The Hammered Fist, Sigil
Mid-Afternoon, Day One
**[by Avi]**

"This tavern is closed for the day!" Sabrilla shrieked. Stefan grumbled to himself, and the two orcs protested with drunken fervor. They did not appreciate the early closing time. The medusa scowled, and toyed with the dark spectacles that crossed her hideous face. "Last person out becomes a stone statue!" There was a mad rush to the door as the patrons quickly evacuated the Hammered Fist. Sabrilla stood alone in the room, amidst polished square tables, hard chairs, and stone sculptures that screamed silently through the chilly air. The petrified dabus still floated in the corner of the room, babbling in nonsense images. She locked the door on her way out.

Durthelaxus was talking to Uriel outside the tavern. "I was thinking about that command I gave you: Only avenge me if I am truly harmed. I have to rephrase that. What if I'm paralyzed or charmed or something? Then you'll just stand there like an idiot. But I have to re-word it carefully, because you take things so damn literally--" The mephit saw Sabrilla coming out to meet them. "Uriel, we'll talk about this later."

She leaned towards them, ever-suspicious. "Talk about what?" Her snake-hair writhed like an anemone.

"None of your business, lady. And keep your hair away from me." He breathed in the dirty sooty air of Sigil. "A good day for a walk. Shall we find Cantha now? Uriel, walk beside me." The mephit proceeded down the street, clouds of dust billowing behind him. To his right, the golden deva marched with a bland expression stamped on his beatific face. The medusa strode on his left side, serpentine hair lashing against the wind.

She glanced at the silent deva. "It doesn't take a rilmani to figure out that something's strange concerning your friend. He's a terrible conversationalist, he has all the emotions of a modron, and he does nothing but follow your orders. Where did you find him?"

"Doesn't matter. The point is, he listens to me and no one else, because I'm his master."

"You?! You're a mephit, a messenger boy, a dust mite with an overblown sense of importance."

He bristled, his wings shaking off layers of dust. "I am Durthelaxus, Doom-Dealer, Slayer of Fiends, Greatest of All Dust Mephits, Ruler of the Great Sea of--"

"Indeed! I've heard that already. I thought a Quasi-Elemental Lord ruled the Plane of Dust."

"Actually, he's my right-hand man. He rules the place in my stead when I'm out on important business. So let's talk about you. What are you doing in Sigil? Shouldn't you be fighting that hero Perseus?"

The medusa scowled upon hearing that name. "May he petrify and crumble," she said, intoning the ancient curse. "No, I came here to make Art. To capture in stone the tortured expression of fear and anguish of a person who knows that his moment of death has come. A tavern seemed like a good way to bring in victims. What to you think of that, deva?" she spat.

"It is an evil thing," Uriel said in a flat tone.

They fell silent for some time, walking close together yet separated by a gulf of discordancy. Their footsteps echoed off the cobblestone street. "Did you realize how quiet it is here?" the mephit suddenly pointed out. It was true. The neighborhood was desolate, for there was no sign of life, not even a cranium rat skulking in the shadows. The silence was unnerving. Sigil, nexus of the multiverse, always bustled with the activity of numerous planewalkers. This city was not meant to be quiet.

The mismatched threesome continued on their way, not sharing their thoughts, wary for any form of movement. They didn't find any signs of life, but there were plenty of dead bodies about. The first corpse was sprawled in the middle of the street, freshly-killed, and the cracks between the cobblestones gleamed wet with red blood. The man had been sliced and diced, slaughtered by a mad butcher. Durthelaxus noticed the surgical incisions that severed the flesh, not the ragged cuts made by an ordinary sword but something infinitely sharper. Pebbles rose in his throat like bile.

More butchered corpses lay strewn throughout the neighborhood, slouched up against walls, carpeting the streets, or lying across open doorways like welcome mats. Sabrilla thought that the streams of blood contrasted nicely against the grayish bricks and stones. One fact alarmed her: that the dead included petitioners as well as fiends and celestials. Both the weak and the mighty had been cut down like sliced fruit. At some level, she knew the killer's identity, but this was not a good time and place to blurt out that name. And she burned with the question of "why?"

From a distance, the trio heard the comforting murmur of humanity and navigated towards it. Soon the noise rose to a loud crescendo and became the shouting and screaming of a panicked mob. Hundreds of people milled about a town square at the center of the neighborhood. Merchants stood behind hastily-built stands and sold gatekeys at inflated prices to a long line-up of customers. Hired mercenaries flexed muscle and magic to keep the crowd in some semblance of order. Portals were advertised by various establishments and the competition was fierce; boys with hand-painted signs shouted at the top of their lungs, trying to compete with the massive illusionary signs and Magic Mouths that hovered above. Uriel, Sabrilla and Durthelaxus fell into the swarming crowd, caught up in its fearful energy and spinning like small fish trapped in a maelstrom.

They regrouped on the opposite corner of the plaza, where another mob had coalesced around a raven-haired man standing atop a podium. "Listen to me! I understand your pain!" he beseeched. He spoke in a strong clear voice, and they clung to his words like frightened children seeking security. "I know your fears! Friends and loved ones lost, failing to arrive today by portal. Others have stepped through the portals to search for them and never returned!" Cries of assent echoed from the mob. "Our Lady goes on a murder spree, not just in this neighborhood but throughout the city. She kills and kills without remorse!" The people roared and shook their fists. "But there's more! Rumours of fiendish armies pouring through portals. Sigil is a war zone, and the piles of bodies are rising! And you ask why? Why is this happening to us? My friends, I know why!"

Durthelaxus instantly disliked the speaker. His striking features were too handsome; his voice was too rich and captivating, almost magical. The speaker appeared human, but could be a pit fiend or balor for all he knew. In a world where many planar beings could alter their form and frequently did so, appearances counted for nothing.

Meanwhile, the crowd was pleading for answers. "Yes, I will explain the dark of it. My friends, the Lady of Pain has forsaken us. She no longer wants us in her city! She has become a demented sociopath!" he spat. "Thus she allows the dark armies to enter, to chase you out of Sigil. Thus she prevents people from entering this city. And thus she slaughters you." His anger melted away to reveal a radiant smile. "But she will let you leave. She wants you to leave. And the multiverse is a grand place, containing realms so much more wonderful than this wretched grey city. Leave this place of carnage! Go, my friends, find a portal, and ascend to the realm of your heart's desire..." The crowd blinked and dispersed with calm smiles. Their confusion and panic had melted away.

Sabrilla said, "You have to admit his arguments make sense. For me, there's still a matter of Cantha. I've always despised the fact that I was in her debt. But once I settle that matter, there's no reason to stay in Sigil."

The mephit frowned. "But what about the incident at the Hammered Fist? How does that fit in? Did it ever occur to you that the stone dabus was right? Like you said, he came last night and rambled about a mad Lady and portal malfunctions. He knew all that before it started happening today! I say we go back to the tavern and interrogate him. Seeing Cantha with more information will yield a greater reward."

"That means going back through that death-zone. I don't want to be another sliced corpse on the ground."

"Uriel can teleport me along with him. You can wait here. We'll return soon." The medusa agreed. Durthelaxus grabbed the deva's hand. "Uriel, teleport me with you to inside the Hammered Fist tavern." They vanished with a 'woosh' as air rushed in to fill the void in their wake. They simply ceased to exist there as Uriel stepped through reality and into the Hammered Fist. It was because of this power, and many others, that Durthelaxus treasured his seraphic bodyguard.

It took a moment to recover from that interspatial step, mind and senses furiously remapping the new world that had risen around them. Durthelaxus felt that familiar sense of "post-teleportation anxiety", as he called it. Thus he was relieved to see that the town square had been replaced by the tavern, as expected. Unfortunately, the crowds of people had now become a swarm of hellspawn. Gibbering hordlings filled the room, their bodies a deranged mixture of body parts designed by a mad surgeon.

With detached curiosity, Durthelaxus saw the end of his arm affixed to the belly of an angry hordling. He couldn't feel his hand. One wing seemed stuck from behind but he couldn't turn around to look. He realized that materializing into a crowded tavern can result in flesh melded together.

The hordlings lunged at Durthelaxus with taloned hands, suckered tentacles and crushing pincers. The mephit looked up at faces too twisted and varied to describe and cried weakly, "Uriel, help me!" As the darkness closed in, he realized too late that he wasn't going to be saved. Locked in a zombie-like trance, Uriel wouldn't understand specifically what help the mephit required. And so the deva would stand there like an idiot. In a way, it was quite funny. That was his last thought before the darkness took him away.

Near the Night Market, Sigil
Anti-Peak, Day Two
**[by B. Mooney]**

Exhaustion threatening to consume him, Cray continued to push his ragtag band along the darkened streets of the Cage. At the moment, he was having trouble deciding which was worse: trying to maneuver their way into speaking with each Factol, or the trek across the seemingly endless city to reach these Factions. A message to each Factol, indeed. Cray had counted himself lucky to have met his own Factol twice in his career, and now he was to deliver a personal message to each. Insanity. He understood that the Cage was in danger, but why was this his mission and his alone? Once again, a marionette prancing to the tune of his unseen puppeteer. At least this time the job seemed to have a benevolent purpose, if not a wicked sense of humor.

He did not need look behind him to know the weary faces of his companions. It was good to have them along even though he had balked at bringing them on this journey. Bliss, he had definitely needed along. Where Cray's glib tongue had failed to gain them entry to see one of the Factols, a bit of mental coercion from the illithid had succeeded. Delva had helped to keep their spirits high as the task drew on into the late hours of the night. Even this odd, new woman who called herself Harpsichord had proven useful, dominating her way into a private audience at the Hall of Speakers to see Factol Darius with her nearly insane diatribe. Without his interesting band of travelers, this task would have been foolhardy.

He had not wanted to give them any details, nor provide them with any reason to accompany him. Yet they had followed anyway, general compassion and curiosity from Delva and Bliss. He had no idea why Harpsichord had come along, and he was too harried to be bothered by it. When their duty had become evident, he gave them the barest of information. He hated to bring anyone down talking of an invasion of Sigil, yet they had to suspect. What other reason would he have to give warning to every Factol in the city? And so they had, covering seven of the fourteen Factions so far. Cray was thankful the Xaositects had been excluded; finding who was Factol for the week could have consumed an entire day alone. On that same note, he had no idea how to pursue the leader of the Revolutionary League. Supposedly, the Anarchists were split into multiple groups of their own, and they don't even claim to have a Factol. For that manner, neither do the Free League. His best bet would be to pass the info on to an influential member of the group and go from there. So much planning, so much worrying. His head had not ceased its pain in hours.

" Cray, we should talk about things." It was Bliss, gently whispering into his mind. Even though the touch was gentle, much gentler than his employer, it still hurt like a fiend. " I have learned some of Delva's past, back to a time when she used a different name. Also, it seems that she practiced magic. " His reply was the mental equivalent of mumbling an acknowledgement. That was interesting, but not very surprising. Cray had known she was far from an ordinary bubber, but a mage? Still, this didn't seem the time to worry about it.

" Also, you have led us around this city all night with promises to tell us more. Promises you have not delivered... " Cray stopped and whirled around to face the illithid. " If you wish to talk about it, I am very capable of listening... "

" Look, Bliss," he interrupted, the voice in his mind's eye a bit harsher than he intended. "I've had a really bad day and I've got a tremendous headache. If you want to know all the reasons for what I'm doing, feel free to rip through my head and get the dark yourself! That's what everyone else has done today." With that thought, he turned and stalked off ahead of the group. There was no reply from Bliss.

Why couldn't they understand? You just can't tell everything. Some people can't handle the truth, especially not people on the edge. Working in the Gatehouse had clearly shown him that over time. Cray even felt himself on the edge at times like this. It seemed that everyone was trying to control him, to push him around in one way or another. How many times had he suffered today from someone forcing their will upon him? If this continued, could his own grim retreat be far away? It was almost enough to make him take up the sword once more...

Cray stopped himself. He was tired and stressed near the point of breaking, making himself miserable enough to lash out at his friends. The few people in this city, in this multiverse that seemed to care about him. And there he was, ready to abandon them and continue on full of arrogant pride. Had life gotten this bad?

As if in reply to his silent question, the clouds began to gently rain down upon the group and surrounding buildings. Looking at his companions, none looked too happy. Even Bliss, whose shoulders were slumped and tentacles hung down straight. Cray had not asked them to come along, but now he felt responsible for them. Cray, the slave-driver. They had to push on, but there was still ample time to complete the job before dawn. He ran a hand through his damp red hair and sighed.

" Okay, since we're halfway done, let's take a break. We could all use a bite to eat and a place to rest up." They all looked at him strangely, and then one by one, their eyes lit up. One could almost see the spark of life returning to them. " But I'll be pressing on in a little while. I have until dawn to do this and it will be done. " he stated, not adding the remark, whether you accompany me or not. Likely, it was understood.

"That'd be really rum, Mister Cray," Harpsichord piped up. " I know I, we, all of us could all use a good sit-down." Cray looked at the grinning priestess and forced a smile. He would have to have a discussion with Bliss as to why she was with them, and just how deep inside the Gatehouse they had found her.

Together, with the tall tiefling in the lead, the group headed into the Night Market in search of a place bearing decent food, a good roof, and excellent chairs.

Ribcage
Anti-Peak, Day Two
**[By Autumn Skye Port]**

Iron Lily was worried. It wasn't a comfortable feeling for a baatezu, least of all one under direct orders from one of the Dark Eight themselves. "You must NOT fail us, regardless of the reason!" Those nine words rang incessantly in her head. Three days. Three mere days! Countless millennia of warfare, planning and plotting and now this chance! The entire Blood War could be altered for all eternity for the greater glory of Baator if her plans succeeded. The whole entire contents of her body would be altered for all eternity to a much worse state if she failed...

Aqva'at was equally worried, though for vastly different reasons. He was concerned HIS contents would be altered by Iron Lily. He now had enough information about Lil's plans to pass along some useful chant this time around to Mertian, though the thought wasn't all that pleasant. Why, oh why, had he slipped and gotten tricked into working for him? No self respecting fiend would admit a mistake, but boy, this "mistake" was going to be hard to correct. Eh. He had to view it as a learning experience, for his own sanity. Aqva'at sighed, grasping a splintered old halberd he'd owned for just over a century now. To end the war!

Impossible. There was no way to do so, his baatezu pride told him "yes," his logic said "no." He stared at the crudely carved words in the halberd's handle. "Nvec't akra minota"--there's no such thing as an unwinnable war. Zimimar's words, the Minister of Morale. Iron Lily was a devotee of Zim the Zealot--as she was unofficially known. Lil'd carry out these plans unfailingly. Mertian had to know about this, the hamatula was bound by his word to inform him of day to day changes in his superior's schemes. Yet Aqva'at couldn't shake some inner confidence that told him that the Eight couldn't be the true source; Lil' was obviously misled by someone or something, just he didn't know what quite yet. Zimimar would never think she could coordinate the securing of all of Sigil's portals in just three days. Zealous in her hatred of the tanar'ri, yes, but certainly not stupid. He was sure she and others of the Eight, throughout their immortal lives, had certainly tried. The war would have been over long ago if securing ALL the doors was even possible.

No, Mertian definitely had a right to know, but perhaps Aqva'at was truly doing Baator a favor by questioning this "authority" Iron Lily was obeying. Maybe then HE could get that elusive position of hers he'd coveted all this time. He liked Zimimar, but not all of her lieutenants, and Lil' was certainly one he wasn't too fond of. Yes, he'd check this story out thoroughly first. His watch over, Aqva'at walked a few blocks down Ribcage's streets just outside of Lil's headquarters and pulled out a iron coin, tossing it against the keystone of an arch and vanishing into the Sigilian mists waiting beyond. Unknown to him, the portal would only work this last time before becoming a casualty of the siege altering Sigil's gates...

The uneasiness soon passed Lil's mind, her normally calm and logically deliberate demeanor replacing these fleeting feelings of doubt she'd entertained about achieving her goals. She had just arrived here in Ribcage, envisioning the perfect opportunity to right a wrong done to her so long ago. Two centuries? Three? Gargoth's daggers, she'd lost count. It'd been awhile. She'd been passed up for a long sought out promotion through pride. Usually pride was a good thing, a necessary thing in Baator, but this time it had been a two edged sword, cutting her deeply. Fortunately for her, her witnesses to this fall from grace were all dead. No evidence equals no crime in Baator, so though regarded with suspicion, she'd narrowly escaped the traditional bloodcurdling punishments meted out to rebellious insurrectionists in favor of a delay in circumstances.

She'd overridden a superior's orders, questioning their motives during a crucial battle in the Blood War, in the infamous Field of Nettles. Pride had told her that *she* alone knew the best way to command her battalion, never mind what that silly pit fiend had to say of it, akkrabar or not. Charging off alone without the support of the secondary reinforcements scheduled to arrive, Iron Lily had ignored orders to use her general's tactics to utilize the Broken Wheel formation and attacked the tanar'ri outright. The move was successful at first, morale was high as they sliced through the tanar'ri defenses like week old meat left out to rot, the demonic creatures taken by surprise by this sudden change in tactics. Unfortunately it mattered little, they just went with the flow and quickly switched tactics on her as well and Lil' found herself ordering the entire battalion to retreat; within mere moments as the tides turned against them.

