The Mindspider's Lair, Sigil
Anti-Peak, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Cantha's hips swayed seductively as she stalked into the Mindspider's lair. The beads hanging about her ivory thighs danced with her strut, slapping gently against the scratches inflicted there earlier by some of the Barbed Tail's more forward fiendish customers. She sighed and stretched her flame-colored wings as she settled into Mertian's throne, her sweat like incense sweetly tingeing the air. The spider motif of the throne dwarfed her beautiful but petite celestial frame.

The pets and guardians in the octagonal room all ceased their caterwauling and spiteful hisses as she came through the seventh portal. The vargouilles settled on their perches, drool tumbling hideously from their no-longer human maws, and the sunflies nervously resumed their song, happy to no longer be chased about the lofty, arched ceiling. The bezekira climbed down from its high perch to rub along Cantha's legs, no longer mewling in terror at the pair of enormous blink dogs that now flanked the throne obediently. Harmony had come to the Mindspider's lair as its pets recognized their mistress.

Cantha thought to herself, "This final news is very bad," "They were all too aggressive tonight, even the fiends one would normally expect that from," and "After a night like this, Mertian will have to be male for some time to set the Balance properly."

A small, monkey-like ethyk blinked its cyclopean eye at her and handed her a towel. She took it gratefully and wiped away the blood and sweat from her dancing. "Thank you, Xix," she said, and "Shakira, move, I'm going to stretch," and "Warden, Squire, fetch me my portal keys, to the journal room and the viewing chambers, please." The hellcat turned reluctantly away from her legs while the blink dogs leapt to obey her wishes.

Then she stood, and the angelic shape of Cantha, the fallen deva who danced for the fiends' delight down at the Barbed Tail, dissolved away like the mists of Sigil itself. Rising tall enough to befit the size of the room, Mertian the Mindspider breathed deeply, pleased to finally be able to shed a lesser corpse for the magnificence of his true form.

Tall, taller than an ogre, Mertian's skin glistened like newly poured metal. His hide gleamed gold, pure as if it were wrought from a dwarven forge. His eyes shone the same hue, tinted with platinum, but so brightly that not even the sunflies could look at them. His muscles rippled as he pulled on his platinum threaded robe, and his noble brow shadowed his eye sockets with the tiniest of ridges. None of the fiends pawing Cantha at the Barbed Tail would have believed her true form even if they had watched the transformation. Only one flaw marred his otherwise perfect body; the missing little finger on the left hand, ritually amputated to give the Mindspider the numerologically significant total of nine fingers.

The blink dogs met him at the sixth portal to the throne room, portal keys in their mouths and whining in happiness to bask in their master's glowing aura again. Mertian took the quill from Warden's muzzle and waved it through the arch. A brief glow later, he and the dogs strode into a tranquil room filled with silence.

It was cozy for a creature of Mertian's height, and spacious for a library. Enormously spacious for a library that held only one work: Mertian's journal. The walls were lined, top to bottom, shelf upon shelf, with skulls. Gleaming bone-boxes, silver and platinum and ivory; they virtually shouted Mimir.

Mimirs were the favored recording device in the planes, each skull a thing of magic capable of listening to and repeating many hours and hours worth of conversation that it had been exposed to and commanded to recall. Here and there a golden one peered out from amongst its fellows.

On the small table in the center sat a silver one, along with a single candle. A comfortable chair suited to the Mindspider's size squatted on its four carved legs beside the table. Mertian sat in the chair and said aloud, "The cowards and exiles among them spoke of redemption," "The really froungy ones were far too happy," and "All of them talked a little too much about how this or that part of Sigil would finally get its comeuppance."

Mertian looked down at the intelligent dogs sitting before him. He said, "Combined with the other chant I've been gathering of late, this can only mean one thing, boys: war," "Warden, put this grinner in its place," and "Squire, bring me a gold Mimir, please; I believe it's time to start a War Journal."

* * * * *

Later, in his viewing chamber, sitting before the head of the arachnid that gave him his title, Mertian started to absorb the sensations of his many agents. The 9-legged mindspider spun a web only possible in the outer realms, one woven from thought and belief. Its reticulations spanned the planes instantly, anchored as they were in the thoughts of those possessing the physical strand that represented the end of one tendril of the web. Only three were known to exist, and Mertian controlled them all.

He always thought to himself three things whenever he linked his mind to the incredibly rare beast's tiny unfocussed brain, and this time was no different: "Persuading the Concordanach to give Ilsensine shelter in our territory was the wisest thing I ever did;" "I must see that it's well fed- rebellion in a thought eater is an unpleasant prospect;" and "This too, is flawed- never gather information in only one way when three are available."

Sometime later, standing awash in the currents of others' thoughts and sensations, Mertian's flawless face contorted in displeasure and concentration. "Half my agents are missing and four are now irretrievably insane." "Who could know?" "I shall have to use some of the others, those not linked to me via the mindspider."

He then sent out his calls, using astral streakers to deliver instant messages across infinite planar distances. The tiny intangible birds spent their flights in the silver void, the timeless empyrean plane that knelt in the wings of reality. Messages tied to them sometimes reached their destination before they were sent. Three pairs of incongruous adventurers he sent word to immediately, rather than wait for the foe to make the first strike. Other names scrolled through his inhuman memories for possible use in the future, but these pawns would do to start the match.

"Durthelaxus and his pet deva should throw fiends for a loop, and the mephit wields more cunning than any five of his kind."

"Kerjal and G'kar can pass for tiefling mercenaries if caught, so long as G'kar remembers to keep enchanting his scimitar to appear steeped in evil."

"Zhertil and Gogg are chaos incarnate; no invasion force will take them seriously and the Slaad might eat an invader or two along the way."

So to each of these pairs a streaker was sent, bearing the message: "An invasion of fiends appears nigh. Check the established portals that an army might use for such a purpose, and report your findings to me at the Barbed Tail as soon as possible. Twice your normal fee for results by peak tomorrow. Cantha."

One aspect of the strange chant he had picked up played along the Mindspider's intuition. "Insanity," mused Mertian. "If insanity is the result, there are certain acquaintances of mine that will be invaluable." "Cray in particular; mayhaps it's time to end his threat."

* * * * *

Thus, as the day waned to a close and the rains began to pour onto the crooked streets of Sigil: Blisszephelph's mentor in pacifism asked him to look for old acquaintances who might be in need. Harpsichord was freed from her Court holding cell by anonymous bail and had to keep kip elsewhere... And Mertian freed the Shattered Mage from the prison he himself had placed her in so long ago.

The Skinned Razor, at Tanner's Lane and Wasted Day's Alley, Sigil
Early Morning, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Nick Tanner stepped out from his little shop and snatched a quick breath from Sigil's turgid skies. It stung only a little bit, and the flavor of rust outweighed the taste of corruption. "Ah! A good day in the Lower Ward," he thought. He reached down to a puddle to splash off some of the night's grime but then thought twice. The air smelled too good not to have been cleansed by a little woe-removing water from the Styx, and he needed all his memories intact. "The Groke'll be on the move today," he said, and satisfied his meager absolutions by running a lanky hand through his hair and inspecting his reflection.

His appearance was that of a common man, bent by work but unbroken. Brown of hair and eye, the slightest goatee adorning a dark-skinned face etched by many years of living in the Soot. Tending a bit towards fat these days, but that was only a sign of his success. Middlish in years, in height, and in reach, Nick's only outstanding feature was his love of home. And that was a rarity here in the City of Doors, especially in a dead man.

Nick Tanner was a petitioner, a spirit of the dead, gone to inhabit the afterlife of his choice. But he found after he died that he didn't care much for his choice, and chose again. Sigil was paradise compared to the grubby pits of Gehenna that Nick used to toil in. Sure, you had to line your roof with spikes and wrap your door with razorvine to keep the crosstraders at bay, but at least you never had to kill anyone yourself just to keep your place in the food line. Here, a man could work and have some small chance at keeping the fruits of his efforts.

Nick was no sentimentalist. He never gave anything away that wasn't going to come straight back to him with interest, no sir! But life in Sigil was, he felt, the way it should be lived. He was certain that if he could ever recall his mortal existence, he must have lived in this fashion then, too.

So when he pulled the tarps off his shop to shake the cinders and soot off them (which otherwise stood a fair chance of burning through the bits of wood and leather he had scrounged together to build his kip), and when he breathed in the foul acid fumes that wafted across the air from the Great Foundry, he did so with relish and pride. He chatted with the dabus and tended his razorvine, and knew how to use every portal within three blocks of his stall. The fiends never bothered him anymore after that incident with the silver pike, and he greeted his neighbors cheerily as he got his little leather tanning stall ready for the day's custom.

"Lady's Grace, Mort," Nick yelled to the bit and tackle broker opening up his own shop across the way. Mort grunted wearily in reply. He didn't enjoy the pungent atmosphere of the Lower Ward in the least. "Go pike a fiend, you addle-coved sod! That styx-rain we had last night swept into my chicken roost and all my hens have forgotten to lay eggs this morning. Sodding barmy city! Why can't the weather behave sensibly once in a while?!"

Nick grinned and picked up a push broom. But the mention of fiends started him wondering. While he nudged the junk and garbage around his side of the street over to the tiny little Limbo portal on the far side of the adjoining shop to his own, he looked around and realized that the regular contingent of fiends that usually trooped by on their way to sleep the day away was mostly missing. Black Aliss, Spiny, G'g'g'reth, none of his usual first-thing customers had happened by yet, and they never stayed up much longer than dawn. "Oh well," he thought. "Maybe they were out trying the taps last night and the rain scragged them along with Mort's chickens."

One of the Dabus then hurried by, floating along at a pace normally associated with Knights of the Cross Trade desperately trying to avoid a Hardhead patrol. Nick couldn't resist the chance to practice his Dabusspeak, and he reached quickly for the leather placards he had carefully inscribed with common greetings and sayings in the strange visual tongue of the `Ladies in Waiting.' He had just pulled out the one with the symbol of the Lady of Pain and was reaching for the footrace drawing with a `G' attached to the front when the dabus shoved him into the pile of refuse he had collected.

Pictures formed above its gray, horned head as it `spoke' to Nick. A screw was followed by a female sheep with long eyelashes, then the all-too vivid image of himself with a pile of dung on his head.

"You rude barstard! I hope you get turned to stone so's I can hammer a little manners into yer thick skull," yelled Nick. The Dabus ignored him, cutting between buildings in a direct line over towards the Hammered Fist, if Nick was any judge. Rude Dabus! What was the city coming to? He picked himself up and returned to getting his street properly swept.

When his rubbish portal wouldn't open, Nick began to wonder whether the day would turn out as friendly as it had promised.

