--"Miss, um, Bleaker, was it?"
She did say she was 'a Bleaker' right? Yes, he got that much.
"I said I _am_ Power. Because you know what equals Power? Power. Power is power.
I suppose you can call me a spellslinger if you like. Who am I to rain on your local customs. But merely meant to say that the power of spellslinging granted me an innate sort of power."
At this point he wanted to go on but the best course of action seemed to be to just stop talking.
The Mephit looks over to Simone Sword-Taker when Rankev asks for an advance, "Darling?"
"500"
"500 now, 1500 when you get back with the toothpick. But if you wanna cross-trade me- be warned, I am Phineas bel Thinnius- the GREATEST of ALL Dust Mephits!"
So, all the terms agree on, you depart into the Sigilian streets, bound for the Hive and the Gatehouse.
Glutton cocks her head to one side and says to Rankev earnestly, "You know I think you might like the Godsmen! Each of them want to be a Power, I don't know if any have done it yet. Or maybe the Harmonium, they like to correct people unnecessarily, or maybe the Guvners they just like to be technically correct, whether or not you care about it. Anyway yes! I'm a Bleaker," she winks at him with one milky eye, "the Bleak Cabal, and we're headed to my faction's headquarters."
Suddenly feeling a bit shell-shocked and overwhelmed by the strange - and unhinged - characters around her, Cheyanne lapses into silence as she watches and listens to "Power" rant about...himself? And Glutton-for-Punishment seeming to both like and dislike a shortened name. When the Minotaur appears Cheyanne nearly enters a defensive stance before taking a couple of ineffective, meditative breaths and trying to calm herself.
As PBT explains that it is in fact a toothpick they must retrieve but that they will be well-paid for their efforts Cheyanne looks more confused, but then happy at the thought of some real money in her pocket. "I'm in!" she agrees as everyone speaks up and starts to get ready to go to the Gatehouse.
On her way out Cheyanne asks for several potions, exchanging coin for them with a genuine smile. "I'm sure these will come in handy," she says as she nearly skips out the door to follow the others. "So, I'm not good with number, but 500 coin doesn't split six ways, does it? Who get's the shaft?
If we're leaving Sigil then I should be ready...what will we need in Pandemonium? Can I buy it with my share?"
I'm assuming she will take 83 GP, 3 SP, and 3 CP to help pay for some of that. If anyone needs more, Cheyanne is likely to be cooperative - just say you need it.
Avesska looks on fairly impassively. She’s all for making bold statements and quick decisions, but it did seem prudent to stay observant and be prepared. In that latter service the githyanki bought a curative potion of small power. She then followed along with the others, trying not to get drawn into any of the tiefling Bleaker’s conversation but paying rapt attention to the commentary nonetheless.
Eventually Avesska can hold back no longer.
”Glutton, Glutton-for-punishment. Let’s let you get us through the Gatehouse eh, as you suggest. No need to ah...broadcast the...chant to your faction though, yes? If we want all the jink, and the toothpick we need to keep the rub quiet.”
You gather your things and begin to head towards the Gatehouse.
From where you are, the Gatehouse is dang near on the opposite side of Sigil-- you can look up and with clear eyes and a little less smog see it almost overhead. With that said, there are two ways to get there- going from the Market Ward, through the Guilde House Ward, through the Clerk's Ward, and through the entirety of the Hive to get there, or turning the other direction and passing through the Lady's Ward, the Lower Ward, and the edge of the Hive.
The paths being equal, the Lady's Ward route is far nicer and safer, so you head in that direction.
At the Shattered Temple
As you go, your path brings you past the Shattered Temple, home of the Athar- the Defiers or Lost to many berks. . .
The streets around the Shattered Temple have always been alive with berks of varying backgrounds and intents, but you can't ever remember a time when they were literally thick with purposeful bodies. What's more, the mass of bodies (some looking more than a little barmy!) is heading toward the Shattered Temple. When was the last time anyone other than one of the Lost even dared enter the place, let alone set out like it was the place to go for a wild time? That's certainly how many of these sods look, with their wide smiles, bright eyes, and constant buzz of anticipation.
Avesska looks about, frowning. Though to be fair, frowning seems to be her resting position.
”Glutton-for-punishment - is this...normal? For Sigil?”
Glutton answers not expecting to be a tout but happy to anyway, "I should say no! Usually its just the Power hating Lost around here. Usually all you get is a piece of paper spouting their typical screed, but a good place to get some paper if you need it."
Glutton pokes a nearby cager and asks with a grin, "What's the chant?"
Gribblix keep to the tiefling's elbow, listening in, occasionally fiddling with his extra-large ear plugs.
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"So, Ms. Bleaker," Rankev starts, honestly thinking that's her name, "you're saying all of the Godsmen want to become a higher power...but none have ever achieved it? Well does it strike anyone that they're not very good at it then? You'd think if any of them were on anything resembling the right path at least ONE would've been successful by now."
He pauses to purchase a potion of cure light wounds ('everyone else is so I may as well') and the tea and rat powder mentioned. This does for his pay for now and he hopes to be successful since he's now as poor as he was when he came in.
'Why does everyone keep saying she's a glutton for punishment? She has a few open sores but most of the lower class do. By the way she's dressed she's obviously some beggar leaping at the chance for some easy coin. Can't really blame her, the poor thing.'
"Can, um, can we just go around? Are they having a parade or some celebration...?"
As she walks with folks more in tune with Sigil's slang Cheyanne listens but clearly doesn't understand it all. Especially when Avesska and Glutton-for-Punishment start going she watches and listens with an expression that suggests she understands only a small portion. "I have so many questions," she begins, gulping before she continues. "...but first, what is a 'faction' exactly? Are those social clubs or something?"