Problem was, they hadn't completed the Wheel formation, and cornered, the pit fiend general made a desperate last effort to call Lil' back to help defend the remainder of their waning forces. They were becoming outnumbered as reinforcements arrived for the tanar'ri, dropping their baatezu like flies onto the squishy, bloodied muck. Lil' got the message, only to realize too late that two-thirds of her own forces were already dead, the survivors taking grievous wounds and heavy losses without the support of their fellows. Their morale finally DID break then, and they scattered, hunted down like dogs thereafter and killed to a man.

Killed to a man -- but not to a fiend as Iron Lily survived long enough to get back to the dead general's body. Fighting off several dozen manes in order to retrieve a 2 inch coin comprised of bone and steel, she found the rumored portal key to Ribcage, her last hope of escape. Lil' shivered as she saw, no *felt* the two mariliths and a cambion come for her to complete the circle in death that her commander had failed to establish while alive. Remembering where the key was, she winced, slitting the fiend's belly crosswise and freeing the key from it's stomach from where it had been swallowed in defense. The tanar'ri would have done the same anyway, she reasoned and she stoically reached inside the grisly mass of flesh, spoke nine words and disappeared just as she heard one of the marilith's order the cambion to stop her exodus.

The name she heard was F'chak'tor, a name she would mark with enmity for eternity. This time she'd turn the tables, avenge her race and end the War for good. Soddin' tanar'ri scum! Visions of the cambion's heart torn from his still screaming body as she clutched its beating mass and drowned him in his own blood kept the young cornugon very content indeed. After all, what he'd deemed good for the goose was good for the gander as well, right? She smiled silently musing once more on this favorite fantasy of hers and began to ready herself to meet her contact for her next set of "instructions." Revenge was best tempered by time, and Iron Lily believed the time was finally right.

The Mindspider's Lair, Sigil
Anti-Peak, Day Two
**[By Autumn Skye Port]**

Mertian sensed his spy was back in Sigil, briefly. He delved into the baatezu's mind, past the superficial hurry and general discontent the creature usually carried around, down into his message. He'd know what Aqva'at had to say long before he actually had to say it. It was always interesting to notice how the inner truth and what those fiends actually *said* seemed to never match up completely.

Aqva'at was beginning to doubt the authenticity of Iron Lily's "orders." Too many flaws for a baatezu plan, too quick, too flimsy. Wasn't right. The fiend had good instincts. Mertian had ruled out Baator as the source of the problem long ago. Sure, they'd LOVE to take over the City of Doors, throw out the factions and the Lady of Pain, and just run right over the rest of the multiverse. Three days certainly wasn't enough time to accomplish it. They had the motive but not the means. The yugoloths had the means, espionage and secret corruption was more their line of work, but not the motivation. The Blood War was very profitable right now and controlling portals to lead attacks wasn't nearly as beneficial as fostering the fighting by giving each side equal chances at treachery. They'd be more likely to throw open the entire city just for the havoc and escalation it would provide the two sides. Plenty of profit then. The tanar'ri just plain weren't capable of a plan that grand. No, it was something else.

There was another reason the Mindspider had wanted Aqva'at to come to him in person. He couldn't risk the informant going to anyone else in Baator and revealing the dark of what Lil' was doing. Dagos would know in an instant it wasn't HIS strategy and Zimimar would no doubt send one of her avengers out to stop the whole thing, if not showing up in person. She took care of things very often herself, even in Sigil, and Mertian certainly did not want to drag in more problems. He'd take pains to conceal the hamatula's comings and goings through some gentle mental suggestion. Ugh. He didn't like the uneasy, crawling feeling he got from entwining his mind with the Wretched One's, but all in the line of duty. He had to protect the city, it was his past, his present, his future. His duty. Lady's Grace, it would be done.

The Mazes
Day Two, Anti-Peak
**[by Brannon Hollingsworth]**

"I think I've got it!"

Tandin, catching his breath suddenly and spinning from his trademark, near-prone 'watch' stance nearly jumped out of his all-too precious skin at the mage's sudden declaration. His eyes wide with heart-stopping surprise and something akin to fear, he poked his head up from behind the pile of rubble that he had just been reclining upon. He took special care in making absolutely certain that there was precious little of his own hide exposed, just in case the mage had been attacked by the gods-only-know-what. Tandin grinned to himself when he saw that the coast was clear, and that it was, in fact, only the near barmy mage babbling about that used portal key.

One could, after all, be only so careless in his line of work.

Seeing that the mage was still mooney-eyed over his discovery, Tandin pulled his dagger from his belt sheath and began drumming the balls of his feet lightly on the stones beneath him. Gradually letting the volume of the beats increase the halfling spun into a leap-roll away from the rubble, panting as if he had just run a half-league, whipping the dagger to the fore.

"I heard screams..." he panted, "-what's wrong...I...came as fast...as I could..."

Kerjal's head snapped up from his work - which lay piled about him in heaped stacks of travel logs, spellbooks, quills, ink vials, several burning and long-since used candles, loose scrolls and sheets of paper and vellum, as well as several other items that the halfling could not begin to identify - a toothy, silly grin on his features.

"Nothing's the matter, Tandin, it is just that I've straightened out this mess regarding this maze key." The wizard's silly look slowly melted into a quizzical one as he took in the halfling's measure, particularly noting the sleep-bags beneath his eyes. Somewhere off in the near darkness came the all-too-familiar sound of G'kar's snoring, accentuating the mage's thoughts. The halfling was supposed to be guarding their backs while G'kar rested and he studied the key while they camped for the night, or at least, what ever passed for night in this gods-forsaken place. He made a quick mental note, and then decided to let the incident go unchecked, but continued his explanation.

"It seems that this spool", the wizard held the offending sewing implement up for the halfling to see, "was used as a portal key to enter this maze, which is substantiated by you, correct?"

The halfling, who was still pondering the strange look that the mage had given him, immediately saw an opening to regain face. "Well, there's a Guvner loophole, if I ever heard one." Tandin said sarcastically, sheathing his dagger soundlessly and dropping down, unceremoniously, across from the mage. He chuckled, "Please, share with me another of your secrets of the multiverse, will ya?"

Kerjal smiled, nodding slightly. He continued, undaunted by the halfling's sarcasm. "It seems that this portal key was intended for another destination point, one different from this maze. Is that correct, as well?"

The halfling now interested but not about to show it, nodded slightly, his eyes falling to the spool. "Yea, I was headin' to Sigil." Tandin didn't see the harm in telling them something that they most likely knew already.

The mage smiled again, noting both the halfling's reaction, as well as the fact that their destinations had been the same. "My magical studies have shown something with this portal key that I believe to be new knowledge regarding portal keys in general. It seems that because this portal key has not reached it intended destination point, that it has retained some of the latent magical energies that, by the very nature of it being a portal key, it contained to begin with!" Kerjal finished with a wild-eyed grin that would have looked completely normal on a priest balking on the top of Mount Celestia.

Tandin, brow furrowed in concentration, shook his head slightly. "Huh?"

Kerjal sighed. He could see right now that this was going to be like teaching a dergholoth to dance - nigh impossible. "Look, Tandin, it works something like this: you know that in the Astral -"

"Yea, I know about the Astral!" the halfling interrupted with a wave of his tiny hand. "I was there once, ya know... I was, in fact, engaged to a githyanki princess, and I can tell ya one thing, my friend. I would rather stare down a whole herd of armanites than a githyanki mother-in-law again, I tell ya!"

Kerjal shook his head, chuckling in spite of himself. "I can only imagine, Tandin... At any rate, on the Astral, there are said to be 'echoes' of spells long ago cast, merely floating about. This screed also balks about if a cutter can grab one of these echoes; he can cast the spell just as if he had the thing in his head all along. I think that this portal key..." the mage emphasized by holding out the spool, which flickered with what seemed to be the reflection of silver thread, "-has the 'echo' of whatever magic it once had to open portals."

Enlightenment dawned on the halfling like a morning on Elysium, bright and unmistakable. "Ahhh. I think I see it now. If the spool has the echo of the magic..."

"We can possibly use that echo to open another portal and get us out of here!" Kerjal finished, triumphant. Then, a shadow of doubt crept into the mage's eye and he looked the halfling square in the face. "The only problem is that it's not strong enough."

All of a sudden, it got dark in Elysium. "What?" said the halfling.

"This one 'echo' I not strong enough. Somehow, we must find a way to make it stronger before it can pierce the magical fabric that surrounds the extra-dimensional space that we are contained within... If, in fact, it is an extra-dimensional space..."

"Yer talking like a Guvner again, bub..."

The Mortuary, Sigil
Anti-Peak, Day Two
**[by Dan Reddy]**

Pathosis looked at the two dustmen collectors as they laid the body of an elf on the table. They turned to him and the taller one spoke. "Is there anything more that you require?" Pathosis shook his head. "No, you are relieved." The taller dustman nodded and then they both exited the chamber. Pathosis stood observing the corpse.

"Are you ready to begin?"

Pathosis turned to the speaker, "Yes 187, I am ready. Begin recording." The rogue Modron held its stylus to the pad of parchment. Pathosis then approached the corpse.

"The subject is an unidentified male elf of the Gray species. Estimated height is 5 feet and 9 inches, the estimated weight is 130 pounds." Pathosis stood next to the elf and with one hand opened the left eye. "Eyes are gray and the hair is silver." Pathosis paused, and then removed a magnifying glass from his pocket. He leaned down and held the glass near what remained of the elf's skull. "The crown and occipital region of the skull are missing. The edges of the remaining cranium show the missing regions were removed by a multi-pointed sharp instrument in a single clean motion. The subject's brain has been removed completely; the only remaining neurological tissue is the top of the spinal cord. There is no other damage to the cranium. The blood remaining in the vasculature surrounding the cranium shows normal lividity, indicating that the subject was alive at the time the damage occurred. The subject's thoracic region is^Å"

The rogue Modron wrote every word spoken by Pathosis as he continued the examination.

"Stop recording," Pathosis instructed when he was complete. 187 set the stylus down and placed the written pages on a stack of parchment. Pathosis walked over to a cabinet and removed a flask. After a long draught he stoppered the flask and turned to 187. "That is the twenty second body brought to us with similar injuries. What is your analysis?"

187 blinked twice. "The subjects all perished by the same means. The actual dimensions of the injuries, after figuring the different sizes and shapes of each skull, indicate that while the subjects all expired in the same manner, the size of the objects that removed or attempted to remove the cranial regions were different. The injuries on the subjects whose skulls were intact indicate that in each case the injuries were caused by a biological organism that places its mouth over the head of the victim and removes the skull region with its teeth performed in a sawing motion. These injuries have not been recorded before today, implying that these creatures are new."

Pathosis nodded at the analysis. "Your observations are correct. Have you heard any of the things that are happening in Sigil at this time?" 187 blinked again. "No, I have not." Pathos sighed. "It seems that all portals are not functioning correctly, and that the few that have entered through them have come from a place consistent with the Mazes. The city is in an uproar. This all began happening shortly before we were brought the first body."

"The orc, you mean?"

"Yes, the orc. Given this information, what would you surmise?"

187 blinked again. "That the two occurrences are related."

Pathosis nodded. "Now, given that we do not have complete information, it would seem that no one can enter or leave Sigil without entering the Mazes. Based on the details surrounding the orc and the githzerai, it seems that those few that are able to leave the Mazes are injured or killed in the same way. I think it is rather frightening to think that something is killing anyone using a portal. I wonder how the Harmonium is going to find out what is doing all this." Pathosis removed the stopper from his flask. "I don't see how they can stop it. There is no way of telling where in the Mazes each portal leads, so what we have is something preying on any poor sod who climbs through a portal. There is no pattern to what is happening, so they don't have a chance of stopping whatever is doing this." Pathosis held the flask up to drink.

"That is incorrect. There is a pattern to those that have been killed by having portions of their skulls removed."

Pathosis looked at 187 in shock. "What do you mean?"

187 blinked twice. "All of the bodies examined were found in the Lower Ward. Only two have been verified as coming from through a portal."

Pathosis shook his head. "I'm not understanding you, what do you mean."

"The information available suggests that the creatures causing this damage may be involved with the situation surrounding the portals. The information suggests that they are in the mazes as well, but based on the fact that every body with these injuries is from the Lower Ward, it is quite clear that some of these creatures are in Sigil, operating from the Lower Ward."

Pathosis turned pale as heard these words. "By the gods, we must tell someone immediately!"

187 watched as Pathosis scrambled out the door. It blinked twice then turned and began to file the records of each examination.

The Civic Festhall, Sigil
Early morning, Day Two
**[by Arawn]**

Factol Erin Montgomery furrowed her brow slightly. She didn't look pleased.

"Fiends? Invading Sigil? Are you sure?" she asked, looking at each one in turn. A tiefling, two humans, and an illithid. How interesting! Any other time, and she would be asking them how they got along as well as they did.

Cray sighed. He had heard this question, or its equivalent, from every other Factol in the city. He had even bumped into Factol Karan in the middle of Hedge Row, not far from the Hall of Speakers. Of course, Karan didn't seem to care much about Cray's news. "Yes, Factol Montgomery, fiends are going to invade Sigil, if they haven't begun already. And personally, I believe they have."

Harpsichord looked warily at the spiny ball-like creature that appeared to be licking the Factol's foot. Somehow, the Factol had managed an expression of ecstasy and disgust mixed together. This expression ended when Cray began his tirade, although bits of it popped through every now and then.

"I see... well, I suppose I better do something about it. All the Factions should. I suppose you've been to the other Factols?" she said, arching an eyebrow at the bunch.

Bliss groaned to himself. He was quite exhausted from the trek through Sigil, even after the break Cray had decided they'd take halfway through. What had really gotten him was the secrecy surrounding the Anarchists. They had to go through quite a bit to see some fellow named Beringe, who was the closest the Anarchists had to a Factol. At least that Bliss could tell. What bothered him most about that visit was that it took over an hour just to see him. More time wasted.

"Yes, we have, Factol Montgomery. Forgive us for waking you at this late hour, but..." Cray stopped as he heard a dull "thud" from behind him. He turned and saw Delva lying on the ground, asleep. Poor thing, she must be exhausted...

The Society of Sensation's leader simply smiled. "Yes, I understand. You've been up all night talking to all of them, you must all need some sleep. Porfys!" A man no one knew was there stepped out of some strategically-arranged shadows. "Get some rooms for these poor souls. I don't want them to be disturbed, even if the fiends knock on the door of the Festhall itself! Go! Cray, Abigail, Bliss, follow him. I'll take care of everything."

Cray frowned a bit at that last sentence, but he was much too tired to argue. He helped Bliss pick Delva up gently and carry her off after the large man, who was lumbering down a hallway. Sleep, at last...

Roof of the Green-Striped Elephant Tavern
Across from the Civic Festhall, Sigil
Early morning, Day 2
**[by Arawn]**

He saw Porfys make sure all four of them were settled in, and then waved his hand over the crystal ball to shut it off. He hadn't been able to hear what they had been saying, but that was of little import. They were sleeping now, sleeping in the upper sections of the building. In rooms with windows.

Making no sound at all, he ran and jumped until he was just a few short feet away from one of their windows. Delva. Yes. Abigail. It mattered little to him what she was called. He slipped in silently and looked at her more closely. She had tossed and turned a little, so the small of her back was exposed. Perfect. He took a small snake from his sleeve and lay it on her flesh. The snake sunk into her flesh, resembling a small tattoo. Excellent. Now she would slowly change, ever slowly, and the others wouldn't notice until it was too late. He permitted himself a small smile. This was only the beginning.

He left the room just as silently, vanishing into the shadows cast by the brightening light.

The Mazes
Early Morning, Day Two
**[by John Gonzales]**

The halfing jogged up to where the mage was walking in the front of the trio and asked, "So, what you were saying Kerjal, is that we each got diverted from our destination, which was Sigil, and brought here. The diversion drained my portal key enough that it couldn't finish it's job, but that if we can find a weak point in the maze as well as another partly charged portal key, we get out of here?"

Kerjal looked down distractedly at Tanden and replied, "Er..., ah.... yes that's it exactly, now go back with G'Kar - I need to concentrate on maintaining the detection spell."

The small adventurer obliged happily, content in knowing that he finally deciphered the mage's confusing babble from earlier, "See, I told you I knew what he was talking about." G'Kar gave Tandin a side- long glance and just snorted as he continued following his friend, sword out and resting on his shoulder as he kept an eye out for trouble.

The Barbed Tail, Sigil
Early Morning, Day Two
**[by John Gonzales]**

Sabrilla slinked into the Barbed Tail, a haunt she had tried hard to forget. Passing by the osyluth at the door, she paused to let her eyes adjust to the smoky darkness of the glorified pit. `Good it's empty' she thought to herself as she made her way to the center bar. Only one of the stages was in use due to the fact that it was between the usual busy periods being that most fiends hated being up at such an unholy hour. A lithe tabaxi jumped and twirled around the center pole avoiding the half hearted slaps and gropes by the few patrons that were still conscious, she was a new one barely a scar on her, yet. On the other side of the stage a tiefling with rams horns and a tail had the misfortune to dance to close to a barbazu and was soon struggling to get free, while Nerila, a erinyes was being propositioned by a pair of cambions as she worked the floor. The medusa spotted another familiar face and walked over to the bar, leaning over the counter she whispered into the ear of a plain looking human, "Hey killer who do I have to kill to get served?"

The bartender turned around smiling "Sabrilla, long time no see. Came back for your job?" The medusa frowned slightly as he finished putting the rest of the glasses in an acid bath, "There isn't enough jink in the great wheel to get me to dance here again Reznol." she breathed, placing a couple of coins on the bar, " Give me a Slaadi Surprise." Reznol, rumored to be the owner as well as a yugoloth, smiled an evil grin as he started to pour various liquids and concoctions without looking, "So, Sabrilla, I know you aren't here for the company, anything you need to know?"