The Hammered Fist, Sigil
Early Morning, Day One
**[by Avi]**

A dim luminescence bleached the night sky, black fading into lambent gray, bringing the usual morning gloom to Sigil. A new day had opened in the City of Doors. Houses disgorged their bizarre occupants. Mosaic rivers of planeborne surged down the streets, while winged things took to the sky. Most folk would linger in their grey and grimy city, destined for taverns, shops, guilds and markets. Others had loftier goals of visiting worlds beyond their own, walking the planes of existance, an impossible dream made possible in this wondrous City of Doors. On this day, like any ordinary day, the people of Sigil aspired to reach the portals.

Like most taverns in Sigil, the Hammered Fist attracted a motley group of patrons. Nevertheless, it was still surprising to see a dust mephit walk into the tavern, followed closely behind by an astral deva. The deva's golden skin and silvery-white tunic shone softly next to the mephit's dusky brown skin and black robe. Flexing his bat-wings, the gaunt mephit strode deeper into the room, his body constantly shedding clouds of dust. He found an empty table and said, "Uriel, sit here." The deva did so, gracefully fanning his white wings to the side as he sat down. Oddly, his stunningly handsome face was blank and expressionless.

The mephit surveyed the room with a frown. The tavern was spartan to the extreme. The square tables were too clean and polished, and the air was too sterilized. Few decorations graced the room. A dozen sculptures stood in various places, carved with utmost realism, expressions of fear and shock engraved on each and every face. The stone statue of a dabus hovered in the corner of the tavern, actually floating above the floor like the living thing.

The patrons fixed the duo with hostile stares. A couple of orcs bared their fangs, four goblins reached for their weapons, and a dark-red imp waved its barbed tail. Only one being, a human carrying a heavy backpack and various tools, showed no sign of aggression.

"Relax berks, the deva is under my control," the mephit explained. The orcs snickered. "You doubt me? I am the great Durthelaxus, Doom-Dealer, Slayer of Fiends, Favored of the Gods, Greatest of all Dust Mephits, Ruler of the Great Sea of Dust!" The orcs roared with laughter. "You stinking pile of feces, you have water for brains if you don't believe me," the mephit taunted. The orcs blinked, and then angrily drew their swords. Durthelaxus grinned. "Uriel! Draw your maces!" The deva suddenly rose and two glowing mace appeared in each hand.

A feminine voice cut in. "Stop it! All duels must be settled outside. Rules of the establishment." A shapely woman in loose dress emerged from a side-door to the cellar. Durthelaxas' whistle of appreciation was cut short. Her face was hideous, framed by a mass of writhing snakes. Darkly-tinted spectacles hid her eyes.

The mephit hissed under his breath. "Medusa!" Not to seem intimidated by her appearance, he bravely spoke up. "The chant is you have a portal to Thuldanin, second layer of Acheron. I also heard you sell the gatekey." The medusa nodded.

An orc stood up. His blood-red armour flamed brightly against his grey-green skin. "Me first! An orc from Thuldanin was supposed to step through that portal and meet us here. He never showed."

The medusa shrugged. "Never seen the cutter."

Another orc asked, "Is it a shifting portal? Is it temporary?"

"No."

A goblins snarled, "Maybe he didn't follow orders. You backstabbing orcs have no discipline."

"All my soldiers follow orders! Aargh! By Gruumsh, I'd slaughter you all."

The imp joked, "Maybe the portal ate him."

"Shut up," everyone growled.

Suddenly, a menagerie of images floated above the stone dabus. The medusa look disgusted. "A barmy dabus came in yesterday, trying to destroy the doorway to which the portal was anchored. He ranted in rebus that the Lady of Pain had gone mad and vanished. I realized that the Lady wasn't going to miss this sod. So I took off my spectacles and gave him the stare. Though petrified, he didn't die. His body is stone but his mind still lives."

The human attempted to decipher the images. He was probably a salvager, a treasure-hunter hoping to find something valuable amongst the piles of broken war machines in Thuldanin. "Most of the images are nonsense, but I can make out something -- the impression of being dead or lost forever."

Suddenly, two images appeared repeatedly, a bee and a pair of identical people. "Bee? Twins?" said Durthelaxus. "Bee-twins. Bee-twin. Between! Between? Between what?"

"You're wasting your time, mephit. He's clearly barmy," said the medusa.

An image of a door appeared, which split into two doors, which drifted apart from each other. Then the illusions ceased entirely.

"What?" said the mephit. The patrons looked at the dabus statue in disgust and turned away. Durthelaxus didn't quite understand what happened, but he didn't entirely trust the portal either. The mephit considered the wisdom of using it...

Wasted Day's Alley, Sigil
Morning, Day One
**[By B. Mooney]**

"Please calm down, I said. If you want me to help, you're going to have to shut your bone-box for a moment."

The wailing that had filled the alley moments before died down to an uncertain murmur. Resting in the middle of a pile of broken crates was a woman, disheveled and dampened from the constant fall of rain. She was an older human, clearly past her prime, the elements having taken their toll on her looks. Her arms were wire-thin, her cheeks sunken. Her hair was a blonde tangle of curls, many of which had started to grey. Judging by appearances, which should never be done in Sigil, one would think that she had lived in these alleys for most of her days.

"Good, that's much better." The voice that had spoken before was much more relaxed this time, most of the harsh edge gone. The figure standing in front of her knelt down to take a better look. "My name is Cray. I'm here to help you."

With those words, the apprehension on the woman's face lessened some. Her initial scream was understandable. Cray's features could evoke fear in those not accustomed. He stood tall and thin, nearly seven feet in stature. He had white skin, the pale color of chalk, which was directly contrasted by his long head of dark auburn hair. The most striking feature was his eyes, the pupils of which were vertical slits like those of a cat. All in all, Cray did not appear quite human, which was most appropriate.

Cray was a tiefling, part of a race among the planes whose lineage was unclear. Given their appearance, it was too easy to surmise that there was something fiendish in their ancestry. This was not always the case, but popular opinion helped push these generalizations. A result was that few 'normal' planars tended to trust tieflings, and they would be the first suspected of any wrongdoing. There were several overused sayings that usually amounted to 'Never trust a tiefling'. Cray was used to dealing with and overcoming this unfortunate form of prejudice.

"What's your name?" he asked, extending his gloved hand slowly for contact. The woman hesitated for a moment, then replied.

"Delva," she said with a gravelly voice. He took her hand and squeezed it gently.

"Delva, it is." He reached and retrieved something from behind his back. It was a small flask, which he unstopped and offered to Delva. "Here, drink some of this." Noticing the apprehension in her eyes, he added with a growl, "It's only water." Slowly, she reached up and took the bottle from him. Her eyes watching him the entire time, she first sniffed at the water and then gently took a taste. Satisfied, she took a few more mouthfuls before handing it back. He took the flask and replaced it inside his satchel.

"Delva, I'm with the Bleak Cabal. We like to make sure that our fellow cagers out here in the streets get an even break." Cray was honest when he said that the Cabal liked to help others. The faction had been trying to help out its brethren for centuries now. They tried to take care of the poor, the helpless, the insane. The Bleakers were responsible for the few shelters and soup kitchens that cared for those who had difficulty caring for themselves. It was an enormous undertaking, yet many felt that it was the Bleakers who kept the city from caving in under the weight of it's crippled masses. He looked down at his newfound friend, and rubbed his chin as if in thought.

"You know, I'm thinking of walking over to the Cold Bowl and getting a cup of chowder for breakfast. But I really don't like to eat alone..." He narrowed his eyes and looked at Delva. "Say, you wouldn't want to come along and get a bite to eat, would you? It'd give me someone to talk to." He watched to see if his ploy worked. He guessed that she knew what he was aiming at, trying to get her to go eat instead of wasting away in the alleys. The tiefling didn't care if he deceived her or not, as long as she would go. Once again, he offered his hand to her. She smiled weakly at him and accepted, using his strength to pull her up. They made an odd pair, Cray towering over her like a parody of father and daughter. He glanced at her scratched arms now that he was better able to see.

"You should watch where you make your kip. Scratches like those can get infected in these damp alleyways. Next thing you know -" He stopped in mid-sentence as a sharp pain crashed into his head. His hands let go of hers and instinctively grasped at the sides of his head.

"CRAY!" A voice several times louder than a goristro's roar slammed through his mind. A normal basher would have glanced around to see if his companion heard the voice, but Cray knew better. This telepathic assault was only in his head. This he knew from experience.

"CRAY!" the voice called again, this time forcing the Bleaker on his knees. He could feel warmth from his left ear. Blood, most likely. He knew better than to ignore the calls for too long.

"Yes, yes. I am here," he called out to nowhere. There was another voice nearby, one much softer and choked with fear. Delva. He looked over at her, seeing the genuine concern in her eyes. She stepped forward, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" The pain blurred his vision. This was no time for explanations, nor was it the place. He lashed out, more for her safety than his weakness.

"Go away, now!" he leaned forward, allowing blood to trickle down the side of his neck. When he didn't hear sounds of her shuffling away, he turned to her, his feline eyes glinting in the morning's half-light.

"Leave! Now!" He ached inside, for the voice didn't even sound like his anymore. She stood and contemplated the situation for a moment, then turned and loped off down the narrow pathway. He rolled over and slid to the place where she had made her bed for the night. He cared not for comfort at the time, just expedition of the matter at hand.

"CRAY," the voice continued, this time not as painful. "WE HAVE ANOTHER TASK FOR YOU..."

The intersection of Wasted Day's Alley and Tanner's Lane, Sigil
Morning, Day One
**[by Brannon Hollingsworth]**

Something told me that it was about to happen a split second before it occurred. I had let his guard down, let my mind drift slowly inward, dwelling there in contemplation on the day's work that had passed, as well as the day's work to come. If I had not been so self- absorbed, I would have sensed the thoughts, the emotions, long before laying eyes on their owner.

But, alas, this was not to be...

The alleyway spat her out, a disheveled-looking crone in a tattered, long-since faded rag with eyes that looked like cesspools. She stumbled like a bubber out into the street, past a leather-hawker who was setting up his day's wears, tipping his makeshift stall over in the process. Angry cries erupted from the dark-skinned man; even across the street he could feel the dark red waves of his rage. The crone heeded him not, stumbling and scrambling away from the alleyway as if all of hordes of the Abyss were on here heels. It was then that she slipped on a piece of trailing garbage from the alley, right into the path of an oncoming Dustman wagon.

It was then, as well, that a spear of thought pierced my mind.