Looking up to see the Gatehouse above her Cheyanne smiles. It will be another long walk, and she was probably close to there when the dust mephit first found her, but she enjoys the exercise and is starting to like the many new sights and sounds of Sigil. When she sees a crowd start gathering her enthusiasm falters and she looks to the two talkative, planar women for a clue as to what is happening. Unfortunately their slang leaves her as confused as before, so she just watches quietly for a moment. Then she asks, "They hate powers? Like the gods? What's wrong with having gods?"
As she listens and watches Cheyanne finds herself instinctively hovering over Gribblix, though she doubts he needs protection. When she takes a deep breath and realizes how he smells she looks down at him and notices his ear plugs. "You have earplugs...why? Should I get a pair?" she asks him with a genuine smile and curious tone of voice.
"...but none have ever achieved it? Well does it strike anyone that they're not very good at it then?"
Glutton scratches her head causing a new bleeding wound to open, if it hurt her she doesn't let on, "I don't really know the dark of it. Maybe becoming a Power's really hard! It all seems kinda pointless to me though. "
"...but first, what is a 'faction' exactly? Are those social clubs or something?"
Glutton puts her hand to her face as if to say I'm sorry, "Yeah kinda! They all believe something or other though. The Lost think the 'gods' aren't really all that different from your top shelf bloods. The Powers just have more power. Oh! I guess they aren't all that different than the Godsmen now that I think about it. The Godsmen want to build themselves up while the Lost want to tear the Powers down."
She thinks for a moment and adds, "Oh! The factions also govern the Cage, and provide services. The Guvners are the judges and advocates, the Hardheads scrag people, the Dead run the Mortuary, to name a few. And my faction runs the Gatehouse. We also have a lot of soup kitchens and I work at the Weary Spirit Infirmary sometimes, Ridnir provides free medical treatment."
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"And then after the Lost have torn the powers down...then what?" Power asks, completely mistified. "What is there plan afterward? I mean, one can imagine what the plan is for someone who -wants- to become a power...they want to then use that power. It's obvious. But then after you've torn them all down? (And, presumably, not allow anyone else to take their place.) Are they all insane, or...do they have some kinda of representative republic form of government ready to go to replace the quasi-feudal system they believe is currently repressing them?
Also, what's a 'blood' and what does it mean to be top-shelf? Do they wield governmental power, or are they really rich, or....?"
Rankev was having a hard time keeping up. And to a ragged beggar nonetheless!
"And if your friend gives out free healthcare, do you, um...do you want to go see him? I mean, if you needed like, a salve or unguent I'm sure we have time?"
You notice more than one cutter in the crowd wearing the faction symbols of the Athar. Some are moving with the living tide, riding the wave toward the temple. A few, however, stick out as they try to push against the tide with purpose and a sense of urgency. Come to think of it, none of the Lost look particularly happy.
“What’s the chant? There’s lawless talk and wild predictions being tossed at the temple, ” is the answer.
“A dwarfpreoch’er?”
“Aoskar!”
“Illegal!”
“Breaking the law?“
“Deadbook for sure!” are the other snippets you hear from the many voices thundering around you.
Throrgar left the Dusty Mephit in silence, pausing only to buy two exra potions before moving after the others.
”Glutton, Glutton-for-punishment. Let’s let you get us through the Gatehouse eh, as you suggest. No need to ah...broadcast the...chant to your faction though, yes? If we want all the jink, and the toothpick we need to keep the rub quiet.”
"Also - how do we return from this other... Plane we are visiting? Is it straightforward?"
Regardless of the direction they will move in, Throrgar takes the position which will protect his companions from the flow of the throng - he is aware he will not be able to stop the crowd, but by instinct he assumes a protective stance, his shield out, back to the flow of the throng, and facing his companions.
"Which way friends?" - he grunts above the crowd noises.
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"And then after the Lost have torn the powers down...then what?" Power asks, completely mistified. "What is there plan afterward? I mean, one can imagine what the plan is for someone who -wants- to become a power...they want to then use that power. It's obvious. But then after you've torn them all down? (And, presumably, not allow anyone else to take their place.) Are they all insane, or...do they have some kinda of representative republic form of government ready to go to replace the quasi-feudal system they believe is currently repressing them?"
"Oh yes they are quite insane! They just don't realize it yet," Glutton says while within earshot of the Athar's place of authority and power in Sigil.
Also, what's a 'blood' and what does it mean to be top-shelf? Do they wield governmental power, or are they really rich, or....?"The old Glutton would have berated Rankev for being a clueless berk but she knew such posturing was pointless now, her tail twitched uncontrollably when she had the thought, "Oh I'm sorry! I forgot you were still green. Um, bloods are people that are the best at what they do, so the Bleaker leader is factol Lhar, he's a blood. And top shelf means the same thing really but its not specific to people. So when I say top shelf blood I'm really saying someone who is great out of a bunch of great people."
"And if your friend gives out free healthcare, do you, um...do you want to go see him? I mean, if you needed like, a salve or unguent I'm sure we have time?"
"I don't know what you mean?" The conversation is cut short by the crowds of people. Glutton just goes with the flow.
Avesska decides not to bite at the addled half-orc woman’s question about the problems with gods. She listens attentively to the ongoing discussions. When the press become more, she nods in the way of the temple, and the moving tiefling.
”I guess we move on good Throrgar. Eventually the flow must cease, though if it continues on the other side of the ... Shattered Temple, then we mist force our way through perhaps.”