The medusa waited for Reznol to finish pouring the bubbling concoction into two recently scoured glasses, and took a healthy draught. "I need to find Cantha." she gasped from her raw throat. Reznol raised an eyebrow saying, "I thought that ended years ago. Anyway she was here two days ago dancing, I have no idea when her next shift is or where she is now."

Near the Great Foundry, Sigil
Early Morning, Day Two
**[by John Gonzales]**

Durthelaxus' world filled with blinding pain, never had he experienced so much agony. Suddenly there was a sense of soothing and the pain gradually numbed to a dull roar. He opened his eyes and found himself looking up at Uriel and the human from the Hammered Fist. The mephit was lying in pile of some dusty waste from the foundry, "How?" he croaked.

Stefan knelt down at Durthelaxus and replied, "Well, Durt, you're lucky I came along when I did. You see, I was going to sneak into the medusa's bar and try out the portal when everyone was gone. As it turned out I saw those little monsters buggering around the place and decided the portal could wait, when you two suddenly appeared, taking two of them out at once, must say that was a very interesting tactic you used." grinning Stefan continued, "Anyways I jumped in and help you boys out, had to goad Uriel here on during the fight, but once he got started, that was a sight to see. Um sorry about your hand and wing, but I figgered you didn't feel like being a hordling's accessory."

Durthelaxus groggily trying to absorb the information suddenly looked at where his left hand should have been and fainted away. Stefan looked at Uriel and shook his head as he began shoveling more dust on the prone mephit.

Plague-mort
Early-Morning, Day Two
**[by Ken Lipka]**

They stood at rough attention under the bloated red skies just outside the gatetown. A hundred score of the toughest mercenaries and "independent" Tanar'ri Blood Warriors that he could assemble in one day. The front lines consisted of the manes and dretch that had survived the fight for the Hive portal in the Gray Waste. The remainder of the legion consisted of the most vicious, ruthless, and corrupt humans, tieflings, humanoids, and others that were to be had in Plague-mort and the Abyss-side towns of Broken Reach and Gallowsgate. The small army was undisciplined and deeply divided by hatred. The humans and tiefers, while suspicious of each other, bunched together and were even more suspicious of the Tanar'ri and other "monsters" that filled out their ranks. It would take a very strong leader to hold this group together long enough to get the mission underway. F'chak'tor smiled to himself. In a word, they were perfect.

It had been a day since the cambion warrior had taken control of that small piece of the Three Glooms and that portal to the Hive. He had taken the field and the portal not because his Tanar'ri masters had told him to - although that was why he had started the fight - but because he knew that if he could control the Slag Caches, he would be able to do what he wanted. And that is also why he accepted the deal of the unseen being in the Maze. Not because he trusted it, or thought that it had a good idea, but simply because he could use it to get what he wanted: jink, power, and glory. So, he had listened to its plans, taken its money, and come to Plague-mort to assemble a legion with which to lay waste to the Hive Ward of Sigil.

At least, that was what it wanted him to do. F'chak'tor had other ideas, of course. Certainly, he and his troops wouldn't mind causing a little damage to the Cage, but he was not going to be trapped by following another's plans. Not him. He would go along with the plan long enough to actually get his troops through the Mazes which the mysterious being claimed to control and into Sigil, but that was it. Once through, he would take his legion straight to the supply depot and Slag Cache that he had been sent to capture in the first place. And he would capture it - for himself. The cambion grinned again, and addressed his unsuspecting benefactor - who he knew couldn't hear him.

"And once I get what I want, to the depths of the Abyss with what you want! I might just see who's willing to pay to learn about your plans. If you fail, the portals return to normal, and I can leave unhindered. Actually, much the same as if you win. We'll see how things fall, especially your head."

Satisfied that his troops were ready, the cambion general stopped his review and addressed the mob. His voice booming out over the ranks, he called them to battle.

"All right, berks! Shut yer bone-boxes! The time has come. Sigil has stood untarnished for far too long. It's time to put a few bruises on the Lady's face. Follow me, and let no one stand in your way!"

A mighty roar went up from the assembled cutthroats. As one, as only a bloodthirsty mob can be, the makeshift legion charged from the plain outside of Plague-mort into the gatetown, headed for the portal to Sigil. Blood would flow in the streets of the Hive today.

The Mazes
Early Morning, Day Two
**[by Ken Lipka]**

##Sleep done. Hurt still. Find food.##

Even these simple concepts were a task for the dim creature in who's mind they formed. It pushed itself upright from the pile of rubble it had hid behind to rest. It began to move clumsily forward on its three legs; it's already awkward gait made more so by the wounds it still possessed. Moving through the rough- hewn passages of the Maze, it scented the air, looking for something to satisfy its hunger. The scent of day-old blood caught its attention, and it ran towards the source.

It found the decaying remains of a four-legged animal. Something in the depths of its poor memory told it that this is what caused the hurt that it felt. Not caring about the past, the creature indulged the present. Using three of it's arms, the creature picked up pieces of the corpse - a hoofed leg, part of the rump with tail still attached - and began tearing pieces of the dead flesh off the bits and eating them. It was not fresh, but it would dull the hunger.

As it ate, it scented something else. Something newer than the corpse, something smaller, something. alive. The poor memory told the creature of the small being that created the animal which gave it the hurt it still felt. It remember that the small one smelled appetizing. Yes, that is what it needed.

##Find small. Kill. Eat. Then hurt gone.##

The dergholoth began to move once again, tracking the trail of the halfling which eluded it a day ago.

The Skinned Razor, at Tanner's Lane and Wasted Day's Alley, Sigil
Early Morning, Day Two
**[by Ken Lipka]**

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. He pulled the tarps off his shop to shake the cinders and soot off them, and he got his little leather tanning stall ready for the day's custom. Nick picked up a push broom, and nudged the junk and garbage around his side of the street over to the tiny little Limbo portal on the far side of the shop adjoining his own. It was just another day in the Lower Ward.

Or so he wished. As much as he tried, the old routine couldn't comfort him. Things were very different, and Nick was scared. The portals didn't work, many had fled the Cage to powers-know-where, and fighting could still be heard throughout the City of Doors. While this part of the Lower Ward is normally sparsely trafficked, today it was deserted. None of the usual customers walked by; most of his neighbors had left. Certainly, this was a good thing as it allowed Nick to take possession of Mort's chickens. At least he would have food for a time. As he piled the day's trash next the mound from yesterday, Nick gingerly rubbed his ribs. They still hurt from when those Hardheads scragged him for trying to break into the Provisioner's Warehouse. The rogue petitioner shook his head and sighed as went back into his shop and reflected on what he had seen since yesterday.

Nick tried to remember when he first knew the Powers were taking their revenge on him and Sigil. Sure, the signs where there when he got knocked down by the dabus and the trash portal didn't work. But he didn't really get a clue until he tried to buy lunch in the Great Bazaar. The riots there told all he needed to know that his afterlife was in jeopardy. Seeing the reactions of the people there confirmed everything his subconscious had been trying to tell him all yesterday morning. And things had only gone downhill from there.

He had got something of a breather from the chaos after he managed to get through the Harmonic Arch and into the Lady's Ward. The streets here were totally empty, as those who lived here had wisely barricaded themselves inside their mansions. However, the dubiously-comforting presence of the Harmonium was also missing from the streets; Nick had expected them to be out in force to keep the city's riches safe. But then, he remember what the faction claimed to stand for - peace and harmony. And he guessed that they were out in force, just everywhere else, trying to calm the riots. He had then thanked his karma and quickly moved through the echoing streets towards the Warehouse.

When he arrived, he saw it was unguarded. "Perhaps Fate is finally smiling on ol' Nick," he thought to himself. He was so relieved to have made it there unharmed that he let his reason get away from him so that he didn't stop to think about what it meant that the door into the building was not only unlocked, but already standing ajar. The cold reality of the situation hit him hard - literally - once he stepped inside the dark building. Nick found himself knocked down by a heavy blow to the ribs, and then held on the floor by a hob- nailed boot on his neck.

"Looks like we got us another one, Measure Three, sir." Nick peered up from the floor through the haze of his pain. He found himself surrounded by at least four men wearing the scarlet scale mail of the Harmonium. The one who's boot was digging into his flesh had spoken to the largest of the squad. The leader looked down at the petitioner with primarily contempt and exhaustion. "Pick him up, Notary." The Hardhead namer followed orders and roughly hauled Nick to his feet. "You are hereby arrested by the Harmonium on the charges of breaking and entering a government building. Given the state of affairs in the City of Doors, you are also arrested on the charges of attempted theft, inciting a revolt, and suspected conspiracy. As you have been caught in the act, I think that it's fairly obvious admission of guilt. What say you, Bruxanna?"

Nick had been about to protest (however feebly) the charges, but his throat dried in fear and his voice died. Stepping out of the deeper shadows of the room came a large, heavily muscled orc wearing dark crimson, spiked plate mail. His worst fears, born by the color and cut of the armor, were confirmed when he spied the symbol of a fanged worm worked into the breast plate. The orc was a Mercykiller. It spoke in a deep, guttural voice. A small part of Nick's mind found time to be surprised that the orc was female. "As a Justicar of the faction of the Red Death, I agree that the berk is guilty as charged. Given the current crisis, sentence is to be carried out immediately. For these charges, I sentence the criminal to death."

Nick tried to protest, but only could only shake his head in a frantic "no". He couldn't run, as he was held by two of the Harmonium namers. The orc was obvious to his struggles as she readied a Tanar'ri Red battle axe. He was sorely afraid. He didn't want to die - again, for the final time - like this. He closed his eyes and prayed to whatever powers he could think of for some miracle. Even an appearance by the Lady would be welcome at this point. He heard the Mercykiller inhale and pull back for the swing. He tensed for the blow...

...which fortunately for him never came. Just as the orc was about to split his head from crown to neck, Nick's prayed for salvation came in the form of a flask of flaming oil thrown through the open door. The shattering glass and the wash of flames stayed the expected death blow and caused him to be dropped as the factioneers of Law pulled back involuntarily from the heat. Outside, a great cry went up from a score of throats. A single voice rose above the rest; a woman's, filled with insane glee.

"It is as Pentar has promised! Entropy has come to Sigil and we must help it to its glorious end! Forward, Doomguard, and sack the Warehouse!"

The Doomguard! Nick Tanner was never so glad to see one of their "Entropy Raid" as he was right now. His would-be captors pulled weapons and ran out of the building to meet the attack and defend city property. Nick once again found the better part of valor and fled out another door as the flames grew higher and the Doomguard cut down the small squad of Harmonium and their Mercykiller ally.

He spent the rest of the day running and hiding, trying to make it back to his kip in the Lower Ward. While he didn't fully understand it, he managed to get a good picture of what was going on in the city. It had most definitely become a battleground. While most of the ordinary citizens either cowered in their kips or had left, the fiends and the factions had stayed behind and were attempting to take over. The Lawful factions of the Harmonium, Mercykillers, and Guvners had joined forces with the Signers and were forcibly trying to restore order to Sigil. Naturally, their efforts were being countered by the Chaotic factions - The Doomguard, The Xaositects, The Anarchists - and their sudden allies in the Athar. The Ciphers, the Godsmen, and the Indeps seemed to be trying to get people to stop the violence on their own. Naturally, they weren't having any luck. The Fated were out taking advantage of the situation, while the Sensates, the Dustmen, and the Bleakers simply sat back and watched, enjoying the show. And into this philosophical whirlpool, you also had the destabilizing efforts of various bands of fiends, celestials, and even the occasional modron. It was most definitely the worst day in his afterlife.

Nick broke out of his depressing reverie and went back inside his small shop. If the Cage was to go down in the flames of war, as the smoke rising from the Hive ward seemed to suggest, Nick Tanner would at least die fighting for his adopted home. He sat down, and began to sharpen his skinning knives. A small weapon, and a small chance, is better than none at all.

A Bedroom somewhere in the Civic Festhall, Sigil
Mid-Morning, Day Two
**[by Lars H Löher]**

With a start Bliss awakened and his sightless eyes opened and looked into still dark surroundings. Was it always like that or made the war seem Sigil an even greyer and more depressive place, than it usually was? Fires where burning in somewhere, most likely in the hive, judging from the direction of the thickest oily smoke. The City of Doors had never been a particularly nice place, but on this day it seemed particularly sinister. Something was horribly wrong here, and his sensitive mental awareness picked up an array of discordances, that were a lot worse than a general street riot, and his awakening seemed to have been caused by the aftershock of something particularly violent, or an especially merciless mental attack.

The mind flayer's tentacles writhed nervously, as he remembered, what he wished to be a nightmare. A short time after he had started to rest, he could feel a strange and disturbing presence, that had done something to one of his companions. They wouldn't believe him, of course, and they already had enough troubles without the talk of a seemingly paranoid illithid. Had he just stayed awake and only seemed asleep to watch, but it was too late for that now. In addition he needed the rest. His mind still felt empty, almost naked, so he couldn't have slept long enough to regain the mental power he would need for whatever fate had in mind for him, when the mismatched companions awakened. Maybe Cray would even explain what was going on...

It seemed that tests where piling upon each other a little too fast lately, but then again maybe it was just another test, so that he might shed the shell of a mind flayer and become something more generally accepted...

With a writhing of tentacles, he thought about his sudden awaking, when he had felt the strange psychic impression. He had almost shouted, except that he didn't have a voice, and he was mentally too weak to broadcast anything even resembling a shout. He didn't waken his companions, as their peaceful snoring had assured him, and all of them needed rest. It seemed that he needed even more, after this period of particularly bad sleep. He looked out over the bleak cityscape of Sigil once again and turned to sit on his bed in an odd version of a Lotus, that matched his strange physiognomy.

A translucent layer of skin closed over his completely white eyes and another one that was the same mauve colour as his skin followed. He cleared his mind of everything that was troubling it and locked out the surroundings, as he had learned some time ago. As a renegade, he didn't have the comfort and wisdom of an elder brain to guide him and even give him power, when he badly needed it. With a last sigh of longing and regret, he fell into a deep meditative trance, that was more restful than sleep. He needed his mental power.

Without it he was nothing.

Hive Ward, Sigil
Mid-Morning, Day Two
**[by Lars H Löher]**

Crackling flames threw deep shadows dancing everywhere like ghosts dancing an eerie dance, that might drive fear into the hearts of even the boldest. Unfortunately for those, who had caused this, there was no-one to watch the show. Almost no-one that is. Wherever there are shadows, there are those, who hide within these. The one walking these shadows was fearsome, for she didn't need many shadows to hide, even bright daylight in the Lady's ward offered sufficient shadow for her to stay completely out of sight.

Everyone had a healthy respect of those, who walk the shadows, especially those who did it without their steps making a whisper of sound. Not that it really mattered with the crackling of the flames everywhere and the prevalent sound of the jumbled buildings tumbling over each other, stone bursting from the almost elemental heat in some places and things generally crashing down in the fiends' wake, only the Doomguard being suspiciously absent from this scene of destruction...

With disgust the watcher in the shadows regarded the result of the mindless carnage. She had been surprised, when the fiends had popped out of a gate, since gates supposedly malfunctioned all over the Cage. The horde of cut-throats and tanar'ri emerging where even less pleasant, and instantly did what abyssal types seemed to love most. They charged into the next mass of living beings and started to hack everything to pieces. Jimora had quickly taken to backstab at least all those who where human and disappear again, before their attention turned to her, or even the spot where someone had fallen, because she stabbed him. It had been just after anti-peak.

Then a contingent of baatezu, who had been trapped in the city, when the portals ceased to function not much more than full day ago - it seemed a far longer time to her - had assaulted the tanar'ri. More tanar'ri and other abyssal types had flocked to the invading horde. More baatezu had come to reinforce those already in the battle. It didn't seem an unusual clash, except that this was Sigil. Jimora had chosen to stay away from the battle, since she expected the shadow of a certain bladed head to appear and clean up things anytime soon, but the Lady of Pain didn't appear, which made the assassin wonder...

A combined force of Harmonium and Mercykillers entered the fray to stop the fighting after several negotiation attempts by Signers and another from an Indep failed. They had just been ripped to pieces and the fighting went on. When the lawful factions finally appeared, the whole thing turned into the completely chaotic bloody mess, that battles always seemed to become. Jimora thought better of it and stayed out of the whole thing. The scream of steel hitting steel mingling with the battle screams of the combatants and the agonised screams of the mortally wounded left to die a slow and painful death filled the air. Nine stinking pits of Baator, and she had always thought her trade was bad...

When the clash of arms finally subsided, a good section of the hive was burning and most of the combatants where dead, except for a fraction of the group of tanar'ri, that had originally invaded through the gate. Most of them where the medium power types, that drove the lesser minions into battle to avoid getting whipped by those more powerful. Being tanar'ri, they usually got whipped anyway. If there wasn't already enough trouble without these fiends around, Jimora thought with a hint of disgust. How many fiends where left in the City of Doors after this clash was anyone's guess, but those where particularly ruthless, never having lived under the Lady's slicing shadow.

When these where allowed to continue rampaging, many innocent folk would suffer and die. If she didn't do anything about it, the wrong people would suffer as a result. Focusing on those and similar thoughts, Jimora ceased being just someone hiding in the shadows. She became one of these shadows and the fiends where dead before they ever knew what hit them. She should have done this all along, but she wasn't particularly fond of getting sliced up by the Lady, and she had should have appeared to stop this mayhem. Now it was finally obvious to her that something was very much, well, wrong around here...