It was not so much agony as it was fear and surprise that took me to my knees, for I had felt far stronger presences before... just not here, in Sigil. The mental assault was not directed at me, but it was so intense and so near that I could not help but feel the searing ripples. I was on my knees, the ever-present filth of Sigil's streets soiling my immaculate brown cassock, one four-fingered mauve hand splayed in the grime, the other clutching my smooth, hairless head.

From somewhere, a shaft of Sigil's rarest commodity, light, reflected from the Godsmen's symbol that hung, swinging, from my neck, causing it to glint brightly.

The Dustman, a brief, yet poignant, spike of fear penetrating his thick, hazy, unfeeling fog, pulled the reins hard. The Arcadian ponies reared, thankful for the change in the mind-dulling routine, and dragged the wagon, teetering on two wheels, to the right, barely missing the splayed alley urchin.

A bit and tackle broker, stepping out of his shop on my side of the street, screamed as the wagon roared towards the two of us, the Dustman's face an intriguing mixture of fear and emptiness. The bit broker, still screaming, dove backwards into his shop, fleeing the macabre, corpse-flinging cart. The Dustman called to me as his death-wagon bore down on me, but the intense force in my head would not allow me to move.

"Move it, quid!! GET UP!!", was the last thing I heard as a mangled corpse landed beside me and my world spun into darkness.

Outside The Leoinal's Tooth, Elysium
Morning, Day One
**[by Brannon Hollingsworth]**

"I could care less what I need to do, as long as I get outta this barmy berg!"

"Mighty large words for such a small fellow..."

"See here, berk! Tandin Swiftfoot takes none to kindly to ol' greybeards as yerself judgin' me by my size!" The dark-haired halfling clutched the hilt of his sheathed short sword tightly, but did not draw. Down on his luck and penniless, he need a portal out of Elysium badly, but not so badly to be insulted by a blabbering old fool about his height. There would surely be other candidates, he mused...

He snapped himself out of those thoughts, deciding it would be best to teach this doddering old man some manners first, and then use him to get to Sigil. Besides, he was more than weary of this infernal plane where all anyone could think on was their 'personal growth'! He continued his tirade, still using his best 'basher' voice, "I'm not sure if you fathom exactly who yer're dealing with here. I've seen the Fourfold Furnaces, and lived to tell about it. I've been through one side of th' Wailin' Caves O' Pandemonium and out the other. I've-"

The old man silenced him with a wave of his hand and a kindly smile. "Yes, yes, cutter, I can see that you have had your fair share of hardships. Which is why I chose you to deliver this message to my associate in Sigil."

The old, robed, rail-thin man handed Tandin a scrollcase made of an oddly shaped bone. Delicate, spidery runes covered it surface like a Xaositech alphabet, and it was clammy and cold to the touch. "Deliver this to Cantha at the Barbed Tail. Upon delivery, you will receive your payment, in full, and if the item is not delivered, I will know of it." Graybeard handed Tandin a second item, a tiny spool of silver wire. "This is the portal key to the Cage, and the portal lies at the rear of this inn, in the stables. It is the second stall on the right. Once you have delivered the item and collected, then our business is at an end."

"You can bet on that one, old man", the halfling said abruptly, slipping the two items into a pouch at his waist. He turned on a shoeless heel, heading for the stables.

As he watched the halfling tromp out of sight, the old man called, "Oh! One more thing. I wouldn't try and open that case if I were you...it was made from the breastbone of a vvath, you know..." He let his words trail off as the halfling, seemingly unheeding, disappeared into the shadowy stables.

The Mindspider's Lair, Sigil
Morning, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

For the first time in centuries, Mertian was worried. Missing agents were one thing, but barmy dabus were another. At least, he hoped it was the dabus that was barmy. If it wasn't, things were darker now for Sigil than they had ever been.

He had received word from an unexpected source when Sabrilla put her spider pendant on this morning before opening up the Hammered Fist. Normally he checked her thoughts and senses only to keep up a background awareness of what the junk-seekers of Thuldanin were looking for this season, but today Sabrilla was a source of information unparalleled by his other pawns. She had turned a dabus to stone after it attacked her portal. She didn't believe its claims that the Lady of Pain had gone mad and was attacking cagers randomly in the streets, but the image sent a chill through Mertian's paranoid fantasies. Could this be the reason fiends were attacking? Had some berk finally done the unthinkable and scragged the Lady of Pain? Would Mertian now have to reveal himself and his mission of protection after uncountable millennia of quiet lurking?

The aura of patience and tranquillity that he projected started seriously to curdle. Warden and Squire growled low in their throats as their hair stood on end. Mertian sought soberly for confirmation from any of his other strands, but none of his pawns had seen the Lady recently and his dabus contact was one of his agents among the missing.

Wait! A new mind had been ensnared in the web! Mertian projected his full attention along the imaginary tendril to find that it was only a halfling, one Tandin Swiftfoot by name, rogue by profession. Ah. Ellipsis was sending information to Cantha and had given this cutter a `scroll' to deliver. Well, an unexpected agent would be useful now, it was obvious that whatever opponent Mertian faced in this conflict knew too much about his usual lieutenants. And perhaps Ellipsis had found something out about what was planned for the City of Doors.

If so, he would need to take greater action. He had released the Shattered Mage where Cray should have found her by now. It was time to involve the Bleaker more directly. Putting a hand to his temple, Mertian thought with inhuman vigor and precision: "CRAY! CRAY! CRAY, WE HAVE ANOTHER TASK FOR YOU..."

The Hammered Fist, Sigil
Mid-Morning, Day One
**[by Daniel Reddy]**

"Maybe we ought to throw you and your little leatherheaded friends through it," howled Braktuis. As an orc, he couldn't stand goblins. As leader of this scouting party, he definitely couldn't put up with them challenging his authority. The argument began quite a while ago: is the portal safe to use?

"That's enough! Shut your bone boxes or leave," yelled Sabrilla. "Unless you would rather become a permanent part of the collection!" The medusa indicated the statues placed throughout the tavern.

The arguing ended abruptly.

"Look at the portal -- something's happening," shouted Stefan, who did not seem to notice he was the only human in the establishment.

All eyes turned to the portal. It looked as if it had solidified into some sort of glass or crystal. Through the transparency a bright green light was glowing. There was a humanoid shaped shadow in the portal. It looked as if it was beating its fists against the now solid portal.

"By the gods, what is that?" whispered Durthelaxus.

A series of images floated from the Dabus.

"The Dabus says help him through" translated Stefan.

Durthelaxus quickly to the deva. "Uriel, smash the portal with your mace!"

The deva gracefully leaped towards the portal, and bashed it with his mace. A large crack appeared in the portal and a loud hum poured forth. Everyone backed away from the portal, except Uriel.

"Uriel - get away from the portal!"

Uriel backed to the bar as the portal exploded into thousands of fragments. An orc staggered into the room from the portal and then fell. It was covered with blood. Several wounds were showing, but the most prominent was that the skin on the crown of its head was mostly ripped from its skull.

"Arglander!" Braktuis rushed to the fallen orc. The orc turned towards the voice and mumbled, "Fiends...Fiends and something..." The orc then slumped to the floor, dead.

The Stables of The Leoinal's Tooth, Elysium
Mid-morning, Day One
**[by Daniel Reddy]**

Tandin Swiftfoot peered into the Portal. Through the haze he could see the outline of a street in Sigil. He looked at the spool of silver wire. Whatever created portals and portal keys had to be barmy, he thought. He shrugged and stepped into the portal.

The silver wire glowed blue momentarily, then it disappeared. Something was wrong. He looked around. Gray mist surrounded him. Every nerve in his body was screaming that he was in danger.

He jumped to the right while drawing his sword - just as a clawed hand raked the emptiness where he was just standing. He backed up - looking at the creature.

It was sphere shaped with an insect head on the top. It had five arms placed symmetrically around its body, each ending in claws. Tandin cursed. A Dergholoth. The creature began to advance.

The intersection of Wasted Day's Alley and Tanner's Lane, Sigil
Mid-Morning, Day One
**[by Daniel Reddy]**

The dustman carriage driver helped Bliss to his feet. His head was ringing. He looked at the disheveled human that caused the accident. She was kneeling in the street in near hysteria. Bliss went to her after thanking the dustman, who casually began placing the corpses that had fallen out back into the carriage.

"What is the matter?" he said.

She looked at him in fear. He sent a soothing Psionic wave to ease her fears. She pointed to the alley and started to mumble, but could say nothing legible. Bliss looked towards the alley and saw nothing. Judging by the apparent fear something must've happened there. Bliss wondered if it was related to the Psionic waves that he had felt shortly before. He sent another soothing wave to her.

He then entered her mind. Her name was Abigail. He began to quickly sort through her mind. She was an accomplished mage in the past - until she was stranded in Pandemonium. It was there that her life changed. A group of Baurier brought her to Sigil and she has been here ever since. Her memories were jumbled, but the last was of a Tiefling offering to help her. Bliss recognized the Tiefling. Cray. The image she last had was of Cray writhing in pain with blood coming out of his ears.

Bliss immediately released her and ran to the alley. Cray was unconscious. Bliss looked around. Abigail stood at the edge of the alley looking at them with concern. Bliss then remembered the Dustman.

"Go and fetch the Dustman and his cart."

She nodded and went back into the street.

Bliss thought. He knew that Cray had some latent mental powers, so the Mental Attack must have been directed at him. Who was the attacker? First things first, attend to Cray and then see if we can find who attacked him.

The dustman walked into the alley and inquired what the Illithiad wanted. Bliss looked at him. "We need your cart so we can transport him to someplace safe."

The dustman nodded. "I will take him to the nearest place - after which I must return to my duties."

"Where is the nearest place?"

The Dustman thought for a moment. "There is a place called 'The Hammered Fist" two blocks away. That should suit your needs."

Bliss nodded. "That will be fine - now would you mind helping me?"

The Dustman and Bliss loaded Cray into the Cart. Bliss looked at Abigail as the Dustman climbed to the drivers seat. "Would you mind joining us?"

She looked at him for a moment, and then climbed into the wagon.

Tanner's Lane and Wasted Day's Alley, Sigil
Mid-morning, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Nick knew now that the morning cheer he'd felt was nothing more than sugar-coated ashes. Immediately after he'd given up trying to get the Limbo portal to accept his trash, (the sodding thing must have shifted, that's the way it was with Limbo portals), another barmy escapee from the Gatehouse had knocked his whole stall to bits. The corpses flying into his tiny yard hadn't helped his mood either, nor had the sodding quid acting like Nick's kip was his own private lounge. Huh! Even though Nick thought the Believers of the Source had a good grip on the dark of things, he wasn't about to start taking orders from no sodding mind eater, even if the fellow did wear the robes of a Godsman factor.