Unfortunately the Cambion, who had led the force was missing, and Jimora wondered, how she was going to track down someone without knowing the name or even the face, and decided that she wouldn't. There was so much chaos, mayhem and evil unleashed that she could do more good elsewhere. With a sigh she walked down the streets of the hive to reach the clerks ward and find herself some good food and reasonable drink to swallow down the soot and bile that had been building up in her throat during the battle. She wondered, what was going on here...

"It's chaos, it's malicious, it's damn cool", a sinister sounding voice replied. Jimora looked up, only now realising she had spoken her thoughts aloud. The large bat-winged creature surrounded by flames looked at her beautiful form with more appreciation than she liked. Her grey eyes narrowed a little and the auburn hair danced slightly in the hot abyssal wind caused by the blistering heat the fiend radiated. Her perfectly shaped body covered in a tight sitting suit the colour of night shivered once and the fiend smiled wickedly. "Who asked you?", she said calmly.

Then she was suddenly gone. The balor looked at the place, where she had just been and whipped at a beggar who was unfortunate enough to lie nearby. As the fiend ripped an arm from the man, who was paralysed with terror, not even able to scream, the tanar'ri looked into the shadows. Of course she was nowhere to be seen. With regret he thought that he'd really liked to...

Another Room Somewhere in the Civic Festhall, Sigil
Mid-Morning, Day Two
**[by Lars H Löher]**

Looking out of an window surveying city, factol Erin Montgomery was really worried now. A short time after the odd group had warned her, the fighting had begun. The meeting in the Hall of Speakers had been a complete disaster. The factions either wanted to take advantage of the situation or where as clueless as herself about what was really going on, and as Darius of the signers had pointed out, fighting the symptoms might keep the population somewhat calmer, but wouldn't do anything to solve the problem. The only thing that they managed was a decree that everyone was supposed to stay calm and go about their business as usual, as far as this was possible.

Sure, the decree of the Society of Sensation was to experience everything possible, but this went definitely too far. If you wanted fiends fighting, go to the Blood War. If you wanted to be really caged, get yourself scragged for a minor sleight and stay in prison for a few days, or go to Carceri if you feel suicidal. Now there was all of this everywhere in Sigil. At least the celestials were still busy watching and thinking before they acted. No, Erin decided, there was something that had to be done. Problem was, she didn't have the slightest idea what that might be.

"Why are you worrying yourself to death this time?", a familiar voice asked. "I always thought you had more than your share of that sensation." The almost inhumanly beautiful female turned around and said: "You are right about it, but we are locked from everything and it is getting ever more violent." The other female added: "You don't have the slightest idea, what is behind this, right?" The factol nodded and looked at the diminutive warrior. She seemed to be a small elf, but actually she was a kender, but a rather unusual one, as everyone having seen her in battle would testify.

In addition she had the self-discipline and -control to wield fearsome mental powers, that gave even illithid elder brains a serious pause. Erin looked at her and said: "I guess you are stuck with us here and know why they call it The Cage. Any ideas?" The kender said: "Actually I am only projecting myself here, something that should not be possible. I expected to end up in the Outlands and had to use a gate, but when I opened my eyes, I was right here, in the city. So I figured that something is badly out of sync here." Erin sighed deeply and asked: "Why don't you tell me something I don't know?"

The Kender nodded, her expression even more serious than usual, which would be considered a constant expression of bad mood by other kender. "The first thing I noticed when I entered this place, was that it is brimming with psychic energy surges. There is some large scale force using psionics to take control of key whisperers. You see, factols and other obvious movers are to obvious, but those behind the thrones make good targets, so better try out what paranoia feels like until this is over." The kender shook her head sadly and said: "You remember the hive theory I told you about?"

Erin nodded, the porcelain skin of her face even whiter than it already was. The other female said: "I fear that someone is trying to take mental control of the hive queen in an concerted and orchestrated effort. Energy is building up like crazy, and I guess weird things happening and the Lady behaving strangely is just her fighting it. I will return if you find any proof that I might be right." The factol asked: "Even trying to talk to her is fatal, how are they supposed to control her?"

"Obviously they have enough resources to waste a good many of them on figuring out the pattern of her mind. Since she isn't tanar'ri they will do so in finite time." Erin asked: "What happens then?" The kender said matter-of-factly: "Sigil is theirs and that's bad news for everyone. I have to go now. There are other matters requiring my attention." The factol asked: "How will I contact you?" The kender was already dissolving, seemingly merging with the walls of the room, but the female knew that she wasn't addressing empty air.

I will find you, if you need my help, was the last thing Erin heard, before the psionicist was gone...

The Mazes
Mid-Morning, Day Two
**[by Matt Oostman]**

"Call it."

"Heads. No, wait. Tails."

G'kar caught the coin.

"What is it?" asked Tandin.

"I can't tell, it's too dark."

Kerjal was beginning to get impatient. "Will one of you just go?" It had been nearly an hour since he felt the fabric of the maze bend. The mage had quickly deduced that a portal had been opened. Half an hour later Kerjal's ferret familiar had picked up the scent of a tanar'ri. Apparently there had been several more before, but only the one now.

"Why don't you go first?" the halfling argued.

"Why me?" protested G'kar.

"'Cause you're bigger."

"Then you go."

"Me? Why?"

"'Cause I'm bigger."

"Hurry up, it's getting closer. If we're going to take advantage of surprising it we have to do it now." Kerjal's efforts to get them around the corner, in the dark, in a maze, into the face of gods-know-what kind of tanar'ri, weren't doing him any good.

"Fine. We'll go at the same time. Ready G'kar?"

"Right."

"One, two, three." Tandin stepped back, G'kar stepped around the corner, and Kerjal shoved Tandin.

"I thought you'd pull something like that," the mage sneered. Not fifty feet in front of them was one of the vilest tanar'ri any of them had seen. It was big, red scaled, had claws the size of it's legs, but otherwise wasn't armed.

"That is one ugly bugger," G'kar paused. "I can take 'im."

"So could I if I wanted to, especially with a sword like-" Tandin was cut short as the fiend let out a blood curdling howl. It's call was followed closely by the sound of G'kar's battle cry as he rushed right into it, sword braced for a charge. Kerjal braced himself for the eerie sound of G'kar's bone sword digging into flesh, but it never came. What happened next no one expected. Just as G'kar was about to land his blow, the tanar'ri caught him in it's claws and flung him hurling back into Tandin. The fiend started to move forward as soon as it was sure the slam into the wall was enough to knock the warrior out cold.

"Get this guy off me!" Tandin hollered in frustration as he struggled to move from beneath the hulk.

"I don't think I'm gonna get the chance-" the mage stressed as he finished a spell just in time to avoid the gaping maw of the onrushing monster. Kerjal landed from his jump behind the creature with barely enough room to turn around and crack it in the skull with his staff. "This isn't going to work!" the mage yelled as he avoided the tanar'ri's next blow. Then an idea struck him. "In his belt pouch there's some Mist of Myrol!"

"Some what?"

"It's a blue vial, just spill it on his face," the mage had been too busy avoiding injury to worry about another spell and was getting tired of playing defense. Tandin began so rummage through the many pockets on G'kar's belt and let out a sigh as he found the vial. Not wanting to use too much, yet not too little either, Tandin emptied the thing over the oaf's face. Suddenly G'kar's eye's flew open. He grabbed his face and let out a scream worse then that of the tanar'ri's.

"WHAAAAAAOI!" He shook off the pain. "What's happening?"

Tandin pointed at the tanar'ri.

"Oh, right." He grabbed his sword. "Now you've made me mad." Once again he charged the beast and once again it threw him back, this time with Kerjal close behind.

"That's it. You," Kerjal pointed, "are goin' down. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

G'kar grinned evilly, "I am now. Tandin, occupy that for a moment."

"What? Me? But I," Tandin stuttered. His protests weren't going to get him anywhere, they two friends were already in deep concentration. He then though that this would be the perfect time to prove he wasn't all talk like so many people believed. From under his cloak he drew his other dagger. It flashed silver for a moment just before he chucked it into the back of the fiend before him. The blade went in one side of the creature and clean through to the other. The tanar'ri cried out in pain as it ripped the hilt out of it's chest flipped around to face the halfling. Tandin's eyes grew wide.

"It's still alive. That's bad."

The thing went to attack and stopped short, almost appearing to chuckle. It put it's hand to the ground as there seemed to be a minor tremble. From the earth below him, sets of skeletal hands started to pull themselves up. From nowhere he was surrounded by undead warriors. Just as all seemed lost to Tandin the pair finished their enchantment and shouted in unison the last word of the spell.

"ANTIPODE!"

Two spears flew into the fiend, one enchanted with ice, one with fire. The beast chuckled again at the idea that a pair of spears might hurt him, but the spell wasn't done. It went to pull one of them out when the surge released by the opposing elemental forces hit. In a brilliant flash the tanar'ri detonated, covering the group with wicked-smelling slime.

"Little help!" Tandin called, still surrounded by the skeletons.

"Oh, there are only half a dozen of them," Kerjal insisted. "Oh, all right."

Tandin had destroyed two already and the mage dispatched the next three with a flask of holy water. There was no sign of the sixth.

"Where's the other?" Tandin asked.

"Maybe you miscounted," injected G'kar.

"Maybe." Tandin picked up his dagger and wiped it off. "We sure beat them into the ground, or, all over it."

"We?" asked G'kar, "You didn't help much at all."

"WHAT?!?!? Didn't you see what I did? With the dagger?!?"

"I'm afraid not Tandin, the spell we cast is incredibly complex. Neither of us saw a thing," Kerjal explained.

"But, but, I nearly killed the thing, and you didn't see it?"

"Sure you did," G'kar sneered.

"I believe you," the tiefling said. He wasn't sure if he did, but he could feel the magic radiate off the dagger.

"Kerjal, come look at this!" G'kar called from the remains of the tanar'ri.

"What is it?"

"Look."

The mage bent down, scraped in the muck for a moment, and stood up grinning.

"What is it?" Tandin inquired.

The mage held out his hand. Burnt and dripping in slime was a thin spool of fine silver wire.

"So tell me again why we're still here?"

"Look Tandin, I need to concentrate on this spell, G'kar, you explain."

"We've got to find a weak spot."

"But he said we had plenty of wire, why can't we just burst through where ever we want?"

"It's a portal thing." G'kar wasn't quite sure himself. He whispered to Kerjal, "Hey, why can't we?"

"Because I'm trying to put us in Sigil, not back where we started."

"Oh, right." G'kar paused. Tandin stopped short and ran into him.

"Move it!" Tandin commanded as he pulled himself out of G'kar's cloak.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what? Let's go."

"It sounded like a sword being drawn."

"You're being paranoid."

"WRONG! Look, down that passage, it's that other skeleton. Let's go take care of it."

"Should we tell Kerjal?" Tandin asked. He wasn't even sure the mage realized he was in a maze still, he was so into his work.

"Naah, we'll only be gone for a minute. Besides, it's coming this way, he'll probably see it when we get to it."

Tandin drew his dagger. G'kar drew his sword. Both weapons lit up, wrapped in magic. The sword the half-elf wielded ignited in white flame once more. This time there was something different. Normally the glow reflected off the walls and illuminated the area, but it stayed as dark as it was.

Kerjal looked behind him, "Hey guys, I, where'd you go?" He saw the light from G'kar's sword and followed it around the corner. "Guy's, hurry this up, I think I know where the exit is."

G'kar didn't hear him. All G'kar heard was the crackling flames on his sword. All he saw was the skeleton coming at him. He was no longer in the mazes, he was standing in one of the guest bedrooms in Castle Nazar. His sword no longer was sheathed in white flame, but in black. He looked into his opponent's eyes, "Seromanith, your time is now."

"Seromanith? G'kar, are you all right? G'kar?" Tandin was confused. He turned to see Kerjal walk up behind him. "Hey, what's with him?"

"I think he's having another flashback, this one looks bad."

"Flashback? To what?"

"The night he defeated the Undead Knight that wielded his sword before him. He purified the blade but the nature of the thing itself is cursed." The skeleton took a swing at him and missed. G'kar grabbed his chest and fell to his knees. The thing swung again and caught him across a scar on his face. The warrior stood upright as his boot met the ribcage of his unliving oppressor. G'kar let out the same call as he had three years ago. "Now I will be your fate!" The warrior, standing with his sword held high above his head, called up to the Gods "FOR ENTROPY!" With all his strength he brought his mighty blade down upon the skeleton. Tandin let out a yelp as chunks of bone flew through the air and bit into his flesh, the blow had left not a piece unfractured. Kerjal covered his face with his hood and ran after G'kar who had collapsed in a heap.

"G'kar, are you all right?"

G'kar looked up groggily and suddenly pointed at Tandin. "Look! He's taken another form!"

Tandin backed up, "What? Who? Uh-oh."

G'kar got up again and grabbed his sword of the floor. "This time I will be sure you're gone."

The mage grabbed his shoulder. He jumped and whipped around, just now seeing Kerjal. "Kerjal! Quickly, get DeLocar! We don't know how many of his minions he can summon this time!"

The figure before him shook him violently and shouted into his face, "Locar is DEAD!"

"NO! He's here! Get him and his guard!"

The mage threw open his robes and ripped off his shirt, exposing a huge circular scar on his chest. "LOOK! Duramas killed him AND Slice! He put his claw right through me! REMEMBER damn you, THINK! " G'kar started to get dizzy as his memory rushed back. The underdark temple. The lair full of shadows. The dragon, their arch-nemesis Duramas. The battle. Lord Locar on his horse, charging after it. Slice the weretiger and her cats leaping onto it's back. Leon the priest dispelling it's ghoulish guards. Kerjal and himself launching every spell they had into the fray. He was the only one left standing. He revived Leon and they healed Kerjal, but the others were to far gone. G'kar passed out.

Heart of a Dragon Inn
Guildhall Ward, Sigil
Late Morning, Day Two
**[by Matt Oostman]**

"NOOOOO!!!"

G'kar suddenly woke up screaming. He blinked and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying to figure out where he was. He looked around. He was lying on a rug in front of an unlit fireplace, there were tables strewn about the room. He stood up and looked for his sword. The sound of crunching glass came from beneath his feet. Stumbling over a the pieces chair, he came face to face with some dead bubber. He heard footsteps above him. There was light coming from a stairwell in the far side of the room. He didn't move.

"G'kar, that had better be you," Kerjal's voice came from the stairs.

He remained silent for a moment and spoke, "It is, where are we?"

"We're in the Dragon."

"Your place in Sigil?"

"Yes, when we got here the place was trashed."

"How'd we get here? Who trashed it? Where was that guy you hired to watch the place? Where's Tandin?"

"I got a portal to work, we came in near Chirper's and walked here. There was no one out. Not even a sound. The Hive burns again. You've heard what happened to the Slaggs? This looks as bad, or worse." Kerjal waited for his words to sink in and continued, "I'm not sure what happened here, but it looks like everyone left in a hurry. The guy I had watching the place?"

"Yeah?"

"You're lying next to him."

G'kar looked closer at the body near him. It appeared like it had been trampled.

"Tandin is upstairs asleep. We couldn't get you up the stairs so we cleared a spot and left you here. Your sword and scabbard are behind the bar."

The warrior got off the floor and grabbed his scimitar.

"It's only been a couple hours since you passed out. I suggest you come upstairs and get some sleep with the rest of us. I've got a Magic Mouth on the door, and Alarm on the stairway. We should be safe."

"Right." The half-elf followed his friend up the stairs, found the cleanest, most intact room he could, and went to sleep.

Heart of a Dragon Inn
Guildhall Ward, Sigil
Peak, Day Two
**[by Matt Oostman]**

Tandin slinked down the stairs, holding his stomach. Seeing Kerjal and G'kar already on the ground floor, he muttered to them, "I don't feel so good."

"I told you you shouldn't've eaten more dergholoth then you could handle. I don't like it either, that's why I didn't stuff myself on it."

"What dergholoth?" G'kar asked.

"Well, I thought it was a dergholoth. It only had three legs. We could have used you, I used up all the spells I knew. If we would have run anything else we might have been killed. My staff was even running low." The mage ducked behind the bar and handed Tandin a glass of juice. He sniffed the air and went into the kitchen, bringing with him a large plate of eggs. "This is all I could make with the food left over. There are two kinds of eggs, but I'm not sure exactly what they are. Anyways, we need to find out what's with the city."

"Right. Maybe we should visit Leon."

They both shuddered as G'kar spoke the name.

"Wait, is that the same Leon that he was yelling about when he went out?"

"Yes, Tandin. We haven't seen him in a few months, I hope he's still-." G'kar cut him off, "He's not getting better, but he hasn't been that bad in a while."

After finishing the makeshift meal, they set off into the streets of Sigil. The air seemed tenser then usual. They all looked up, across the city they saw huge plumes of smoke rising, covering the entire Hive Ward.

"That can't be good, not at all."

"Yes Tandin, that is very bad indeed."

"I don't think so, it had to happen sooner or later. I'm glad I'm here to see it. I wonder what my fellows are doing about it."

"Probably helping it along."

"You mean the Doomguard?" Tandin asked.

"Yes Tandin, he's a Doomguard. I'm not sure how committed he is though." Kerjal mumbled the last part.

"What was that? Hey, I'm very committed. They took the time to further my sword training, I think they knew what they were doing. I don't see you rushing off into the Hive to experience the mayhem."

"Watch it. I just spent two days in a maze I didn't belong in. I think I've experienced enough mayhem. Besides, Sensates don't rush into everything, especially not foolhardily. I have a feeling we'll be going down there soon enough, especially if Leon moved."

"I don't think he'll be doing much moving."

"Where in Sigil are we going exactly?" Tandin decided he'd better change the subject before they completely forgot he was there.

"Hmm? Oh, into the Clerk's Ward." Kerjal pointed up the street. "If I remember, we'll get there if we follow this road. It's an old building, I mean, considering the city we're in."

The trio continued to walk for nearly half an hour, undisturbed by the few people they saw. Anyone that was left looked either like a fearless adventurer type or a scared rabbit. There were plenty more of the latter. The farther into the Clerk's Ward they got, the more the place looked like the Hive. They finally stopped in front of an old, razorvine covered building.

"Is this it?" Tandin blurted.

"Yes, this is it." Kerjal knocked on the door. No response. He knocked again.

"Maybe he's not here," G'kar thought aloud.

"No, he's here. Let's go in." The mage turned the knob slowly as the door let out a dull creaking noise. Light rushed into the little place, but it did little good to fill the darkness. The air from inside the house seeped out slowly as the door swung open, it felt colder then it was outside. They stepped in.

"It's like antipeak in here," the halfling protested.

"Leon doesn't need any light," Kerjal said.

"Who is this Leon, some blind berk?"

"Yes, but I can hear you fine." The voice came from nowhere, as if from one of the shadows. Startled, the trio took a sudden step back.

"Leon?" the mage lit up the room with a blast of light from his staff. "It's good to see you."

"I'd say the same, if I could." The weathered old priest stood up and felt around for his staff. "Who's that with you? It doesn't sound like G'kar, and he's too short."

"Hello Leon, I'm here also," the warrior spoke up. "The guy with us is Tandin, and you're right, he's a halfling."

"Wait a minute, how'd you know I was smaller then them? I thought you were blind. Hey Kerjal, you sure this guy is legit?"

"Show some respect, you." Leon pointed his staff at him.

"Oh, what are ya gonna do? Wheeze on me?" Tandin suddenly found himself pinned to the ceiling. "What the?"

"Oh, I neglected to mention that he wields simple spells like G'kar does his sword. And just like a guy with a sword, he gets respect." Kerjal grinned at Tandin. "This isn't the priest to mess with, and he's not that old."

"Not that old? That graybeard looks older then my great-grandmother!" Tandin was starting to get dizzy. "Now will you please let me down?" "Very well," Leon sighed, releasing the spell. Tandin fell to the floor. "And I'm thirty-one. But I know you're not here just to say hello. What do you know?"

"We're going to ask you the same thing. We've been mazed for the last couple days." The mage was glad to change the subject.

"In a maze? How'd you get out? What did you do?"

"I found something in the maze, a maze key. We didn't do anything. We'll tell you about it later, but that's not pertinent, we need to know what you know."

"A maze key.." Leon sighed, knowing that Kerjal was right before he said anything. "If you didn't do anything, it would fit what I've heard. Rumor has it the Lady's gone insane. She's floated through parts of the city, killing everything in her path. She probably mazed you due to her delirium."

"I would accept that except one thing; we weren't in Sigil when it happened. I found that something stopped the portal and dropped us in the Astral." Kerjal was pleased with his reasoning and smiled.

"The Astral? That can't be right." Leon's contradiction changed the mage's smile quickly into look of confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"The mazes are thought to be like mini demi-planes, extra-dimensional spaces, right?" He paused and the mage nodded. "Well, we know that extra-dimensional spaces exist on the Ethereal. Therefore, it couldn't've been a maze."

Tandin piped up, "Well, it looked like a maze, maybe an old one."

"How do you know what a maze looks like? Have you ever been in one? Do you know anyone that has?" Leon waited and watched a blank expression creep over the halfling's face. "I didn't think so."

"All right," the mage started, "so we weren't in a maze, so we were stopped in transit by something else."

"Yes. That's the other thing I hear. The portals have stopped working. There were very few left when the Lady supposedly snapped, so most people that could, left."

"Why didn't you go?" Kerjal wondered, but only as long as it took him to ask until he realized the answer.

"You know as well as I do that I didn't acquire all this wisdom by running from information. Besides, my portal has shut down. So have both of the one's to your houses. I've checked them all. Even the one to the castle."

There was a long pause after the last sentence. No one spoke until Tandin coughed.

"Anyways, a small army of fiends came through a portal and really messed up the Hive, I mean, more then usual. I don't know much else. If there's anything else you need to know, I'll be here."

"Thank you, let's go guys."

Tandin let out a sigh of relief. G'kar stood up and nodded, "Later Leon." Kerjal led the trio out and closed the door, plunging the place into darkness once more.

"We should head to 'Jertha's Jewelry'," Kerjal decided.

"But Leon said the portals are down, he even checked them," protested the warrior.

"We're not going to your house. Remember the box you stashed in front of the portal 'just in case'?"

"Oh, yeah. So?"

"Remember what was in it?"

"Some money, a couple of knives, a healing potion, and a small shield. And a long sword."

"And?" insinuated the mage.

Finally it hit him as he let it out in a gasp, "Our chest of war spells."

"I thought you kept spells in a book. Like, written down?"

"Not these, Tandin. We made these during the invasion of Castle Nazar. No waiting, no concentration. Just magic. Let's go."

"Wait a minute," G'kar stopped him, "we'll have to go around. Remember the invasion force?"

"No, that'll take all day."

"It's a clear day and there's no one on the streets."

"True, but we'll have to go through the Lady's Ward. I think we're better off in the Hive with a couple Tanar'ri then walking into a nest of paranoid nobles and their guards. Besides, I know you want to see the destruction, I'm curious myself."

G'kar agreed with his friend and they started walking just as Tandin brought up another alternative. "I don't think this is a very good idea. We're heading right into the fray. All you faction types may think you have it all figured out, but I'm not the guy to talk to about experiencing a tanar'ri death sword and I'd like to keep it that way. I don't see any reason to risk our lives to get these spell things anyways."

"Come on Tandin, we don't have a lot of time."

"Quiet, Doomboy. I'm not going."

G'kar shoved Tandin to the ground, "Let's leave this worm, Kerjal."

The mage looked between the two of them and finally said, "You sure, Tandin?"

The halfling dusted himself off. "Very. I can handle myself fine, without risking my life for no good reason."

"Very well." The mage turned and left to meet up with his friend who had already started to walk away.

They had only been walking for about ten minutes and were barely into the Hive when Tandin's voice came from one of the nearby sidestreets. Kerjal stopped to listen, only to be pulled along by G'kar. "Don't wait for him, he made his choice."

"I know, but that didn't sound like a halfling on a leisurely stroll. I think something's wrong." Kerjal took a step back to look down the ally, just as Tandin bolted out of the shadows.

"Help!"

"I thought you could take care of yourself," G'kar mocked.

"I can, I just can't take care of me and them!"

The mage started backing up slowly and waving away behind his back.

"What is it Kerjal?"

"Run," the tiefling said plainly.

"From what? I don't see-"

"Run!" he exclaimed as he turned to sprint down the street.

"Huh?" G'kar peered down the ally to see a whole herd of fiends bearing down on them. He decided to take Kerjal's advice. Bolting down the street, the halfling, the tiefling, and the half-elf took a sharp turn in hopes of evading the hoard. They were quickly cornered by the other half of it's forces.

"Trapped!" G'kar exclaimed.

"Well, if it's any consolation, they didn't do it on purpose. We're not a threat, so both sets of Tanar'ri got to us on accident. What I wouldn't do for a Baatezu right now."

Pinned between to forces, G'kar drew his sword. "I'm not gonna let 'em have us with out taken a few with me."

"Kerjal, don't you have a spell or something to get us out of here?" Tandin screeched desperately.

"No! I left all those in favor of better combat spells." Suddenly an idea struck him. "G'kar, remember how I said I wasn't done reading all the spells contained in my staff because they all have their own unusual quirks?"

"Yeah," he replied, readying himself for his ultimate battle.

"I might have some kind of teleport, but I'm not sure."

"GET US OUT OF HERE!" G'kar hollered.

"Right!" the mage concentrated all his know-how and magical activation powers into one spot. The crystal in the tip of the staff flashed. The Tanar'ri stood alone.

Lower Ward, Sigil
Peak, Day Three
**[by Matt Oostman]**

G'kar stood, sword bared, same as he had a moment before. He looked around. From the little light there was, he saw he was in an ally, smaller then the last one, and no tanar'ri. There was a thick smog in the air, but as far as he knew, he was still in the Hive. Not far to his left there was a large pile of trash clogging a gutter in the street. Unable to see very far the other direction, he headed toward the street.

Nick Tanner had spent the entire morning sharpening his knives and making preparations to hunt down some more food supplies. Or at least, that's what he kept telling himself was the reason he had stayed holed up in his shop for this long. But with the day half gone, Nick finally had to admit the truth to himself: "Face, Tanner. You're nothing but a scared rabbit. But even a rabbit can fight when cornered. Now get out there and do something for yourself!"

Brave words. He might have believed them on a normal day. But, the words had been said and now he had to act on them. He took a deep breath, worked up his nerve, then grabbed his freshly sharpened knives, and left, making only one stop to assure his shop still existed entirely. Looking over it quickly, his attention was drawn away by a sound in the ally. There was a short flash of light followed by a short gust of wind. He listened more closely, but the only sound he heard was that of a small fire. He sniffed the air and immediately regretted it. The air was foul this morning. Then it came to him. A torch. Someone was planning to burn down his shop!

Ready to defend his home he jumped around the corner with a knife in each hand, ready for anything. Directly in front of him stood what looked like one of the mercenaries the Tanar'ri force brought with them. It was holding a flaming scimitar over it's shoulder, ready to swing. Nick didn't stop to ask who he was, he darted at him, too close to swing such a sword, but perfect for a knife. Swinging a short arc at chest height, he caught the warrior across the left arm just as he retaliated by slamming Nick into the wall with his shield. Dazed, he looked up at the guy who had pinned him. He looked half elf, half orc. He brought his scimitar to the ground between Nick's feet and growled into his face, "Where am I?"

"Sigil," Nick gasped, "Wasted Day's Alley."

"What Ward?" demanded his captor.

"Lower," he squeaked.

"Good. Now, who are you and why'd you nick me?"

"I'm, um, Nick Tanner, and you came at me with a sword."

"I did not attack you. If I attacked you, you'd have a lot less limbs." The brute released him.

Nick thought for a moment that they might be in the same predicament, the warrior might just better equipped for the job. "Hey," Nick asked, "you're not perchance looking for food, are you?"

"I don't need food, I have some. Now get out of my way, I need to be somewhere else."

"Can I get some? Where is it? I'll get it myself."

"No. I'd have to show you the way. You wouldn't want to go there anyway, you'd have to go through the Hive."

"I see. If you didn't want to share it you could just say that."

G'kar knew if he was going to get to the gem cutters to meet Kerjal, he'd have to get rid of this guy. "Here," he threw Nick a hunk of the bread in one of his pouches, "Now I need to leave." The warrior trotted past the trash heap and down the road.

Lady's Ward, Sigil
Peak, Day Two
**[by Matt Oostman]**

Kerjal appeared in the middle of an elaborate house. From the look of it, he was in the Lady's Ward, or at least in a better place in the Market. He took a quick glance around. Nice furniture, a few paintings, a full silver set. He made note of anything of entrance, then checked the kitchen for remaining food. There was little to eat, and anything left was spoiled. He jaunted out through the back door, hoping to avoid any remaining members of the nearby society. Every once in a while he caught a glimpse of the interiors of one the houses that wasn't boarded up. There seemed to be more people in this part of town, mostly barricaded within their homes. He actually saw some Dabus and Harmonium patrols, scouting out the more troubled parts of this ward. He made a turn onto a street he knew better and decided to change his route. At the top of the street there was an enormous wall being constructed. Apparently the residents of the Lady's Ward were as paranoid as he thought they'd be. He decided to take an alternative route instead of being questioned by the Harmonium guard that stood at the wall.

Somewhere in Sigil
Peak, Day Two
**[by Matt Oostman]**

Bright flash. Friends gone.

He looked around and felt for the link that connected him with Kerjal.

Alone. One mind. No friends. Find him.

He scurried down the street, avoiding piles of trash and things rotting in the gutters. Rodents often made their home in the Hive, but this ferret planned to seek out the mage at all costs. He started to get weaker due to separation anxiety that mages and their familiars went through when they were so far apart.

Need go faster. Tired. The ferret's thought was followed by the sound of squeaking wheels. One of the Dustmen's body carts was bearing down on him at a rather uncomfortable rate. He quickly jumped and scampered up it's side as it rushed by. He sat among the fresh dead and caught a quick ride to the city morgue, where he got off and continued on his journey.

Lower Ward, Sigil
Early Afternoon, Day Two
**[by Matt Oostman]**

G'kar sat in front of Jertha's Jewelry, exhausted from running through the entire Lower Ward. Something grabbed his shoulder and he spun around, ready slaughter whatever had sneaked up on him. Tandin stood there like he had been there the entire time. "Holy Hells! You trying to kill me, berk? How'd you find this place?"

"Well, I knew that finding a gemcutter's in the Lower would be like finding a Sensate at a Xaositect party. So, I started wandering. Turns out I showed up just down the street. Hey, is that a rat on your boot?"

"What?" G'kar looked down, ready to kick whatever vermin lurked there.

"No, that's my ferret," a familiar sounding voice called. Walking up behind them was Kerjal. He picked up the rodent and placed it on his shoulder. "There. Now is everyone all right? We all got here in one piece? Good. Now let's get to work."

"We're gonna need shovels," the warrior said.

"There's an equipment shop down the street. It's abandoned so I don't think anyone'll mind if we borrow a few things. G'kar, you take care of the door. Tandin, you take care of the borrowing. I believe that's your specialty, isn't it?"

"Yeah, fine. Let's go"

The pair walked up to the wooden shop. G'kar grinned. "This will be a snap." The large warrior planted himself on the ground, then planted his feet through the door. Tandin rushed in and started picking through the tools and utensils he found. He grabbed three shovels and they returned to the shop. Upon their return they noticed Kerjal on the ground with a small talisman.

"What are you doing?" asked the halfling.

"Well," the mage said up to them, "It's been a while since we buried the box. So I decided we'd best be sure where it was before we try digging into the foundation of a building." The talisman started glowing. "Dig here."

The trio each took a shovel and began in. It wasn't easy to get through the well worn soil that covered the area over the box, and before long they began to tire. G'kar had long since dropped his cloak next to Kerjal's robes and just know pulled of his shirt. Tandin was taking "a short break" and watching the other two do all the work. Suddenly they hit something. "This must be it," the mage panted. The warrior dropped to his knees to brush of the box and found the handle. Calling the others to help him, the trio unearthed the container. Kerjal cracked it open. Sifting through the other things in it, he pulled out a small platinum chest.

"The box." G'kar smiled.

"Yes, get out your key." The mage pulled out a piece of a gold coin. G'kar handed his half to him. He linked the two together and dropped it on top of the lock. It popped open with a flash of blue light. Opening the lid, he shielded his eyes from the burst of colors that accompanied it. Reaching out, beckoning them in, were the globes of swirling magic. He wrapped his fingers around one. It was warm to his touch. He held it up, showing it to Tandin. The halfling put out his palm. He very carefully handed it over, continuing to watch it's patterns.

"Have you ever held raw magic?" the mage spoke, still in awe of the things he had created so many years ago.

"No," the wide-eyed thief replied, "what does it do?"

"I'm not sure any more. There are four attack spheres, four defense. One for each element. We had to travel to the Elemental Planes themselves to get enough energy in one spot." The mage gently took it back from Tandin. "G'kar, we should probably take the entire chest, that way they wont get knocked around."

"Right." G'kar grabbed the chest and tied it above the flap on his backpack. Trio decided to leave the hole mostly unfilled, they hadn't the energy at the moment to do anything about it. They walked off in search of a place they might find something better to drink and to fill up their food and water supply.

Mindspider's Lair, Sigil
Late Morning, Day Two
**[by Shelaam]**

Mertian settled into his throne, freshly washed and robed, and sipped on a cool glass of Guvanian punch, made from the juices of three rare fruits. In his other hand, he toyed with the golden mimir while he let his mind relax, purging doubts and fears that plagued even one as mighty as he.

- The short rest was well needed. I have not felt so weary in aeons -
- Though it seems matters are getting even further out of control. Can we possibly thwart this threat? -
- Of course. But first we need... more information. -

Operating the gleaming bone box, Mertian held it to his mouth.

"Material information concerning the identity of the invaders is as follows:

"One: Fiends from all of the lower planes have been convinced to invade Sigil, for reasons currently unknown. Combined with citizens forced into the open in search of food, this has resulted in immense loss of life and destruction, seemingly centred in the Lower and Hive Ward areas. This suggests that our enemy has far reaching influence and extremely subtle planning.

"Two: Our information network has been systematically destroyed, so that now the few surviving agents are all within the bounds of Sigil, and for the most part contactable only with some difficulty. The two remaining linked to the mindspider, Sabrilla and Tandin, have both narrowly escaped destruction by fiends, and as only Rimlani know of the existence of this project, one must surmise that our enemy has great psionic power and has sensed and infiltrated the spider's web. A trap has, therefore, been prepared, and appropriate precautions taken.