Nick had spent the last hour or two putting his kip back to rights, and hadn't done a single green's worth of business all morning. All he needed now to make his morning complete were visits from the Fated and the Harmonium, collecting taxes and leaning on him for not keeping his shop in compliance with some silly rule or another. If either of those happened, Nick knew he'd just chuck the day's work and go get himself good and bubbed up.

When he found the deader under his stoop that the Dustman collector had missed, Nick decided not to wait for the Hardheads or Heartless. His day was happy as a gehreleth's bride already. He wasn't going to wait here to see how it would get worse. He looked up and decided to go get a fresh lunch.

Rooftop across from the Hammered Fist, Sigil
Mid-morning, Day One
**[by Ian Watson]**

He watched the small congregation pull up outside the medusa's tavern almost casually. He couldn't hear what the mismatched bunch were talking about, not did he know why an illithid, a barmy human, and an unconscious tiefling had gathered together. The plain and simple fact was, he didn't care. The important thing is that they had gathered.

He was good at sensing when potential threats to someone's plan would arise; some said it was his talent. And those that said that often ended up incapable of saying much else. He didn't like people to talk about him.

His current employers, much like all the previous ones, paid well for his services. He didn't really care what their reason was for being paranoid enough to hire him, as long as it kept him employed.

He watched closely as the Dustman's cart wheeled off and the illithid carried the tiefling inside, with the human not far behind. This was going to get interesting.

The Hammered Fist, Sigil
Mid-morning, Day One
**[by Ian Watson]**

Bliss turned around as he entered the Fist, certain there was someone watching him from somewhere nearby. A shadow ducked down on the roof across the road, but a low moan from Cray brought his attention back to the task at hand.

As the mind-flayer entered, a sickly green glow flickered and died out from a doorway leading to an adjacent room. There were some odd glass shards scattered on the floor before the doorway, and some orcs were yelling their death scream at a fallen body. All eyes looked at him as he entered, and the room fell silent.

"A mind-flayer!" growled one of the orcs. "This looks like his race's doing."

Before Bliss had a chance to declare otherwise, the orcs were advancing towards him with murder in their eyes.

* * * * *

Cray awoke to the sound of bodies hitting the floor, and muffled groans of pain. After determining that one of the groans was his own, he sat up. He was in a tavern somewhere, the Fist by the looks of it, and Delva was standing by him like a worried mother. Had she dragged him all the way here? Poor thing...

"No, I'm afraid not, my friend," said a familiar voice in his head. "It was I that arranged for our transport here."

Cray whipped his head around, and instantly regretted it. This is the last job I'll ever do for you, he swore silently to the voices.

Out loud, he said, "Bliss! How's my favorite genderless brain devourer?"

Bliss curled a tentacle in an illithid smile. "I have been better. And yourself? How did you end up in such... unfortunate circumstances?"

Cray cursed again. Bliss knew. Knew something, anyhow. He thought in his head *We'll talk about this later.* Then he took in more of his surroundings, seeing the orcs just now getting off the floor, every last one of them clutching their head in pain. "I see you haven't lost your touch." The goblins were standing a fair distance back, trying to look at ease, but well away from Bliss. A few snickered in the direction of the orcs.

A dust mephit was looking at everyone, strangely enough, with an astral deva by his side. There was a human, the only human in the place aside from Delva. And, of course, it was hard to miss Sabrilla. He smiled to himself. He always had liked her.

Then he saw the body.

"Bliss! Was that really necessary?" Cray exclaimed in disgust.

"As I tried to explain to our friends, here," Bliss explained, gesturing at the orcs, "this is not an illithid's doing. Something vaguely similar, but not my kind."

"Then, the question we must ask ourselves is, what was it?"

Through the Portal
Mid-Morning, Day One
**[by John Gonzalez]**

The halfling frantically backpedaled away from the approaching dergheloth, keeping out of reach of the five grasping arms. The eight foot tall creature followed in an awkward three legged gait, stooping to reach the dodging demihuman. Tandin was more than a little surprised when his retreat was halted suddenly by a rough-hewn stone wall that appeared behind him, cursing he suddenly kicked off the wall as the fiend attacked, rolling underneath and running off in the other direction.

"This is useless," thought the halfling as he sheathed his sword and pumped his legs as fast as he could into the swirling mists, the pounding footfalls of the dergheloth were gaining. Tandin began to riffle through his pockets, "Where is the damned thing!?", he said aloud, "Ah ha!" His face broke into a lopsided grin, as he pulled a closed fist out of a vest pocket, and just as suddenly dove to the side as the Dergheloth charged through the area where he had just been.

Tandin rolled for several feet expending his inertia, stopping he quickly placed a small rough-hewn, obsidian object down and shouted, "Midnight!" The yugoloth who had skidded to a stop, taking several moments to slow down and finally turn around, began to charge the halfling once more as a darker mist began to spew forth from the small obsidian statuette. The halfling backed away keeping the stone between himself and the fiend as the statue began to grow and an unearthly scream was heard. A flash of red light and a midnight stallion appeared rearing up, flames shooting from it's flaring nostrils. The dergheloth crashed into the nightmare, flailing away with its claws.

Tandin ran off in the other direction muttering to himself, "Well I never trusted the damn thing anyway..", as equine screams echoed off the walls.

The Mindspider's Lair, Sigil
Mid-morning, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Now Mertian was convinced. The greatest invasion of Sigil since the creation of the slags was imminent, and he was perhaps the only being in the city ready and able to respond.

One: Fiends were massing. Zhertil and Gogg were ambushed when they tried to poke around into the Sunken Portal, a notorious tannar'ri bubhouse in the hive. Gehreleths and Tannar'ri were sharpening their weapons in obvious anticipation of reinforcements when their leader stepped through the portal and set them onto the Mindspider's informants. The pair hadn't had a chance.

Gogg lost his thread outright when he leapt to safety and the last thought from Zhertil had been, "Great Gith! It's hideous!" That thought had been accompanied by the image of an amorphous sack with spider legs, bulging with teeth and malice. Then nothing but blackness from the githzerai mindwarrior.

Mertian had hopes that Gogg would retrieve his spider totem and try to make contact later, but it was chancy. Gogg the Green was as cowardly as he was greedy, and it was impossible to tell which way the slaad might jump at this point. Zhertil however, was a complete loss. He might try a mental strike at his enemies to confuse them enough to gain time to run, but if he did he would break the fragile web connecting his thoughts to Mertian and render himself as useless as if he were already dead.

Two: Portals into and out of the city were somehow being blocked or diverted. Through Tandin's eyes Mertian had watched a portal to Sigil turn into a shortcut to a maze. One inhabited by a dergholoth. Kerjal and G'kar at least were attempting a stealthy run through a portal in the flame pits of Gehenna, but there was every possibility that they would be diverted too, if not stopped by a guardian. They were currently facing off against a twisted wizard who was holding the portal for a ba'atezu command.

Three: The Lady of Pain was supposedly killing Cagers for no reason. None of his agents in town had yet spotted her Personage, but every dabus they had seen so far this morning was acting mildly barmy at least, paranoid at worst. This development worried Mertian more than the portal blockage and massing armies. If whomever was directing this attack could scrag the Lady of Pain, the Mindspider would have to step forth and defend this ultimately neutral town in person. It had been so long since he wielded his blinding vorpal sword or wore his golden armor that Mertian actually had doubts about whether or not he would be capable. If things got worse, practice would be called for.

Three unprecedented events were enough for Mertian. War was definitely at hand. But the fourth impossibility was the one that worried him the most of all.

Something out there was methodically killing any cutter that could bring him the information he needed to solidify his plans. That orc falling out of the portal in the Hammered Fist possibly could have told him what Zhertil and Gogg missed. It was certainly no coincidence that half his forces were mysteriously missing. And someone was watching over Cray, Bliss, and the Shattered Mage. Bliss had caught a glimpse, but not enough for Mertian to identify the skulker. What force could recognize even those agents of his that didn't bear the trace of the mindspider's web?

The Hammered Fist, Sigil
Late-Morning, Day One
**[by John Gonzalez]**

Bliss knelt down examining the bloody head of the slain orc, "Look Braktuis, I've already explained it to you," the illithid indicated a jagged tear that formed an almost perfect circle along the body's scalp, "this wound here seems to have been made by a creature's bite, however it is ten times as large as any of my own people's mouth, your friend here had a very tough skull to survive it."

"But...." began Nargot, the second live orc in the tavern, which prompted Bliss into action as he suddenly stood up face to face with the surprised orc and quickly spread all his face tentacles wide. Nargot launched himself back in fright, as Bliss regained his normal facial appearance, the only change being a rippling of his tentacles which could only be interpreted as an illithid's chuckle.

"As you can see it would have to have been a very large Illithid to do that damage, so I believe it's safe to deduce that we are dealing with a whole other creature here." finished the Illithid as he walked over to where Cray was talking to Abigail, whilst she wolfed down a plate of the daily special. The two orcs continued staring at their dead comrade whispering to themselves and sneaking glances at the illithid. Farther back in the room the four goblins where arguing loudly about the merits of traveling through an obviously faulty portal.

"She must really be hungry, most folks can barely stomach the first bite let alone the whole meal." interjected Bliss, as he pulled up a chair and joined the two, "Am I interrupting?"

"Not really, Bliss; though watch what you say about the cooking, Sabrilla can be touchy." the tall tiefling warned as he pointed to several of the `regulars' scattered about the tavern.

"I can see that Cray, by the way how do you know Sabrilla?" asked Bliss as he watched the medusa arguing with the imp about a refund on a gate key. Cray leaned back in his chair and smiled, "Well that is an interesting story," as the imp's voice suddenly stopped.

Through the Portal
Late Morning, Day One
**[by KatClaw]**

The Dergholoth screamed another line of gibberish as he swiped a clawed hand through the black mist of the defeated nightmare. Within the span of a few seconds it was alone, having lost track of where the grubby halfling went after summoning the beast. The yugoloth muttered to itself once again and started stomping off in the most likely direction, stopping once in a while, pretending it knew how to track.

The dergholoth stooped down and grabbed up a handful of gutter dirt, being sidetracked by its greasy consistency. As it started to set it back down a flash of movement caught its eye. Turning his head completely around to peer into the alley behind it, it caught sight of the movement again. A series of bobbing, and weaving lights danced care- free at the alley's mouth, enticing the yugoloth closer.

The halfling forgotten, the Dergholoth moved slowly into the alley, grasping for the lights as they spun lazily through the air.

Several blocks away Tandin spun about as he heard a terrible, pain- filled screech. He didn't know whether to be thankful his stalker was gone, or dread the nearing return of that damned horse...