"Three: The invader has, to all appearances, usurped the Lady of Pain's control. This is evidenced by the apparent fact that only invading fiends can gain egress from the portals. This is most disturbing as it suggests that our enemy has achieved where even deities have failed, and thus is a being or several beings of great might."

Mertian paused.

- Hmmm ... the indomitable Lady, what has become of her? -
- Perhaps she has finally met her match -
- Either that, or - here Mertian allowed himself an inner smile - something else. It is time to set our favorite hound to work again -

Holding up the mimir once again, he said,

"The Lady of Pain, guardian of Sigil, has apparently lost control of the city and stalks the streets near the conflict slaying all in her path. Possible reasons for this behavior are:

"One: The Lady has been dominated by the invader, and is being used to further its destructive cause;

"Two: The Lady has had control of the city and its portals wrenched from her grasp, and savagely releases her fury.

After thinking for a moment, he continued.

"Three: ...

The Civic Festhall, Sigil
Peak, Day Two
**[by Shelaam]**

Cray was flying, floating in complete darkness, yet somehow he knew he was in an immense tunnel, infinitely long. A screaming hurricane rushed him along, causing his hair to writhe like Sabrilla's and buffetting all thought from his mind, save for the occasional urge to cluck like a chicken. Ahh... Pandemonium. Such peace. Never have to see another soul...

Cray's musings were abruptly cut off as he smashed into the the wall of the tunnel headfirst, causing him excruciating pain. As he lay, curled with his head in his hands, it gradually dawned upon him that his beloved winds had disappeared and he was surrounded by a soft nimbus of light. As the pain died down, he opened his eyes to see the light was coming from a small golden pyramid, spinning gently in the air in front of his face.

"Cluck?" he said tentatively.

The pyramid replied in an all too familiar voice which made Cray's face contort into a vicious scowl.

"SORRY TO INTERRUPT YOU PLEASANT DREAM, MY FRIEND, BUT THE WAKING WORLD MOVES ON, AND THERE IS MUCH TO DO. YOUR ASSISTANCE WOULD BE APPRECIATED - YOUR COMPLETION OF THE LAST TASK WAS, I MUST SAY, SPLENDID."

Cray carefully weighed the satisfaction he would gain from tossing a few carefully chosen profanities concerning his master's lineage and personal habits against the potential pain to his still throbbing head, and decided against it.

"What do you want," he asked in a deadpan monotone.

"LISTEN CLOSELY - THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT ...

Bliss was roused from his sleep by the faint creak of a door opening. Somewhat surprisingly, whoever it was shielded their mind from him, and his eyes flew open.

*Not so fast, Bleaker. You're not leaving without me, and taking the dark of why you've hauled us around Sigil all night with you.*

Cray was standing at the door, obviously ready to slink out.

"No, Bliss. What I have to do now is too dangerous, and you've been through enough already for my sake. Besides, what I _do_ know is more likely to confuse you than anything."

*Danger is a part of life, my friend, and facing and overcoming one's fears is an important step along the road to perfection*

"So where're we off ta, Guv?" Harpsichord's voice rang from across the room, where she and Delva were getting their belongings, such that they were, together.

Cray sighed. "Lower Ward. I know the nearest shortcut portal".

Avenue of Reorx Breath, Lower Ward
Early Afternoon
**[by Shelaam]**

The long causeway of Reorx Breath was a twisting affair so named by a prime dwarf who had set up shop here, like so many others, in the steelworking heart of Sigil. Normally crowded with fumes from the forges and the hustle and bustle of the finest ironmongers in the multiverse, the avenue was deserted save for the ash raining like sinister snowflakes from some nearby fire and the bodies littering the streets.

"She's bin 'ere right lately, Guv," Harpsichord crowed at Clay in her own, unique dialect. "This deader's still warm, 'n spite o the fact he looks like he jus' went in the wrong door of Osmonder's Meat Mart."

"Good. Keep your eyes open. We're looking to find something to explain why our Lady's writing so many sods into the dead-book," Cray said, and muttered to himself, "and then I can move to Carceri and get a nice safe job as a gehreleth dentist."

The foursome cautiously proceeded down the side of the street, taking cover under the eaves of shops and making ready to duck into any of them which weren't boarded up at the slightest hint of trouble. Examining the bodies of the unfortunates in the street did little to ease the nervous consensus of paranoia, the corpses all looking as if they had had a dozen scimitars for morning tea.

Suddenly Bliss' head snapped up.

*I sense a presence, very powerful, but dying quickly*

Before anyone could gainsay her, Harpsichord was off. "Stays yerselfs put, good masters, 'n' ol Harpsichord 'll bring back the chant."

She moved with exaggerated 'sneaky' motions, as if she'd learned how to move stealthily from the theatre, but Cray found that if he wasn't concentrating on her, his eyes seemed to slip past her as if she had some sort of weird grease on. Cray sighed and wondered whether the Greek Gods would ever realise the pointlessness of such melodrama.

Harpsichord was soon back. "I saw nothin' that ain't had a hobnob with Hades yet, but one o' the deaders up here sure does look right strange."

Cray had seen some strange creatures in his trip round the Great Ring, and this one probably fell into the "rather surprised that it crawled out of the swamp" category. About two or three feet long and the same high, the thing looked rather much like a large crab, with a matte black shell and a half dozen appendages of the same color, plus a pair of antennae and eyes on stalks.

"You sure this was the thing, Bliss. Looks like some kind of exotic pet for one of those snob-nobs in the Lady's Ward."

*Oh, yes. Definitely sentient, with some psionic powers. I can feel lingering resonances dying even now. The strangest thing, though - as it was dying, it felt like it had a great amount of power, more than myself easily, which was abruptly cut off. That shouldn't happen - the energy should gradually fade as the brain dies. Believe me, I should know*

"Er, yes," said Cray, somewhat uncomfortably trying not to broach the topic of the illithid's diet.

"No blademarks," said Delva quietly. Cray looked her up and down and realised that she'd been withdrawn since waking and that her pallor was a little pale - but now was not the time to be worrying over a bit of a cold or other bug. Glancing back at the 'crab' which Harpsichord was unceremoniously prodding with her staff, he observed, "you're right, Delva. I don't think the Lady killed this, what ever it is. Anyone seen a critter like this before?"

They all shook their heads, then Bliss looked up.

*But I bet you a bag of jink to a stinger I know someone who has*

The Mortuary, Hive Ward
Mid-Afternoon, Day Two
**[by Shelaam]**

"... and so, 187 feeling unready to advance to True Death at this current time, I hiked up my skirts and fled back here, a howling mob of cretins snapping at my heels. While many of the guards were off trying to find where all of the Collectors' wagons had got to, there were enough left to hold off my assailants. Whereby, I came back here, barring the door behind me, only to find you engaged in that ridiculous sculpture you call 'art'."

If modrons could blush, 187 did so, and scraped its feet in the dust. Pathosis sighed and leaned back in his chair, taking a long draught from a mug of coffee from the dusty plains of Thanatos. It was a long standing joke that Thanatosan coffee had a kick that could wake the Dead, and Pathosis figured that, with the hours he worked, it was wise to keep a decent stock of it. Now, with there being little other food to be found around the Mortuary, his eyes were literally bulging out of there sockets. Thus it was that the loud bang on the barred door caused him to jump from his chair, spilling his drink all over himself and 187 in the process.

"Sod off, you murdering bastards!" he cried, "we've top shelf magic in here, so don't force us to use it!"

*It's Bliss, Pathosis. Open up*

Grabbing a scalpel just in case, Pathosis suspiciously slid back the bars and the illithid, trailed by his companions traipsed into Pathosis' dissection room (or, as he affectionately referred to it, the Workshop). The surgeon took his measure of the quartet, all covered in ash and Bliss sporting a green tinged bloodstain through a ragged slice in his robe.

"Not looking quite as chirpy as last time we met, my tentacled friend," quipped Pathosis, indicating for them to sit with a wave of his hand.

*Pike it, berk,* came the reply in a mental growl ,*you're not looking like an incubus yourself. We had a bit of trouble getting here. In case you haven't noticed, there's a sodding war going on at your doorstep, so you can probably figure that we didn't drop it for scones and tea.*

Regaining his composure, whilst berating himself for losing his temper, Bliss made the introductions and told Pathosis his reason for the visit, pointing at the crablike corpse lying on a magical disk of force, courtesy of Delva.

"Hmm," mused Pathosis, and his pallid, balding face brightened considerably as he pointed towards the dissection table. "If I may?" Clay began to consider which wing of the Gatehouse he would be best interred in, before giving away the idea as futile; the entire Dustman faction probably needed to move its headquarters to their own wing of the Bleakhouse.

For some half an hour Pathosis worked on the creature with an assortment of implements that suggested that asking what he did in his spare time would be unwise. Finally, he released a cry of triumph and the others crowded around the grisly bench.

Pointing to various parts of the thing, the surgeon gave a brief explanation of his discoveries, instructing his clockwork lackey to take notes.

"This," he said, pointing to the black carapice, "is not so much a shell as an exoskeleton. If you will look inside, you will see that what it is covering is almost entirely cerebral - that is BRAIN - matter. In fact, the creature's muscular structure is extremely simple and limited, but the brain is substantially larger than a human's."

*That would account for my sensation of psionic powers from it, I suppose.*

"Perhaps," continued the surgeon, relishing the opportunity to give a lecture. "What REALLY satisfied me was this," he said, rolling the thing over and pointing to a jagged structure on the bottom of its belly.

"Looks like a kind of mouth," murmured Cray.

*My guess is that we've found our prime suspect in the orc murder case*

"Not just the orc, my friend, but almost fifty others I have seen so far in the past couple of days - though no Collectors have returned for several hours, strangely enough. But yes, I believe you are right. Near the mouth was a type of stomach where I found a fresh human brain. Perhaps a distant cousin of yours, Bliss?"

The illithid let that one pass.

"What killed the thing?" asked Delva from behind the others.

"This." Pathosis carefully held a gleaming object up to the light. It was a blade, about an inch long and obviously razor sharp. "There are about a dozen of these lodged within the brain. They seem to have shredded the lining of its stomach, then worked unevenly through its body, no doubt killing it swiftly. Despite my great experience with fatal blade wounds, I apologise for the fact that I have no idea how this little blighter was killed."

"So you've never seen one of these before?" queried Cray.

"Sorry to say, but no, though the experience has been most fascinating". The surgeon's eyes had once again taken on a somewhat worrying glaze.

"I think I know someone who might have," said Delva, softly. Clay realised her pallor was more noticeable, and resolved to get her to rest as soon as possible. "An old acquaintance of mine, a Guvner. Lives in the Lady's Ward."

*We'll take our leave of you, then, my friend. Thank you for you assistance* Bliss shook his hand, knowing that, whatever else you might say about them, one thing Dustmen weren't was squeamish.

As they left the Mortuary, Cray asked "Bliss, how is it that you know that character?"

*Oh we're well acquainted. On the side he makes a bit of jink selling wholesale...* Bliss abruptly cut off *well, , yes. Let's just say I know him well.*

Mindspider's Lair, Sigil
Mid-Afternoon, Day Two
**[by Yingzhi Zhang]**

Mertian stood before his crystal globe, his golden eyes gazing deep into its depths. He had finally seen the face of his enemy, and it was as alien as anything he had ever encountered. Given his millenia-spanning lifetime, that was a difficult feat to accomplish. Yet, there was something familiar about them, something Mertian felt he should remember, but just couldn't. The creatures' plan was well-organized and well-thought out - possessive of an intelligence that belied their alien appearance. Mertian tapped his chin lightly with his four-fingered hand. However, the creature would likely not have been seen had it not been killed. The method of death seemed fairly obvious - the creature had apparently eaten a brain filled with blades. Since its apparent intelligence suggested it wouldn't run around trying to eat bladelings, Mertian suspected someone was behind its death. Mertian frowned. Where had he seen the creature before?

Suddenly, there was a rush of cold air as the candles and even the magical lighting went dark. There was a burst of black energy, and a hollow crackling as sizzling ebony shards danced across the floor. With a sound like the groaning of a thousand worlds, an ominous presence filled the room.

"Hello Mertian," the voice was quiet, somber, completely alien in its dark majesty. A dozen pained memories flooded Mertian's mind, and he didn't have to turn around to recognize the voice.

"It's you, I might have known it was you," Mertian replied quietly, "This could only have been your work."

"I must admit, your pawns came as something of a surprise to me," the other replied, "They are no match for mine, but they certainly have a chance. Cray in particular...."

"Why did you choose to reveal yourself now?" Mertian asked.

"You saw those that are mine," the other replied, "It would not have taken you very long to recall."

"Perhaps..." Mertian paused, "You cannot possibly win."

"Oh? What makes you think that?"

"Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," Mertian replied, "The Rilmani will stop you, as we did before."

The other laughed hollowly. When he finished, his voice had become hard and cold, "I think not, Mertian. I have nearly taken Sigil. The fiends are well under control, even the bringers of chaos, though they may not know it. I might add that your forces are doing little to stop me and mine. The Lady herself has been taken care of as well. That leaves you with fairly few choices, Mertian. Once Sigil is conquered, you can watch your pathetic little multiverse crumble into dust..."

With more chillingly hollow laughter, the other vanished.

Lower Ward, Sigil
Mid-Afternoon, Day Two
**[by Yingzhi Zhang]**

Delva led Cray and the other around a short corner, through some winding, twisting alleyways that belonged more in the Mazes than in Sigil (but then again, Cray considered, perhaps that was altogether appropriate). The sky was raining dust and ashes, and the air was furiously hot, almost like standing next to a bonfire.

CRAY, YOU MUST HURRY! the voice of his master burst into his head like an exploding fireball. Cray dropped to his knees, clutching at his head as Bliss suddenly recoiled at the explosion of enormous psionic power.

THERE IS NO TIME TO LOSE, CRAY. HURRY TO THE LADY's WARD. SOMEONE WILL MEET YOU THERE. His master's voice vanished as abruptly as it appeared.

Cray considered the words. There was an uncharacteristic urgency to his master's words, even a faint overtone of anxiety. As much as he would have like to gloat at his self-righteousness finally being cut short, Cray found the apparent anxiety in his voice more disturbing than anything else that had happened in the past two days. He shakingly started to get up from the floor.

"Cray, what in the Nine Hells was that?" Bliss asked, stooping to help him up.

Cray stared at Bliss a moment, "We have to get to the Lady's Ward, quickly. I'll explain on the way there."

Mindspider's Lair, Sigil
Mid-Afternoon, Day Two
**[by Yingzhi Zhang]**

Mertian opened his eyes. He hadn't intended Cray to detect the anxiety in his voice. However, given the depth of the situation, it didn't really matter. He had to consult with the others. The situation had become too enormous for him make decisions himself. First, however...

Mertian took out the universal portal key, and used it to draw a sizzling green portal into the infinite reaches of the Elemental Planes. Stepping through, he found himself floating in the middle of an endless nothing, an infinitely large expanse where nothing, no light, no matter, no sound, could be detected. The silence of the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Vacuum greeted him.

Mertian slowly (or perhaps it was with a speed undetectable by mortal eyes) floated through the void, to a place so far into the depths of the plane only the Rilmani knew where it was. There, a small crystalline box hovered in the darkness, giving off a radiance only Rilmani eyes could see. Inside the box sat a small skull-like object. The mimir used to be golden, but the passing of a billion billion millenia had tarnished its surface, leaving it a crusty black color.

The skull regarded Mertian calmly as he took it out of the its containment, and its eyes began glowing with a light green flame as he tried to recall memories from so long ago that time had no meaning, from when the multiverse was still young and the first powers were on their rise. The impressions were smoky, hazy and indistinct at best. He caught glimpses of a betrayal, and a clash of wills. Of a titanic battle that had left one plane in ruins and another spiralling into infinite oblivion. Abruptly, the impressions ended, and Mertian stared at the ruined husk of a mimir he held in his hands. Thing were worse than he had thought.

Much worse....

Day 2, Mid-Afternoon
The Barbed Tail, Lower Ward
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Sabrilla sighed into her 4th Slaadi Surprise. She'd spent half the day here, reliving bad memories and thinking about old debts. Cantha hadn't shown up for either the second or third shifts, and if she didn't stop in by the fourth one, the night shift, Sabrilla would try and reach her some other day.

She'd already had to give one overeager patron 'the stare' and Reznol now had a new lawn jockey to prop open the door with. Stupid tiefling mercenary. She'd warned him she wasn't on the menu, and that if he made one more 'stoner-boner' joke again, she'd show him how hard he could really get.

Now he knew.

But she wasn't about to wait for night to fall, when the real bad-bloods tended to hit the place. She'd always hated the night shift, and there were some memories that didn't need to be relived too vividly.

Art, she'd told the deva. Hah! Oh yes, she'd certainly practiced 'art' here; the art of survival. It wasn't until Cantha gave her every green she owned that she'd gotten away from this hellhole and actually done a little of what she'd set out to do before she'd been swallowed by Sigil's uncaring streets.

To make matters worse, Durthelaxus and Uriel had returned a couple of hours ago to wait with her, bringing news of the Fist's conquest by hordelings. Her hair hissed from the headache they gave her. She slugged down half the drink in disgust and wondered at the repair costs. She'd be blinded if she let another Dabus touch her case after all the trouble they'd brought her now, free patch work or not.

Durthelaxus was still whining about the loss of his wing and hand. Almost as much as he was whining about Uriel's agreement with this new fellow they'd brought with them, this Stefan. He was in the Fist yesterday, Sabrilla recalled, another adventurer by the look of him.

Draped in more spelunking tools than a dwarf, munching iron rations from his pack, and bristling with weapons, Stefan's squat form shouted 'expert treasure hunter' to her experienced eye. And she had seen him fiddling with that little mirror when he thought she wasn't looking. Adventurers! Pfah! He was here only because he'd forced the mephit to cut him in on whatever reward the biter was expecting from Cantha. Apparently, he'd saved the dustball's life and forced his pet deva to agree that the two of them would repay the favor with some big jink.

No one in this town did anything without a hefty garnish. No one. Except Cantha.

Sabrilla'd never understood the fallen deva's generosity, and it galled her to this day. She toyed with the spider pendant hanging between her breasts that Cantha had given her, and finished her Surprise. Where was the flame-winged tart?

"Reznol," she said, "Give me another. Make it a double. And if it makes me drunk enough, I might answer your question from this morning." Reznol shrugged and went to mix the drink. Sabrilla thought to herself, "Some things never end, Reznol, never."

Day 2, Late Afternoon
The Mindspider's Lair
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Mertian's golden form stepped back into his lair, shedding the Void behind it with a pulsing glow. A violent wind blew through his immaculate chambers, sweeping the shards of the corrupted crystal ball around his legs and into the great vacuum beyond. The gate snapped shut before anything of importance blew over.

"Well, there's nothing of true importance here any more," Mertian thought.

"The web is tainted, the mimirs are tainted, and given the foe I'm facing, my pets have probably been beguiled."

"It's time to end this phase of my existence; it's time to move."

He decisively and methodically started opening doors and loosening fixtures. If the Lair was lost, then at least its destruction would serve a purpose, as everything in Mertian's life did.

Mertian rarely engaged in self-analyzation, but a slight smile graced his features as he did so now. He realized that Cray irritated him terribly because Bleaker Cray served No Purpose, no matter how hard Mertian bent him to the task at hand. Well, now he'd have a Purpose in life! If Cray completed this next task, his name would go down in Sigil's annals as one of the mightiest bloods the city had ever seen. Mertian's name, as ever, would remain dark, as was meant to be.

Mertian then went from portal to portal within his lair, expending precious bursts of energy from the universal portal-key as he opened them all and then used the key's rare powers to keep them open. There were a lot of portals, and the key lay almost exhausted in his hand when he reached the Library. Enough for one final opening, of course, but Mertian would be long gone when that happened.

Mertian strode into his library of skulls and stared hard at it. More history in one place than the Guvners had compiled in a dozen, nay, a hundred of their archives. But it would have to be sacrificed as well. He closed his eyes and chanted "Nothing is permanent. The Task is all. We are Rilmani." Then he set to loosening the shelving from the walls.

As he broke the shelves' moorings, he discovered how some of his secrets had been lost. Behind the shelves lay a tunnel, now refilled with dirt and debris. Someone had gained access to his journal, and had been using his own methods against him.

"But how could they read it?" he thought. "The mimirs are locked. Only I can make them speak." He examined the backs of the silvery skulls closely. The dust on many was disturbed, showing signs that the thief had been at least initially frustrated. But then Mertian found the brain-boxes whose lids were broken. Holes had been chewed through the backs of dozens of the mimirs, in the same way that holes had been chewed so recently in the skulls of Sigilians in the streets beyond. These holes were smaller, more precise, and not visible from the front. But they were inarguably the same incision made by the creatures now feeding sporadically on Sigil's populace.

Mertian sighed and cursed himself for allowing such a lapse.

At least all three of his foes had revealed themselves. The price had been high, but the knowledge was critical. Puppets being manipulated by puppets, themselves manipulated from on high by the master marionetteer.

The fiends could be dealt with by others. The factions should be addressing that issue right now, if the factols weren't still rattling their bone-boxes over at the Twelve Factols Tavern. He had been surprised to see Karan there, but the githzerai's presence certainly wasn't going to expedite a decision.

The Neh-thalggu were another level of problem, one that was going to require a three-pronged attack by specially trained agents. A group of assassins needed to be set to hunting down the few that were here in Sigil, to hinder their efforts here. Another party needed to be assembled who could actually carry the battle to them on their distant plane. Lastly, some daring souls would have to find out what they were doing to the Lady and her portals. And that could no longer be Cray, because he was needed to fight the third foe, the one that had been so nearly impossible to defeat the last time.

Shekelor's Prize. The one being that had almost taken the City before. The one who had slain Mertian's predecessor as Sigil's ultimate guardian.

Mertian despised the 'higher' beings of the 'ascendant' planes. The mercurials of Beldaari. The diaboli of the Nightmare Realm. (And now the Neh-thalggu, from the same plane) Whenever one of them decided to descend to the Great Ring, it was always for the purpose of conquest. It seemed to be built into them, like hate in a fiend.

Perhaps that was unfair. Perhaps it was only the ones who were so disturbed as to be interested in the 'lower realities' of the Outer Planes who displayed the tendency towards megalomania. Mertian had met a diabolus or two who had thought that 'lesser beings' were merely repulsive, and unworthy of conquest.

But the worst of the lot by far were the forces residing beyond even the metaphysical horizons of the ascendant planes. Whenever anything found its way down from the far-removed Transcendent Realm, the Balance was subverted. They overthrew everything the Rilmani worked towards, just by existing here. They could no more avoid disrupting the equilibrium than a maelephant sitting on a child's teeter-totter.

The images from the ancient mimir of the Void played through Mertian's mind again. He shivered. The Great Ring wobbled enough in its orbit with Pandemonium and the Abyss as damaged as they were. Another war like the last one which a Transcendent being caused might throw the Ring off kilter completely.

The gate had to be barred, whatever the cost. Sigil must not fall. I will not fail.

With these thoughts, Mertian finished preparing his library for its fall. He gathered up the sole mimir that had never sat on the shelves, the gold one he was now dictating his war journal into, and swept out of the room. Had he looked back, which he never did, he would have seen the glint of silver eye-sockets staring at him accusingly.

Day 2, Late Afternoon
Tanner's Lane & Wasted Day's Alley
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Nick Tanner sat in the shelter of the Skinned Razor and stared down the alley at the place where that strange half-elf had appeared. He'd been doing that off and on for hours now, trying to shake the conflicting feelings running around within him. Something continued to twinkle down where that warrior had popped out of nowhere, and it drew his eyes continually, clamoring for his attention.

Something dangerous, undoubtedly. Nick wrenched his gaze from the sparkling glow and returned to the task at hand, cutting up enough chicken meat to dry and keep for the next week or so.

Mort's departure had been a power's gift to Nick. (along with his chickens) Mort'd just scarpered right off, babbling about the Doomguard giving away weapons and how he was gonna get himself a 'big'un' to defend his case with. The berk must have gotten more than a touch of the willies that had skinned across Nick's nerves this morning.

What had Nick been thinking, running off with his knives in hand like some clueless addle-cove? He had been sodding lucky that half-elf basher hadn't just taken his head off with his big, burning chiv. Something similar must've happened to Mort, but Mort apparently hadn't been so lucky. He hadn't come back yet, and well, like the Fated always said, "Possession is better than the law." Those chickens would've starved to death in another week or so anyway. Nick was doing them a favor, taking care of them like this.

Nick set out the latest batch to cure for a while and thought some more. His eyes wandered back to the glittering thing laying at the alley's end. Visions of flaming scimitars filled his memory.

After he had cut the man, he'd actually had the audacity to ask for food! "Nick my boy," he told himself, "you've got to find better ways to scan the chant. Slicing bashers with big blades just ain't the way to go about learning the dark of what's happening." What amazed Nick the most was that the cutter had given him a loaf of bread.

He must have either been extremely new in town, or extremely rich. He didn't sound clueless though. Maybe he worked for Jertha? She was the richest blood on the block, that was sure as Sigil. She'd probably have lots of food and drink hoarded away; everyone knew the high-ups were like that.

And if that cutter was generous enough to just give bread away to anyone, why, what might he do if you'd got on his good side? Sure, he looked a bit froungy, but homeliness was common as chalk dust in the lower ward. Nick'd seen his share.

After another few minutes of dithering, Nick made up his mind. He'd go give that blood the glowing thing-um-jiggy he'd dropped in the alley there, and get in good with Jertha. Even if she wasn't as grateful as her minders, she might still be willing to trade some bread for a bit of chicken-jerky.

So Nick started stuffing his few meager belongings into a sack, including his dabus cards (funny thing that, he thought - haven't seen a Lady-in-Waiting all day today) and his most important tanning equipment. He added the chicken meat he'd cured and of course, his lucky everburning candles, that he lit every night before going to sleep. No one was going to catch him out the way he'd caught Mort!

Then he started shutting down the Razor for the day. It bothered him immensely to close his shop before nightfall, when he'd always waited at least an hour after night to lock up normally. His routines had all been blown straight to the whistles, though. No matter how comforting it was to tuck your case in around you the same way every day, you couldn't do that when all the cases around yours were falling apart. A man had to keep his eyes peeled for danger, or else he'd get peeled even worse.

Once he was sure the stall was sealed tightly, Nick set off down the alley. He cinched his sack into a leather strap across his shoulders and clutched his knives tightly in both hands.

Nick crept up to alley's dead end. The flickering there turned out to be coming from some gem-like object.

Nick was no wizard, and had never even heard of spell-crystals. But he knew he wasn't going to just touch something that looked like it was on fire. He sheathed his knives and rustled around in his sack until he found his tongs. Then, sweating a little, he bent over and plucked the glowing gem-thing from the soot that was slowly filming its surface.

Nick stared. This close, the gem was even more fascinating than it had been an alley's length away. And it seemed to be cold. Nick decided it couldn't be too dangerous to hold, or at least not as dangerous as walking around unarmed would be. So he plucked it from the tongs, making ready to hide it in his sack and free his hands for fighting. That half-elf cutter would be surprised to get his sparkler back, almost as surprised as Nick had been when that dabus cursed at him yesterday.

But as it turned out, G'kar was not nearly as surprised as Nick was. The flickering remnant of Kerjal's odd transport spell flared into life when Nick's hand touched it, teleporting him as best it could to the place Nick had pictured in his mind at that moment.

A dabus' funeral chamber.

Day 2, Late Afternoon
The Twelve Factols, Lady's Ward
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

The Watcher crouched patiently in the catacombs under the Twelve Factols tavern, as his targets argued in their funeral chamber. Twelve Factols Hall they had gathered in, the Hall that had given the tavern its name. All these high-up men in one place, and none of them knew how close to death they were. They just wagged their bone-boxes on and on, dragging this meeting out across the hours of the day. Well, in another few minutes, the hungry stoneworms he'd set to their task in the supports of the ceiling would finally bring the meeting to a thunderous close.

The next-door Storm Hall of the labyrinthine underground pub was better known for the resounding clangor of the Ysgardians that caroused there. Soon, it would ring to the thunder of Twelve Factols Hall's collapse. Sigil would soon be missing twelve live factols in addition to the historic twelve statues of the factols who had once gathered here to appeal to the Lady for aid.

The watcher loved the taste of irony. It smacked of balance and justice, but most of all he savored its delicious tang of triumph.

Mertian had hoped to gain the co-operation of the factions by showing them the danger they were in. How foolish! All they'd done was argue once he left them to their own devices.

Oh, they'd listened raptly at peak when he appeared in his golden glory, wrapped in armor a thousand years unused. They'd nodded and concurred when he warned them of impending doom, enthralled by his presence. They'd all agreed to muster the defense of the city against the fiends, to co-operate in watching the portals and to prepare for evacuation if the need came.

Three simple tasks, requiring naught but the union of purpose and power. Rilmani faced with a similar decision would have already repelled the invaders. But only Factol Rhys had understood. She left the moment Mertian had finished speaking, and thus had unknowingly saved herself from a crushing fate.

The Watcher didn't mind. A dozen factols constituted a body count large enough to convince the Transcendent One that he was still following orders. Throw in the half dozen high-ups from the non-factions, the Indeps and Anarchists, all clustered around the door pretending to be wait-wenches and busboys, and the death toll was quite satisfying.

All that mattered was that the Transcendent Enemy believe that the Watcher was doing his bidding. Gaining its complete trust was well worth the sacrifice of this handful of political tools. After this, it would be easy to persuade its Transcendence to enter into Sigil when the Watcher wanted.

All he need do would be to dangle Mertian as bait. Poor old Mertian. He really had lost his faculties. The Watcher doubted not his decision to use him to lure the Enemy to its doom.

Ominous cracks split their way across the roof of Twelve Factol's Hall. A bit of dust fell, but the factols were so engaged in their heated arguments, none noticed. The Watcher snorted. The cracks mirrored the ones in Mertian's defense of Sigil.

You didn't bar the gate and watch for eons when you knew there was a wolf scratching at the door. The wise policy was to go out and kill the wolf. Or in this case, lure it into a trap where its demise was assured. Mertian had dawdled too long on this issue. It was time for a new guardian at the gate.

The cracks met at the keystone of the arches supporting the roof above the Twelve Factols. With a tremendous roar, tons of stone and rubble plummeted down, filling the room and crushing everything within. The door to Storm Hall blew out from the force, flattening the listeners there as well. The factols had hardly had time even to shout before their world ended.

The Watcher uncovered his ears, and sat back to wait for noises from survivors. Dust from the crash blew lightly around his feet in the catacombs. He'd calculated the fall perfectly. The powdered stone smelled very final. Oh, it was possible that Skall had endured, and Darkwood was the type of hero who would find a hunk of statuary to prop over himself at the last moment. But the reign of the current faction leadership was definitely over.

The Watcher smiled. Mertian the Mindspider's reign as Sigil's hidden guardian was coming to an end as well. Soon, very soon now, it would be Strontian the Soulsnake's charge, and the Watcher looked forward to assuming his new responsibilities.

Day 2, Late Afternoon
The Gracious Feast, Lady's Ward
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Cray looked forward to some decent rest at last, as he wearily opened the door of the sumptuous inn & tavern known as the Gracious Feast. He beckoned his companions inside. The guards at the door had refused them at first, being highly suspicious of any group including a mindflayer. But Cray had said, "Don't bother, it's pointless to try to keep people out," and that pass-phrase had gained his fellows entry into this Bleaker refuge.

They were staring in open astonishment. The inn was incredibly lavish. Silk brocades covered the barred windows, each of which was filled with beautifully worked stained glass. Rich rugs softened their footfalls and extravagant trophies and knickknacks adorned the walls. Bliss stared hard at one skull resting on a polished teak shelf and knew he'd never see the secondary brain-box of an elder illithid brain again. Such ornamental surroundings were the kind of thing you'd expect to see in a Sensate case, but never in a Bleaker's.

"What kind of Bleaker retreat is this, Cray? Bliss asked. "I understood your faction believed in 'grim', not gaudy." Certainly the Godsmen had nothing so ornate, at least no case Bliss had ever seen. Delva was gaping at the handsome end-tables, each carved whole from the single tusk of some gargantuan creature.

Cray slapped Harpsichord's hand away from a gem-inlaid phoenix' egg that hung for the taking on a swaying golden platter and answered, "It's a lesson of sorts. We don't call it the Gracious Feast, that's just a name for the Chessboard high-ups that come here. The Bleak Cabal calls this place the Feast & Famine. You'll see why."

Cray led his weary friends back past the gorgeous dining halls and soft smoking rooms into the private, faction controlled areas of the inn. Here, the opulence was even more pronounced. Each of the four was led to a chair that seemed to envelop and massage their aching bodies, and was then fed a meal they'd never forget.

Harpsichord chewed her way through six straight courses, and pocketed enough food to constitute another three. Along with the silver salt shaker. Even Bliss' unique diet had been taken into account. A flagon of pureed cortex, flavored with pepper and garlic was set before him with a straw. Bliss balked at first, but the waiter assured him it was all from the brains of condemned criminals who had died trying to escape the Prison in the current troubles.

When each had settled comfortably back into their seat, and were warming themselves before the toasty fire, Cray explained the task that was being set before them.

"My... patron didn't give me a reason for what we're doing. He knows me that well at least. But he told me that we all needed to be as rested and refreshed as possible, and that he would deliver needed equipment to us here at the Feast & Famine. And I wouldn't be dragging you along if I didn't think you'd find some irrelevant value in what we're doing."

"Harpsichord, we're going to steal something of such fame that if anyone finds out, you'll be written down in Sigil's annals as one of the most top-shelf knights of the cross trade ever seen." The crazed young woman beamed and responded, "I'm along on the ride then, cutter! Cor, I knew I'd tumbled to a blood who could give the laugh to the ol' yawn, but I din't think ye'd be so hende as to get me named a Son o' Hermes a day after I'd met ya!"

Cray shook his head and smiled in a sickly fashion. Fame and fortune were fleeting, but some sods never understood that. If Harpsichord survived the debacle awaiting them, he'd have to see to it that she got a permanent room at the Gatehouse.

"Delva, I'm told that you'll be even more useful, whether or not you can recall any spells. What we're looking for is something that only you, apparently, can recognize." The older woman looked puzzled. "Me?" she asked. "What's so special about me?"

"I don't know, dear," said Cray kindly. "I don't think there's anything special about anyone, but my patron," Cray almost spat the word, "says your presence is critical to the mission."

Cray turned to Bliss next. The mindflayer waited on him calmly, eerie composure emanating from his milky white eyes. "Bliss, you're coming along to ensure some of us survive. We'll need your mind healing abilities if we plan on coming back other than raving barmies."