A Blood War Skirmish, The Gray Waste
Late Morning, Day One
**[by KatClaw]**

F'chak'tor grinned as he drove his barbed sword into the the squirming spinagon. The cambion placed an iron shod boot on the dying Baatezu's chest and yanked the blade free, the spinagon's heart neatly skewered on the two sloping spikes along side the blade. Grinning still, he took the slowly dying heart off his sword and held it in his fist, crushing it over the Baatezu's head. It died under a rain of its own blood.

F'chak'tor spun about to take in the battleground carefully, and frowned as he saw the fighting dying down. This fight had been waged over possession of a gate to Sigil, not as if either party needed a reason to slay each other, mind you. The cambion took a long deep breath, savoring the stench of already rotting Baatezu corpses, then turned and made his way to the gate; slaying any that still lived in his path, be it Baatezu or Tanar'ri.

F'chak'tor sheathed his cruel sword and glanced behind him again, noting that the battle had depleted his contingent to only a handful of manes, and a smattering of dretch scum. He shook his head and thought "I swear, the higher up's have lost their mind, all this for possession of a gate to a damned Hive alleyway...well 'twas fun at least" He grinned and turned to the gate, pulling the spider monkey knuckle bones from a small pouch at his side and walking through.

The cambion immediately dropped the small bones and drew his sword and dagger as he noticed he was not in the Hive, but somewhere else. "What in the cursed Nine Hells..."

"Relax fiend... I have a proposition for you..."

F'chak'tor spun around, stepping on the small bones that led him here, and would have led him back, as the voice echoed in his thoughts.

The Hammered Fist, Sigil
Late Morning, Day One
**[by Ken Lipka]**

"Now, please keep in mind that when I say the story is interesting, that doesn't mean that it's either long or having any meaning," Cray continued, seemingly oblivious to the plight of the imp.

Bliss held up a hand. "You don't need to remind me of your views that nothing in the multiverse has any meaning. I am well aware of the beliefs that you and your faction place on things. We've already had this argument before, remember?"

The tiefling smiled in reply. "I know that, and you know that, but dear old Delva here doesn't. I felt that it would be rude to completely ignore her presence." Since Cray was looking over at the woman while he spoke, he missed seeing the surprised twitching of the illithid's tentacles at the pronouncement of her name. The woman, not presently caring that the Bleaker called her by one name and not knowing that the Godsman knew her by another, ignored both and continued to eat. Cray shrugged and turned back to address the table in general.

"Sabrilla and I go a fair ways back; back to when I was only a namer with the Cabal. At that time, I still felt the need to defy life in general with my newfound conviction that it didn't mean anything. I was doing a short tour of the Great Ring, visiting all the major sites and yelling at them, 'You mean nothing to me!'. I admit now that it was a pointless exercise." Cray stopped briefly to smile at his own joke. "Anyway, to get to the part of the tale that you want to hear."

"I was on Arborea and had been overcome by the atmosphere of the plane. As such, I was really into telling everything it was meaningless, and I'd wandered quite far from the gate-town. By the time I had managed to regain control and remember what I wanted to be doing, I found myself in Here-Be-Monsters." The Bleaker stopped as he noticed the irregular twitching of the illithid's tentacles. "Problem, Bliss?"

"No problem. I just can't say as I've heard of that particular burg before."

"I really wouldn't expect you to. They say only the most lost or the most adventurous find the place - not that it means anything. Here-Be-Monsters is right on the edge of 'civilized' Arborea. Past this place are the true Wilds of the plane; not even the elves have kips there. More of a permanent camp than a town, really. Suffice it to say I was really far gone." Cray paused for another personal joke. "But, since it'd take me so long to get back out of the plane, I might as well take a little break from my self-imposed quest and enjoy the scenery. So, I spent a few days wandering the woods near the burg, and early one evening is when I met Sabrilla."

"I was wandering along a stream, marveling that something so meaningless could be so beautiful, when I heard a woman singing. I still can't really explain why I decided to find the source, but I did. I quickly came upon a pool in a clearing. And in the pool was Sabrilla, bathing, and I - " Cray stopping, clearing his throat and glancing over at Delva, who had finished eating at this point and appeared to be ready to pay attention to her surroundings again.

Bliss inwardly smiled. He could guess the situation, although the end result was still unclear. The illithid decided to put his acquaintance on the spot. "So tell me, Cray, how is it that you saw our tavern keeper so compromised and yet aren't adorning a garden somewhere?"

The tiefling never got a chance to answer. Any reply he might have started to make was cut off by a loud *THUNK* as the statue of an imp was dropped into the middle of the table. The startled three at it turned to see Sabrilla standing there with a bemused expression on her face. "What he's trying to find the words to say is that he's not stone because he wasn't looking at my face." Cray cleared his throat again and had the good graces to look slightly embarrassed. The medusa gave a lilting laugh and continued, "After some of the initial problems were overcome, we fell to talking. I found it quite unusual at the time to find someone who could dismiss the fact of my race so easily. I won't bore you with the details," - here, she shot Cray a stern look - "but suffice it to say that as a result of those conversations, I found the courage to leave Arborea and travel the Planes. Eventually, I ended up here in the Cage and running this tavern. End of story." Sabrilla then turned to face the rest of the common room. "Now, before I have to find more shelf space for the lot of you, would anyone else like to complain about my portal, and would one of you please do something about this body?"

Silence was her only reply. "So much for tribal loyalty," the medusa sniffed. Turning back to the three at the table, she addressed Cray. "Well, since these people are enough of your friends for you tell them how we met, perhaps you and they can take care of removing the trash from my place."

Bliss glared at Cray. "Now see here, I -"

The Bleaker interrupted him. "Excellent idea, Sabrilla. We'll take care of it right now. Bliss, since I was on my way to the Gatehouse with this poor unfortunate, why don't you handle taking the body to the Mortuary? Besides, his manner of death seems to be in your area of expertise and thus you could give the Dustmen a much more accurate report of things than I could." Cray continued, mentally: *Look. I have something very important to do right now and I don't have the time for this. Do this, and I promise I'll explain later.*

The illithid twitched his tentacles in frustration. Corpse detail was beneath him, but then, it wasn't often that Cray promised to actually explain things. Something very big was going on, and Bliss would be returned to the Elder Pool if he didn't find out what it was. Heaving a very human sigh, "Oh, very well." *But I will hold you to that.*

Cray smiled in obvious relief. "Thank you." Turning to Delva he said, "Shall we go and have my friends help you out?" Deeper down in his thoughts, below the level at which Bliss usually scanned, he thought: Cutting deals with an illithid. This is most definitely the last job I'm doing for Them.

Rooftop across from the Hammered Fist, Sigil
Late Morning, Day One
**[by Ken Lipka]**

It was about time. He wondered how long his targets could possibly stay inside that dive - the food and drink aren't that good. But after a few hours, they had come out.

The tiefling had apparently recovered from whatever had laid him low, as he was walking under his own power, and was now escorting the human woman. The illithid was walking behind them and was now carrying a fourth person. No, not a person, a corpse. Odd. He thought that the mind flayers considered themselves too sophisticated to advertise their feeding habits.

The group held a quick conversation, then split up. The human and the tiefling heading in one direction, the illithid with his burden in the other. Any other might be concerned that their quarry was going in separate directions. Not him. He knew that they would come together again. Until such time, he would follow and observe the greater portion of his targets. As the tiefling and the human moved Hiveward along Tanner's lane, he silently followed them by moving along Sigil's uneven rooftops.

* * * * *

Bliss walked slowly down Tanner's Lane. His pace was not due to the weight of the orc corpse he carried - it was being levitated so its bulk didn't matter - but was rather due to the fact that the illithid was trying to watch both his step and the rooftops across from the tavern.

While the eyes in his head watched the road ahead for missing cobblestones or other such pedestrian obstacles, the eyes in his mind floated high above the street, searching the rooftops for the observer Bliss thought he saw when he first entered the Hammered Fist.

Initially, he saw nothing more than a few vagrants and executioner's ravens. Then, as Cray and Abigail were about a block away, he saw the movement. A dark figure, heavily cloaked with all features concealed, stepped out from behind a smokestack and began to run along with the rooftops with unnatural speed and silence. This mysterious watcher was following the tiefling and his new charge. The shadows cast by Sigil's wan light seemed to thicken and flow in the figure's wake.

Bliss' first reaction was that this being was the source of the mental attack he'd felt earlier in the day, just before he found Cray in Wasted Day's Alley. But if this was true, why had he not continued the attack? Based on the power he'd felt earlier, it could not be because the attacker feared the presence of a single illithid. And most psionicists cared not for the presence of others, as the mindscape is most often a personal battle. No, the attack must have been meant to warn, not harm. And as such, the sender of such a warning would have no need to observe his target. So, this figure must be after something else. Bliss decided against touching the figure's mind to determine who and what he was. If the figure was watching Cray, he would see it again soon enough. Besides, the Godsman decided it might be a good idea to conserve his mental energies - today was shaping up to be a very interesting trial indeed.

Through the Portal
Late Morning, Day One
**[by Ken Lipka]**

Tandin threw up his hands in frustration and broke the silence he had been traveling in with a self-indulgent snort of disgust. After a couple of hours of wandering through mist-filled passages of rough-hewn rock passages with floors resembling dirty city streets, the halfling was pretty sure he knew exactly where he was, just not exactly why. The only explanation that fit the facts was that he was now trapped inside one of the Mazes of the Lady of Pain.

How else could have gotten to this damned nether-region of labyrinthine, misty passages rather than the Sigil street he saw before he entered the portal? But this didn't match any Maze he'd heard of. Granted, he'd only heard of one. And that was from a couple of bubbers over in Rigus who claimed they'd gone into the Maze of Vartus Timlin and gotten out again. They said, after about a half-dozen rotguts or so, that the Maze resembled a playwright's version of Sigil's streets. That is, the floors looked like cobblestones and gutters, while the walls were carved and painted to look like shops and houses. Well, the floors here certain seemed like very accurate duplicates of Sigil's streets; but the walls.

It almost seemed as if the Maze - if that's indeed what this place was - was unfinished, hurriedly made. Tandin shook his head again. Following that line of thinking any further would surely put him in the Gatehouse. No, he had to focus on what he knew, which wasn't much. He quickly mentally reviewed the facts as he saw them.

*Fact One: Right up until I stepped through the portal, it looked like any other portal I've ever used.*

*Fact Two: After stepping through the portal, rather than the destination I saw through the portal, I'm in this misty labyrinth.*

*Fact Three: Immediately upon entering this place, a Dergholoth tried to eat me.*

*Fact Four: Based on the screams, the 'loth had killed or seriously injured the nightmare, and then shortly thereafter was itself killed or serious injured by something else.*

It was the "something else" that worried him the most at this point in time. Anything that could take out a 'loth, even an injured one, had to be at least better armed, if not generally nastier, than Tandin himself. Unfortunately, that mysterious "something else" was probably the only thing that might have some idea of what was going on here. Which meant that he would have to find it and try and reason with it. Or, he could try and blame his predicament on the package he was carrying for the old man back in Elysium.

*'Breastbone of a vvath'. *Hrmph*. This is not turning out to be a good day.*

The halfling sighed, and then muttered to himself: "Well, Tandin, you're in it now. This is probably what Mother meant when she warned you about the price of choosing to live life on the wrong side of the moral fence."

Through the Portal
Peak, Day One
**[by Matt Oostman]**

"Why should I do it, what's in it for me? And more importantly, why? It sounds like such a weak plan, unless you're not telling me something."

"That's not your concern!"

The ground around F'chak'tor seemed to rumble as the voice protested his questions. "I just want to know I'm not being lead to my death."

"Your demise is not in the agreement. I belive my offers have been more then generous. Or you can stay here, the choice is yours."

"Fine! But if anything goes awry I'm gone, and I want payment now."

"I will let you out soon. It's not time yet."

"What about the rest?"

"Not until you're done"

"I don't like this..."

"You're in no position to bargin."

"Very well, I'll do it." F'chak'tor didn't like being forced into situations, even potentialy profitable ones, but he had no choice. It wasn't to difficult and it might even be fun.

"Good."

The voice began to fade away. He just hoped it would return when it promised, when he was finished here.

The Grand Bazaar, Sigil
Peak, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Nick Tanner's day was tumbling from bad to strange. The portal from the Lower Ward over to the Bazaar in the Market Ward, situated on the far side of Sigil's ring from Nick's little booth, hadn't shifted like his Limbo rubbish portal, but he was beginning to think every other portal in the Bazaar had. The gates were closed and Madness reigned everywhere, just like in the Gatehouse itself.

He had stepped out onto Risvold Street in the center of the mile- wide collection of tents and costers that was the Grand Bazaar expecting the usual peaktime hustle and bustle. Instead, it felt as if he had blundered into Xaosman HQ. The fighting, shouting, and general currymushy was reaching epic proportions.

The Grand Bazaar was never quiet but now a full-fledged riot was being contained only by the slimmest of margins. Merchants were shouting, customers were flailing their arms and tentacles, and delivery men were generally throwing blame everywhere they could. From what Nick could gather from the ruckus about him, it seemed as if all the traditional trade portals through the Bazaar had shifted at once. Travelers were hipped, shipments were late, and the day's fresh foods hadn't arrived. No one was happy and everyone was to blame.

Harmonium patrols raged against the surging tides of distraught crowds, and were supplemented by Mercykiller Justiciars and mercenaries of all stripes. Still, it was all they could do to keep blood from being spilled. Nick had survived too long on Sigil's mean streets not to see disaster in the making. He grabbed a day-old bag of Arcadian peaches from a nearby costermonger, threw the screaming sod a stinger or two, and started shoving his way towards the closest portal back to his side of town.

Nick wasn't exactly the smartest of men. His thoughts flowed neither deeply nor fast. But he had lived in the Cage for a turn or two now. He knew in his core what the consequences to Sigil would be if the food supply was suddenly cut off. Sigil was built, fed, and daily recreated by its trade. If that trade died, so would the City of Doors.

And though he loved his city, Nick was a Cager through and through. 'Looking out for number one' wasn't a trite slogan here, it was the prime survival trait shared by the inhabitants. If his survival meant trampling some of his fellow citizens, then they had better get used to the feel of his hand-made leather boots in their face. Nick plunged grimly into the throng.

The Mindspider's Lair, Sigil
Peak, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Events were not unfolding to the Mindspider's liking either. G'kar and Kerjal had managed to get through the portal they were seeking, but had become as lost as Tandin was. Worse yet, they had run into the halfling and joined forces with him, limiting the area from which Mertian might sense all-important news. "Why couldn't they have blundered into another maze," thought the Mindspider, then "Is there another maze they could have wandered into," and "I had best check for myself."

Mertian arose then and went to check on the state of his long neglected golden armor. If battle was required, he would be prepared for it. It was also time to make sure that the others who might care if Sigil fell were prepared as well. He concentrated once more, thinking of the Bleaker, Cray.

"HELLO, CRAY. CRAY? CRAY! YOU MUST GO NOW." With contact established, Mertian fortuitously then gathered what had happened to Zhertil. Cray had just seen the githzerai being hauled away to the Mortuary, babbling incoherently. Poor sod. He must have ruptured his mind in one final attempt for freedom. But that's the way it was with githzerai. They lived free or they died.

Cray responded to Mertian's call, aloud as well as mentally. He really was a terrible neophyte at this sort of thing. Every time Mertian 'listened in' on Cray's thoughts, he was amazed to realize that this untrained tiefling had seen through all his disguises that distant bleak day. "What is it? What do you want to burden me with now?"

Mertian returned sarcastically, "NOTHING. A LITTLE THING; A TRIFLE."

Cray laughed humorlessly. "Like last time?"

There was no sarcasm or laughter in Mertian's tone then. "NO. NO, IT IS LIKE _THIS_ TIME."

Through the Portal
Peak, Day One
**[by Matt Oostman]**

"Maybe we're on the Gray Waste, it is gray here and that was a 'loth," G'kar was still confused.

"No, it's too misty. The Waste is gray, but it's an evil gray. This is almost soothing. We might be on a half made demi-plane," Kerjal was confused himseslf. If he let on that he was frightened at all, his whole reputation as a powerful planewalker was shot.

"Don't powerful wizards make those? Maybe we're in a trap set by that mage you defeated." They both doubted the trap idea, Nerosnic was dead, easy. When you're shoved into a pit of lava by a fire elemental you stay baked. "This is just great. You come home from a nice trip to Arcadia and someone drops a dimention on ya'."

"Listen!" The ferret on Kerjal's shoulder was conveying its superior hearing to him. "Sound's like a 'loth."

"We can't face a 'loth here. We don't even know where here is. You have no idea how it'll mess with our magic, let alone your staff."

"I can get by fine without my staff. I'd like too see you survive without your sword."

"Hey, just because I can use my strength as well as my spells doesn't mean I need either more than the other."

"I wish you would stick to one or the other. That's why no one belives your illusions. You 'summon' some creature and then charge in with your sword. It's also why I work for my spells and you just crawl into my library and copy my books."

"This wandering is piking me off."

"Me too, but we can't do anything about it."

"Shhh! Look, movement."

"I see it, send your eye. Maybe it's a 'loth, maybe something else."

G'kar dug in his pouches until he found a green glass eye. Retrieving it from a wad of tissue he rolled it across the floor.

Through the Portal
Peak, Day One
**[by Matt Oostman]**

It probably had something to do with this stupid tube, Tandin thought. There's no other reason for him to be here, unless that old man had something against him. Tandin tryed to think back to anything he might have done since he met the graybeard.

Suddenly something hit his foot. He was afraid to look down for fear it was some crawling piece of the 'loth. He slowly backed away, and peared at it through the corner of his eye. It looked like a marble. He reached down to pick it up, it fit perfictly in his hand. It was almost clear, except for the colored circle in the front.

From nowhere he was lifted up and shoved againts a wall. The ugliest half-elf he had ever seen stood before him, holding him up with one hand. He hollered as much from suprise as from the sight of his captor's off hand. At his wrist his hand retained it's humanoid form but became feline, striped and furry like a tiger's.

"Listen to me," the man growled inches from his face, "*You* are going to get us out of here. *You* are going to tell us where we are. *You* are going to give us all the information that you have, or *you* will solve the age old question, 'If a tree falls on a halfling in the forest, will he make a sound?'" Behind the brute a pair of red eyes flashed. Tandin let the marble slip from his fingers.

"You can set him down now G'kar. I don't think he'll be running off anytime soon," said the voice of the eyes.

"Ya, set me down." Tandin decided that keeping his basher ego about him would be a better idea then to be a frightened halfling. He was dropped to his feet and he dusted himself off.

The eyes that stood opposite to him stopped glowing as another stepped out of the mists cloaked in deep purple robes. The mists seemed to flow right into them as if they were one.

"Won't you have a seat? You must be as tired as we are of walking," came a voice from within the hood as it's owner sat in the swirling vapors.

"Um, no," Tandin was wary of sitting next to anyone who had claws, even on only one hand. He was also suspicious of the two completely different reactions he had recived from the newcomers.

"Very well, I am Kerjal from the household of Obcidian and this is G'kar the Strong Clawed of the Dukat clan. Who might you be?"

"I'm Tandin Swiftfoot, my title is long enough to bore you." What he didn't tell them is that that was his title. It had gotten him jobs in the past and might help to get him some respect now.

"Now, where are we and how do we get out?"

"It looks like one of the Lady's mazes," the halfling replied.

"You mean you're not sure?"

"Not completly, I thought you might know for sure. I do know there are some nasty creatures out here though. Something bad enough to take out a Dergheloth at least."

"What else?" the leathery half-elf inquired in a much calmer voice.

"That's it, and that summoning magic isn't phased at all to my knowledge. I summoned a Nightmare as a distraction and it got here fine. I'm just saying as you don't look like the type that carries a chiv."

"You're right there, he does cutting enough for us both." Kerjal motioned towards his friends belt. A large ornate scabbard rested at his side. G'kar drew the great scimitar. If it wasn't curved it would be nearly five feet long and still stood as tall as Tandin. The entire thing looked to be made of bone, razor sharp, and pure white. As soon as the entire thing was removed from it's case it was enveloped in green and white flame. He sheathed it once more as Kerjal continued.

"I carry my staff as a precaution, and you're also correct in your assumtion that I'm a spellslinger. However he too has a few tricks up his sleeves."

"Yes, yes. We make a good team," G'kar was getting bored with this conversation. "Can we get a move on, the exit won't find us you know."

"Very well. Tandin, won't you accompany us?"

"I suppose I'd better go with you. Especially if there are 'loths running around. You might need me. I'm good in a tough spot. I once escaped the dungeons of Carceri, there's no tighter spot then that."

The Hive Ward, Sigil.
Early Afternoon, Day One
**[by Skypti]**

Delva walked in near-silence along at Cray's side through the grimy Hive ward, her eyes nervously glancing from roof to roof as they neared the Gatehouse. Cray talked to her, trying to make a bit of conversation and cheer her up, but that was not to be. They walked along the ramshackle streets, and finally came within view of the Bleaker's HQ.

"CRAY?" the voice buzzed like some demented saw against his mind.

Rising from the moth-eaten tenements and rubble of the streets loomed the huge building, like some monsterous bat, the Gatehouse wasn't an object of fear to the huge, disorderly line of barmies and their attendants that ran all the way from the front gates down Bedlam Run, and extended well over to Gramercy Street. A couple Bleaker artists watched the chaotic line dispassionatly as they sketched the mournful barmies.

A couple namers strode briskly by the Cray and Delva, carrying a stretcher between them. On the stretcher, covered by a rough, worn banket, was a male githzerai with a horrid-looking head wound. He stared at everyone they passed with blank yellow eyes and faint trace of fear in his face; he looked almost dead. Cray locked gazes with the githzerai and watched him being carried down the street, quite likely to the Mortuary, until he felt a tingle in his mind. In the distance he could see the githzerai's eyes widen, and mouth words silently. A harsh, nearly inaudible voice came to Cray's ears: 'Don't end up like me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me ... '

"HELLO, CRAY. CRAY? CRAY? YOU MUST GO NOW."

Cray barely restrained a whimper at the force of the mental "voice". Turning away from the He took in a deep breath, and knelt down so that he could look at her eye-to-eye. "Delva, " he said, "I know I promised that I'd take you down to the Cold Bowl for a bit of supper, but if you go up to the head of the line there, and tell them Cray sent you, they'll give you a nice place to stay for the night. And I'll come back in a little while and visit with you then, alright?" Cray looked at Delva. "Will you be alright with doing that?"

Delva glanced up at the Gatehouse and nodded faintly. Cray smiled encouragingly at her. "Don't worry, I'll be back shortly." He watched her walk, haltingly, up the road, and smiled sadly.

Cray slipped away from the crowds and into a side alley. "What is it?" he said out loud. "What do you want to burden me with now?"

"A LITTLE THING; A TRIFLE."

He laughed humorlessly. "Like last time?"

"NO. NO, NO. IT IS LIKE _THIS_ TIME."

The Mortuary, Sigil.
Early Afternoon, Day One
**[by Yingzhi Zhang]**

Bliss waved off the Dustman, who was starting to object to Bliss' rather brusque command to carry the dead orc into the Mortuary. Bliss really couldn't blame him - a dead orc with not much more than a ring of dried blood as a skull cover wasn't really something you'd want to get up close and personal with, but then again, the man was a Dustman, and Dustmen should be used to this.

As the Dustman walked off, muttering indignantly to himself about rude mind-sucking octopi, Bliss turned his attentions toward Cray. The tiefling had promised him an explanation, and by the Lady, he was going to get one. Now where did he say he was going to go with that woman, Abigail? Bleaker HQ, wasn't it?

Scratching at one of his lateral tentacles, Bliss started down the road. A group of Dustmen namers came walking by, carrying a githzerai on a stretcher. Bliss noted almost absently the ring of flayed skin around the githzerai's head, the dying flicker of a mind (minds?) that seemed almost familiar. Bliss snapped to attention. The last image in the dying psyche was that of Cray, suddenly reeling, almost from an attack. Desperately, Bliss turned and tried to keep the mind alive long enough for him to get a coherent image...too late. With a flicker, the githzerai's mind vanished into the darkness.

Cursing to himself, Bliss started running down the street. What had that fool tiefling gotten himself into now?

* * * * *

Cray stood in the dark alley, looking dubiously at the dead end.

"Are you sure this is the place?" he mentally asked the voice in his head.

YES. the voice responded.

"I assume I'm here for a reason other than staring at the back end of an alley." Cray said acidly. "What am I to do now? Something equally amusing as last time?"

ENTER THE PORTAL CRAY, the voice commanded.

"What port..." Cray's thought was interrupted by a flaring lance of green light that appeared out of nowhere. The light cut down from the top of the wall as though some monstrous creature was cutting through the stone with razor sharp claws, and widened to become a shimmering portal of glowing emerald light.

"Where does it lead?" Cray asked suspiciously.

Suddenly, a cataclysm exploded in his head, setting his nerve ends on fire and sending bolts of agonizing lightning up and down his spinal cord. Cray let out a strangled cry and dropped to his knees, clutching at his head in sheer agony as blood began flowing freely from his ears and mouth.

DON'T QUESTION US CRAY, the voice said in an unemotional tone. ENTER THE PORTAL.

Crawling on his hands and knees, Cray crawled through the portal.

* * * * *

Bliss ran along the street, following the trail of psychic impressions Cray had left behind. From the impressions he was getting, Cray must have been in a fairly tortured state of mind. Suddenly, Bliss was almost knocked senseless by a cry of unspeakable psychic pain that was cut off almost as quickly as it had emerged. Almost stumbling, Bliss quickly steadied himself against a wall and tried to pinpoint the source of the shriek. To his surprise, it appeared to have come from an alley just ahead. Bliss rushed forward, turned into the alley just in time to see a foot disappear inside a glowing green portal. Before he could react, the portal slammed shut, plunging the alley into darkness.

Bliss rushed forward, staring at the blank wall where the emerald green portal had just stood.

"Cray!" he yelled, knowing the psychic scream he'd heard belonged to Cray.

The alley remained silent, and he could almost hear mocking laughter in his mind.

* * * * *

Cray shivered as his body adjusted to the sudden chill, and he waved his hands in the suddenly foggy air in front of him. He was standing on a rough stone floor, with crumbling brick walls to his side, and fog thicker than the soup of Limbo swirling around him.

"Where is this?" he asked the speaker in his mind.

YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE IT? the voice asked flatly.

It took a moment for Cray to realize where he was, and just a moment more to realize what was wrong with where he was. "The Mazes...and not a very good one, I might add."

Cray looked critically at the crumbling walls and swirling mists. Given the gaping holes made by crumbling brick that seemed to be present on all the walls, the place didn't seem nearly as ominous as he'd believed.

IT IS RATHER OLD. the voice replied. AND ITS OWNER HAS NO MORE NEED FOR IT.

Cray shuddered away from the ominous words. "What do you want me to do here?"

The mental voice told him, so quietly Cray wasn't even sure he'd heard it right.

"That's all?" he asked, incredulous. "If it's that simple, why do you need me?"

"WE COULD DO IT OURSELVES, BUT YOU'VE BEEN SUCH AN ENDEARING SERVANT." the voice chuckled coldly as it slowly faded away.

The Grand Bazaar, Sigil
Early Afternoon, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Nick was beginning to despair of ever seeing the dear old Skinned Razor again. His tanning business with its safe spikes and razorvine was a long way away right now, and the crowd bullying its way around him had no intention of letting him go. The mob's incoherent sallies only forced him farther and farther away from the portal he knew led to the Lower Ward, no matter how hard he struggled to reach it.

Nick was kicked under the wheels of a stripped apple cart, and he lay there bemoaning his fate. "Oh, if only the Communals were still around! Those barmy sods would've been out in droves right now, sharing the food they'd stored up in the City Provisioner's Warehouse. Why, oh why didn't the Lady wait a few more turns before mazing the lot of 'em?"

But if the rumors were true, she hadn't mazed all of them, had she? Common chant told that a few of the berks belonging to the Communal Brotherhood had come crawling back into town and were secretly reforming their faction once more in the old deserted Provisioner's Office. It was so daring an idea that few took it seriously, but if there was an ounce of dark in that chant, it might be worth a trip to the Lady's Ward to see. A whole warehouse full of provisions would make a tempting target to the high-ups in a starving city, but if Nick got there first he might be able to carry off enough to see himself through the lean times.

And no one in the crowd seemed too eager to push towards the portals leading to the City Barracks or the Prison.

Nick was no Cipher, but for once in his life thought equaled action. When next he saw a large enough gap open in the teeming throng, he sprinted for the Harmonic Arch.

Near the Gatehouse, Sigil
Early Afternoon, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Bliss was uncertain whether or not to leave the dead-end alley. On the first tentacle, he didn't have a key for the portal Cray had just entered. On the next tentacle, he had no way of finding out what key was required. On the third, it might be a shifter. If he wanted to join Cray wherever he went, Bliss might have to find a way through that gate swiftly. He had never seen a portal open and shut like that one. The arch of bricks in the wall that formed its frame was barely visible, and if he hadn't seen it open he never would have suspected it was there. Its outline didn't glow the way a portal should have to his planeborn eyes. Had it shifted already? On the fourth tentacle, there was... screaming, shouting and mayhem in the streets? He turned and walked back to Bedlam Run to see what new insanity had crawled into his life from the Gatehouse.

There on the main street he found Abigail running in his direction, chased and hounded by some virago in rags. The younger woman pursuing Abigail was screeching at the top of her lungs, and her mental discontinuities assaulted Bliss' finely honed mental senses as harshly as her words attacked his ears.

"Who does you think ya are?!? Cuttin' in line likes ya owns the bleedin' Gatehouse! Come backs here, ya soddin' old witch!! This is Harpsichord talkin' at ya, and I ain't just flappin' my bone-box to hear the wind blow!" It was obvious to Cray that that was exactly what this barmy was doing. He could hear her plainly, even though she had cornered Abigail on the far side of the Run.

Bliss could see why Abigail had fled. The woman haranguing her was easily half her age and in fit form, even if she was covering her person in the rags of a knight of the post. The long staff carved to resemble entwining snakes she was using to bar Abigail's further progress could easily be used to do serious harm. And her flying blond hair combined with flaring green eyes to spell 'barmy' even to those who couldn't see the faultlines that ran through her mind.

"I tells ya, you don't steal MY place in line, ya don't! I'm a priestess of Hermes, see? You don't steal from me! God steals from me, and I steal from you! I've been waiting for a whole day now to get in there, and I ain't gonna take sass from no line-breaker what's got Con-nections." Harpsichord sneered the last word like it was a curse and poked Abigail's breastbone with a long, skinny finger.

Something snapped in the older woman then. A crackling corona of magical energy swathed her form and she muttered five syllables more suited for Bliss' mandibular arrangements than a human's. Abigail thrust her arms at the bothersome priestess and in a burst of brilliance Harpsichord was blasted across the street. Brother Bliss broke her fall, though not intentionally.

The pair of them groped around trying to regain their feet for a moment, and Bliss was impressed that the young female hadn't flinched away from his clammy skin. She stood up with some grace at last and said. "Beggin' yer pardon, Mister Quid, I'm not real cert how that happened." Bliss assured her no harm was done and stood himself, disentangling his tentacles and dusting off his robe. As he patted himself down, Abigail dashed over to him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I only wanted to push you away." Bliss sighed as he realized that the older woman had more compassion for her antagonist than she had for him. Some prejudices were deeply ingrained, and Bliss knew that it was all part of his test, to prove himself worthy of ascending from this nigh-universally hated form.

He 'hmpf'ed and said, "I'm well also Abigail, thank you for coming to our assistance." Harpsichord added, "Makes no nevermind mother, if'n I'd knowed ye was a mage, I'd never have rattled me bone-box like that. Say, you mentioned you knew a fella by name of Cray. You think he could get the both of us a kip for the night? I ain't particular, but I've got a bit o' jink to spare if'n he needs to garnish a guard." She jingled a purse full of coins.

The particular fault-lines he had felt in her mind clicked into a pattern for Bliss. His purse in her hands confirmed the conclusion: kleptomania. What was it about Cray that attracted the mentally unsound? And what did that say for Bliss' own friendship with the man?

The Hammered Fist, Sigil
Early Afternoon, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Sabrilla loomed over the dust mephit. "I don't care if that imp was a friend of yours," she said, "any berk that argues with a medusa in her lair gets what he's asking for." Durthelaxus glared back up at her, unintimidated.

"Yeah? Well I say he was entitled to his refund, and if you won't give it to him, I'll take it and give it to all his poor starving orphans and widows!" The mephit could feel his greed interfering with his mission, but it irked him to see the bigguns treating imp-sized folk like they were dirt. He remembered all too well what life had been like before he found Uriel.

Sabrilla was unimpressed. She removed her spectacles again and stared hard at Durthelaxus. He glared back at her twisted face, ready to call Uriel to his aid. A horrible crackling sound emerged from his throat instead, and his dusty form solidified to stone in a twinkling. Mouth agape, his frozen expression matched that of the imp on the table almost perfectly.

Sabrilla said, "I wish you had been a salt mephit, you little berk. I'd bore holes in your head and get some use out of you, my little spicepot." She then turned to the deva, standing impassively as before, twin maces hanging loosely at his side. "I'm not going to have any trouble from you now, am I?" she asked.

Uriel responded in a haunting baritone that echoed eerily in his mouth as if it traveled an unusually long distance to reach Sabrilla's ears. "No. I am to revenge Durthelaxus only if he is truly harmed." Sabrilla laid her fingers on her spectacles once more.

"Truly harmed? Maybe you didn't watch closely mister, but I stoned the little biter and I'll do the same to you if you try anything tricky," she said. Uriel accepted the threat with equanimity. His lightly glowing form took on a distinctively reflective shine and his silver eyes suddenly flashed like polished mirrors.

"You may try," he said, raising a mace to his chest. Sabrilla backed away, fear contorting her face even more than was normal. She hadn't gone two steps when a noise behind her stopped her in her tracks.

**k-k-k-K-K'kerrr-ACK!** She turned and saw the new statue of Durthelaxus crumble into a dusty heap. Fearing Uriel's reaction to this turn of events, she started to say that she hadn't meant to turn the mephit to powder, but she was interrupted by Durthelaxus' own scratchy voice.

"Nice try, sister! But you obviously didn't realize you were dealing with Durthelaxus, Doom Dealer, Greatest of All Dust Mephits and Ruler of the Sea of Dust!" The mephit sat up, dust flying around him, whole and unharmed. Being stone for a minute or two hadn't bothered him in the least. He sat on the edge of the table and said, "Now, are you gonna co-operate with us, or do I have to get nasty?"

Sabrilla pulled the price of a gate key out of a pouch at once and handed it to him.

"That's better," sneered the mephit. Now, we came here to catch a skeg at your portal and see if there wasn't some major fiendish army on the other side." The mephit gestured at the newly crystallized portal. "Since there sure as Sigil ain't gonna be any army pouring through that clotted mess, I figure we'll just go tell Cantha what we've seen and collect our fee. Thanks for the drinks, toots. It was swell doing business with you. Let's go Uriel." With that the mephit hopped up onto the deva's shoulders.

"Cantha?" muttered Sabrilla. "Cantha the dancing deva, at the Barbed Tail?" Durthelaxus nodded, intrigued that Sabrilla knew her too. "She's the one who gave me the jink to buy this place. It took her life savings, but she told me then that I needed to get out of the dancing there more than she did, and that she'd never forgive herself if she didn't give me the money. I've never been able to repay her for that kindness..."

As Uriel reached the door, a resolution solidified within Sabrilla. "Wait up, deva!" she called. Uriel halted in his tracks, nearly throwing Durthelaxus to the floor. "I'm going with you. If Cantha's worried about something nasty crawling out of my portal, I'm going to do what I can to help."

Through the Portal
Early Afternoon, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Something odd about the halfling had caught Kerjal's attention while they wandered the labyrinthine corridors. The small fellow had boasted that he could get them all out and G'kar and he had amiably agreed to follow Tandin's lead. There was something about the self-confident set to his shoulders that said, here was no ordinary hobbit. Kerjal squinted at him, and the glow that had been catching his peripheral vision firmed up into a radiant line trailing away from Tandin's pocket.

He halted and gasped in amazement. G'kar bumped into him and asked what the problem was. "You!" exclaimed Kerjal, pointing at Tandin. Tandin turned in curiosity. "Yes?"

"You've got a maze key! No wonder you're so confident of finding your way out of this!" The unaccustomed marvel in Kerjal's voice riveted G'kar's attention as well. Tandin was confused, but he'd had long practice at hiding confusion.

"What, you mean this?" Tandin reached into his pocket and produced the empty spindle that was left when the silver wire vanished. It was the only key he had on him that he wasn't familiar with and he hoped he wouldn't look like a complete fool by pulling it out.

Kerjal was practically salivating as he reached out for it. "May I?" "Sure," said the halfling, an amused tone in his voice. Kerjal stared at the shining wire on the spindle, its portal-like glow now obvious to his planeborn eyes. "I thought these were pure screed," he whispered, awed. "Where'd you find it? Does it really work? How long does the wire stretch, or does it have a limit?" The spindle tumbled in his hands as he expertly examined every inch of the item. G'kar sighed. He'd seen this look dozens of times in his friend and still never understood why these obscure mystical gee-gaws captivated him so.

Tandin replied, "Sorry, Kerjal, them's top-flight darks. Trade secret, don'tcha know. But since you seem so eager to try it out, I'll let you fiddle with it for awhile. If you're half the wizard I know you are, you'll fathom its workings in no time. Go ahead and lead us out if you want." He gestured ahead graciously.

As Kerjal took the lead, Tandin fell into place behind him and sweated silently to himself. "There's another one you've bluffed your way out of, bucko," he thought. "If that wizard knew I hadn't the slightest idea what he was talking about, he and his buddy would've laughed themselves barmy. Wish I could see whatever he thinks is there, though."

The trio reversed course and made their way more purposefully across the misty cobblestones.

The Abandoned Maze
Early Afternoon, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Mertian replaced his universal portal key and looked around. Apparently not all of the Lady's mazes had been co-opted. This maze, from whence he had rescued Cray some years before, still held fast. The fog creeping in was new, but some defects in the long-abandoned place were only to be expected. Perhaps it would dissolve into the ether. If he wasn't so otherwise engaged, Mertian would have been tempted to remain and see for himself.

But if some of the Lady's mazes remained inviolate, perhaps the same was also true of her portals. Investigating that dark would be next on his agenda after meeting with Cray. Now that he'd heard from Aqva'at, it was more imperative than ever to send Cray on his errand. There was too much to do and not enough time to do it in.

If the Wretched One was correct in his report, and there was no reason to believe that the misled ba'atezu informant was wrong, Iron Lily would be leading her Legion into Sigil within three days. Three days! A lightning strike like that suggested tannar'ri tactics, but this was a legion of ba'atezu on the march. And the whole plot was far too co-ordinated to be of tannar'ri origin anyway. Somehow, the obvious answer felt wrong. Yugoloths would never mount so direct an assault. He would have to keep looking. No answer could avoid his web of knowledge for long.

When Cray finally deigned to appear, he was thoroughly annoyed, at Cray, himself, and at his mysterious enemy. When Cray balked at joining him, he lost his temper, so normally under iron lock and key. "DON'T QUESTION US CRAY," he intoned, emphasizing his haste with a mental crack of pain. "ENTER THE PORTAL." Cray crawled through the opening Mertian rent in the wall, and the Mindspider took three breaths to settle his uncharacteristic anger.

Cray and his odd perceptions irritated him like no other ever had. It took too much of his will to remain hidden in the maze, letting his voice echo hollowly down its corridors. He wanted to confront Cray personally, but proper procedure demanded he maintain the mysterious front. Mertian satisfied himself by reminding Cray that it was he who had pulled him out of this maze, and that he could easily leave Cray here again. The tiefling straightened to his task and asked, "What do you want me to do here?"

Mertian told him.

"Our city is in peril. You, Delva, and everyone you know in Sigil is in danger from a massive invasion. We realize that the fact that the Lady of Pain appears not to be defending against this invasion may seem meaningless to you. But it is not meaningless to us. Therefore, we need you to alert the factions. Give this message to every factol: Armageddon. Gray Lady Down. Twelve Factols, Peak Tomorrow. Don't waste time trying to alert Karan. You could not compel the Xaositect's appearance even with a message from us. But all the others must know. Tell them the Mindspider asks. You have until dawn to complete the task."

Cray goggled. "That's all?!" he asked, incredulous. What resources did his mysterious patron think he had that would gain him immediate audience with every factol in the city? "If it's that simple," he said, sarcasm ringing loudly in his voice, "why do you need me?"

"WE COULD DO IT OURSELVES, BUT YOU'VE BEEN SUCH AN ENDEARING SERVANT." Mertian chuckled at the irony and opened the exit gate again before Cray could argue further. "GO AND SEEK YOUR FRIENDS OUTSIDE. THEY WILL ASSIST YOU."

As Cray paused at the portal, Mertian added, "YOU SHALL NOT FAIL." Some hope was due to the man, even if he couldn't trust him with the whole truth. Cray left then, and the Mindspider completed the traditional triad of assurance. "WE SHALL NOT FAIL. WE ARE RILMANI."

The Rooftops Above Bedlam Run
Early Afternoon, Day One
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

The watcher in the shadows peered down intently at the little group gathered before the Gatehouse. The tiefling had rejoined his companions, as he knew he would. The barmy priestess was sticking to them too, but the watcher wasn't sure yet if she needed elimination as well. He would include her just to be safe, but it made him uneasy. Bad karma always resulted from killing the insane.

The watcher calmed his nerves by chanting a familiar mantra. He ended it with the traditional triad of assurance. I shall not fail. We shall not fail. We are Rilmani.