"Really?" asked Bliss. "Just where are we going, and why? I think it's time you told us all what today's antics have been about my friend, whether you think the reasons behind our cross-town treks are important or not." The women nodded, and looked to Cray expectantly.

So he told them. About the Mindspider, about the invasion, about the doom awaiting Sigil unless they succeeded in their task. Why they'd spoken to all the Factols, why the portals weren't working, and why those corpses had the backs of their skulls ripped off. He told them all the reasons he knew for why they were about to march to their deaths on a lonely, powers' forsaken plane, and because they had yet to see the Bleakness behind reality, they hung on his every word.

As he watched how foolishly they clung to his reasons, Cray found himself sinking deeper and deeper into despair. This was what reasons did. It drove good people into destruction, and rewarded their faith with death. He hated himself.

Finally, they asked what was next, where they were going. Cray answered slowly and deliberately, hoping that this answer would be the final one they needed to turn them away from the path of destruction he trod. "Pandemonium," he said. "I have to find Shekelor's Orb and return it to its rightful owner."

The reaction Cray got wasn't quite what he'd expected. Bliss' eyes widened and Harpsichord slugged down half of her brandy in one gulp. But Delva, looking paler than ever, with perhaps even a greenish tint to her skin tone, stood up, arms raised in triumph.

"YESSS!" screamed Delva. "At last! At long last! I'm... what? What am I doing?" She stuttered to a halt and looked around confusedly. Cray and Harpsichord were gaping at her in surprise. Bliss had doubled over like a tentacled clam, hiding his head in his robes.

Bliss unwrapped himself slowly as he recovered from Abigail's mental outburst. Cray's news had unstopped something deep inside her twisted mind, and its exultant yell had nearly given him a seizure. The power there! But when he scanned her again, his mental inquiry at its finest resolution, nothing within her bespoke the presence he'd just felt. Was she possessed? Perhaps he could surreptitiously persuade Harpsichord to divine her state with prayer later on.

Non-magical attention seemed to garner no more response from Abigail than Bliss's mental probe. She couldn't answer Cray or Harpsichord's questions about her outburst, and Bliss confirmed that he could see no reason within her mind for her yell. After a time she grew agitated, and Cray halted their badgering, saying she should rest.

"That's part of why we're here, to get rested for our trip into Pandemonium. It'll be a long one, and we'll need as much strength as we can muster."

Bliss asked, "With the portals all closed, how are we supposed to even get to Pandemonium? Did your patron explain that too?"

"Yes, he did," Cray answered. "We're taking a detour through the House of Chambered Madness. While we're resting here, equipment and maps will be provided, and in the morning we'll be dipping into the Murk."

"You can't be serious!" Bliss snorted. "Oh yes, I am," Cray said. "I never joke. You should know that by now. Next stop for us: the para-elemental plane of ooze. If you like being clean, I suggest you go enjoy one of the Feast's baths right now. Because after anti-peak tonight, you won't be clean again for a long, long time.

Harpsichord and Delva took Cray's advice, and rang for servants to lead them to the baths. Harpsichord rattled and clanked when she walked, her pockets were now so full of silverware, but she looked happier than any sane person should have, contemplating the first leg of their journey.

Bliss and Cray spent the next half hour discussing needed preparations, then went off to their separate rooms, each lost in their separate thoughts.

Day 2, Late Afternoon
The Hive Ward, near the Slags
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Aqva'at was just lost, period. He darted through the twisting alleys of the Hive, wrapped in his cloaks of illusion to avoid detection by the rampaging tannar'ri. Any soul catching a skeg at the hapless ba'atezu would see only a miserable, wet aasimar from the Beastlands, with a weasel's snout and matted gray fur. But they'd still be able to see the unhappiness etched on his features.

He was NOT happy. He'd seldom been happy in his fiendish existence, but the depths of misery he'd plumbed today topped them all. He was truly earning his title of 'The Wretched'.

And for what gain? Virtually none. That light-bringing berk Mertian had barely even listened to his news of Iron Lily's march on Sigil, or her plan to blitz the place through a hundred portals at once. He had met with Aqva'at behind the Ba'atorian Embassy in the wee hours before dawn. But he'd merely given the proper countersigns, harked to Aqva'at's darks, and then told the Wretched One to sod off until dusk, when he'd meet him at the Voidjumper Inn. As if Aqva'at even knew where that stinking kip was.

It made a hamatula's spines itch! "If only I'd chosen some other contact to spy for," moaned Aqva'at to himself. That was always the problem in ba'atorian society. Picking the right fiends to be allied with at the right time.

They all spied on one another. You had to, because every other fiend was doing the same. But Aqva'at had never fully gotten the hang of it. He was relatively certain Mertian was a high-up working for Dagos' Dept. of Infernal Affairs, weeding out corruption in the troops. But he could also be working for Zaebos' Dept. of Demotional Proclivities, finding fiends to drop a rank or two. He could even be an agent of Iron Lily's own liege, Zimimar, playing some game to test the loyalty and morale of her legions.

Aqva'at shivered in the drizzle that had been washing over him since peak and huddled under one of the broken buildings that bordered the Slags. He missed the fires of home, even though its politics threatened to drown him in their depths. It was better by far than the madness reigning here in the Cage.

Tannar'ri and hordelings and gehreleths were pillaging the place as if it were a gate-town about to slide into the whistles. Sigil's innumerable portals were all closed tighter than the Infernal Gates. The Factions were blasting anything that bore too much resemblance to a fiendish invader. The Embassy was firmly barricaded, its teleportational wards humming and sparking brightly in Sigil's gloom. No safety was to be found there.

So Aqva'at, poor, beset upon, wretched Aqva'at, had been forced to roam the streets, searching for some berk who knew where the Voidjumper Inn was. He'd come close to losing his immortal life once already while struggling across this awful, besieged burg.

A Cipher had nearly sliced him a new smile with her silver sword. She'd popped out of nowhere, screaming like that Clueless child he'd been about to eat was her own. As if she'd miss the nasty biter! It had been so long since he'd tasted mortal flesh, he'd figured no one would mind if he gobbled a little one.

Only his thick, scaly hide had saved his head from becoming that child's new kickball. He'd cross-piked his tail out to the end of that alley in the wink of a hellcat's eye, and then put ten more streets between himself and the swordswoman by running flat out. He was too unfamiliar with the place to attempt longer teleports, and was cursing the fact as he squelched through the garbage-strewn streets.

He had to give some credit to the chiv-wielding Cipher wench, though. His newly energized care was sufficient to alert him to the smell of tannar'ri circling about the Slags nearby. Rather than just blunder into the mass of them, Aqva'at now had the presence of mind to look for a sentinel.

He didn't sneak along ten yards before he surprised and slew a not-very-watchful dretch. Peering over its corpse into the rubble of the Slags proper, Aqva'at saw the rest of the troupe.

There were thirty of them at least, ranging in strength from a dozen bleeding-skeleton babau to at least five true tannar'ri, dogfaced war machines all. A force to be reckoned with, and one that could've torn him horns from tail without much effort. Something about their leader looked familiar to him...

He risked station and spikes to get a closer look. Then, eyes wide with satisfaction, he hurried on into the depths of the Hive. He recognized the cambion leading the small horde from Iron Lily's unending tirades, and warmed himself on the hate she bore the fiend.

Even if he missed his appointed rendezvous with the legion, he knew Lil'd forgive him when he brought her news that F'chak'tor was here! Aqva'at took what comfort there was to be had from that thought, then set off in search of the Voidjumper Inn again.

A time beyond time
The Astral Plane
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Mertian floated in the silver void, comforting himself with its unending serenity. Perhaps it was his long association with the mindspider, but he felt particularly at home on the Astral. Here, where his webs floated between the infinite reaches of the planes, was where Mertian could truly concentrate.

He could see now that the violence being done to Sigil was affecting even this plane, perhaps especially this plane. The mindspider's webs were tangled, torn and ripped by the new convolutions in Sigil's already convoluted dimensional fabric. Here, in the between-space of existence, Mertian could see all too clearly how the portals' blockage was altering the city.

On the astral plane, Sigil was a topological nightmare. The paradoxical twists to the city's architecture, the impossible 4-dimensional infinities shoe-horned into 3-dimensional gaps, the tower walls that couldn't exist, but did; they all conspired to bend Sigil's astral 'landscape' into an Escherian maze. In between, razorvine intertwined everywhere, its astral spirit mimicking its prolific corporeal vine.

Sane planewalkers never teleported in Sigil and from the astral vantage point, one could see why. One would have to know the city intimately, down to its last, ever-changing detail, to feel safe in cross-piking across its tangled expanse. There were some places in town even Mertian wouldn't teleport into, and now those dangerous morasses were growing.

The foundation of this complexity, the city's all-important circulatory system of portals, was hemorrhaging. Its enemy had clogged it arteries and veins, and Sigil was starting to convulse for metaphorical air. Mertian estimated the City of Doors would survive for only a few weeks in this state, perhaps a month, before collapsing under its own impossibility.

Was that his foe's plan? It seemed unlikely. In the past, the Transcendent Enemy wanted Sigil for its unique position, as the fulcrum for the lever with which It planned to topple the universe. It wouldn't deliberately destroy something It planned on using. But then, It had never displayed a perfect understanding of the relationships of the lesser planes to one another. It might break Sigil like a child's toy without understanding why the city crumbled in It's crushing grip.

The images of the ancient mimir floated once more across Mertian's memory. Sigil's inhabitants could well envy those of the Abyss before this crisis was done.

Observing the damage was only one of Mertian's three reasons for entering the Astral however. He bent his will to his other tasks. While time didn't exist in this netherspace, it was rushing headlong towards entropy's bosom back in the City of Doors.

Mertian's second objective was to fine-tune the trap he had laid using his mindspider. He willed himself towards the center of the web where the spider's spirit lay, bloated and quivering from the poisons he'd fed its material form.

The mindspider was one of the rare breeds of creature whose physical body extended somewhat into the Astral plane. Like medusae and astral streakers, gorgons and berbalang, it reproduced and hunted here in the Silver Sea as well as on the material planes.

And now it was growing, in a very strange and particular way. It's tiny mindless head was swelling, its brain multiplying in size dozens of times. Its intelligence, if it had any, was that of an agitated infant, angry at the pain it felt but awed by the wonders of the world. The new synapses firing in its gray matter were practically visible around it. Little astral sparks danced about its head.

Mertian had broken all the mindspider's legs of course. There was no sense in allowing one's lure to wander off and potentially become as large a threat as the creature one was trying to trap with it.

Mertian inspected his handiwork, and decided against fiddling with what he'd done. The spider had been compromised. The Neh-thalggu knew of it and what it did, and must check on it occasionally. They would either take the bait, or they wouldn't. There was nothing more Mertian could do for his long-serving living tool.

But there was something he could do to save its industriously built-up works. The web was damaged, true, but still salvageable. Mertian gathered up the most important threads, the lines leading to the agents he most needed to watch and tied them together in an intricate knot. Then he floated quickly away from the old, dying mindspider, traveling to the very walls of Sigil's spectral boundaries.

Another astral hunter prowled in this vicinity as well, but Her Serenity's shadow wasn't in evidence at the moment. Good. Mertian didn't need his brand new namesake sliced into a gith delicacy by the Lady in one of her famed piques.

Mertian reached into the inner pockets of his enchanted robes and pulled forth a tiny thing, a spider not more than an inch across at full extension. It was sheathed in a crystalline amber, which melted away when he breathed an astral sigh across it. The spider within started to twitch.

Mertian placed the newborn mindspider on the web-knot he'd tied, and then stuck the whole to the astral wall that fettered Sigil's boundaries. The spider waved and climbed about, its legs weaving a complex dance about the strands it rested on. Then is started laying a new thread, one that bound the web to its body and spirit.

Mertian waited patiently while his namesake spun. When it launched itself from its web, dropping in a straight line to an adjacent inverted corner, Mertian unsheathed his golden vorpal blade. It sharpness was legendary, surpassed only by the edge of the Lady's own blades. He reached out with its tip, and carefully, ever so carefully, demonstrated that it was sharp enough to split spider's silk. The new thread curled loosely around the web, anchorless and fading. Mertian quickly reversed his sword's tip and placed it against his high forehead. One small prick later, Rilmani blood started to pool in little weightless droplets.

Before his skin could regenerate, Mertian threaded the end of the spider's filament he'd just freed from the web into his own flesh. In another moment, he was one with the web.

Ahhhh!

It was like a drug, almost. Information flowed through him again, telling him where his agents were and what they were doing. Once more, the Mindspider prowled.

"Oh my," Mertian thought. "Montgomery's certainly had a close encounter with the Reaper." Then, "Ah, Kerjal, G'kar and Tandin are free of the maze, and they've encountered Sabrilla and Uriel," and lastly, "Jimora? How did she get here? But a timely arrival, nonetheless."

Satisfied his new arachnid was safe and spinning happily, Mertian left it to its work. He plucked a couple new threads to take with him for use later then retraced his spectral steps. He slid back along his spirit's cord to the point in the silver sea at which he'd first projected himself into the astral plane. The Astral Spell was useful enough in this situation, with Sigil's portals all blocked, but it was still dangerous. Mertian never liked 'putting his life on the line' as the planewalkers called it. One sufficiently sharp slice through that silver cord and even his long existence would come to a sudden halt.

Just before he departed the plane, he saw a dark shadow shearing through the shimmering eddies of astral current like a shark's fin. A human shadow, long and sharp, crowned with a headdress of spikes. It cut through the void with purpose towards another flailing silver cord.

Mertian watched carefully. If the Lady was still active, it was important to know what she was doing. Her Serene Shadow was bearing down on a silver cord that pulsed with energy and life. Obviously a strong-willed basher's lifeline, that.

Moreover, the cord seemed to be piercing the barriers around Sigil's astral space! Mertian was fascinated. The only connections he knew that pierced Sigil's astral walls safely were the Mindspider's weak threads. And even those broke if one tried to force information back through them and out of the Cage. An astral traveler visiting Sigil unmolested was unprecedented. But then, so was the current crisis.

*Snick!* The astral traveler could no longer claim to be unmolested. It looked as if the Dead had gained another member, willing or not.

Mertian reacted as fast as he could. He raced at his will's maximum velocity to reach the swiftly vanishing end of the severed cord unraveling on this side of Sigil's walls. He snatched it just before it disappeared completely and hooked one of the new mindspider's webs into the cord. When the cord dissolved into Sigil's tangible space, the web went with it.

Mertian grimaced as a death scream coursed through him. But information from the Outside was at a premium now. If Mertian had to listen in on the agonies of a newly created ghost to get it, then that was a price he was perfectly willing to pay.

Satisfied he was making progress again, Mertian vanished back into corporeality, leaving the silver sea empty save for the thoughts and dreams that piled up on its immaterial shores.

Some of those thoughts were incomprehensible ones percolating in alien brains. Hideous tentacles waved and multifaceted eyes watched Mertian's gleaming form as he slipped from the lustrous void. Sigil's astral streets were less vacant than they appeared.

Day 2, Dusk
The Mortuary, Sigil
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Pathosis sighed with satisfaction as he finally turned his attention back to the multifaceted eyes and hideous tentacles of the beast that Cray and Co. had brought him to dissect. He had given them what information he could on that spur of the moment, but people never understood that a proper autopsy took time. Patience. Calm. Only the Dead knew best how to deal with the dead.

Now that all the other corpses of the day had been dealt with and passed on to Internment, Pathosis looked forward to giving the new carcass a proper examination. He told 187 to go and get his official robes, and went about preparing the spell components necessary for the ritual he intended to perform.

While he prepared, he spared his fellow faction members in Internment some small fraction of pity. The last ones through his morgue had grumbled laconically, in that dull dustman way, about running out of room in which to stack the bodies. "If the portals stay closed too long," Pathosis wondered, "where will we put all the corpses?"

He shook his head in mild concern and focused his attention on getting his paraphernalia properly set up. Animating the dead was not something one should rush into. Respect and deliberation were called for, especially from a priest of Osiris.

187 returned with Pathosis' robes of office and his ankh-headed staff. Pathosis closed his eyes, muttered the proper prayers to his power, and then donned the vestments of a high priest to Osiris, Lord of the Egyptian Dead. It was a task Pathosis had felt less and less comfortable with as the years wore on. As he grew to understand that Death surrounded him, permeating everything he saw, he believed less and less in the importance of venerating any particular power of Death. But habits die hard, even in the Dead.

Miracles required a power's backing, and it was beginning to look as if miracles would be greatly needed in the Cage. So Pathosis fell back into the routines he'd practiced the many years before he came to enter into the service of the Dead here in Sigil.

187 stood aside and clicked regularly, waiting for instructions.

When Pathosis was ready, he told it what to do. "187, put this body into the magic circle there, and then stand aside." The ticking modron did so. "Here, take this sword and be ready to defend yourself if necessary. I'm in no danger, but I'm not certain you fully grasp the Dead philosophy enough for the Pact to protect you as well." Again, the box complied.

Pathosis was gratified at its stoicism. The rogue modron would be the perfect Dustman one day. It was completely emotionless, and, bereft of the clockwork society that had been all it knew, utterly convinced it was dead. If only it wasn't so fascinated by that... boisterous crowd that banged around the Art School of Vivid Unpleasantness. Pathosis sighed. "Well, one day..."

Then he got down to work. The monotonous chanting, the burning of incense, the channeling of power from the depths of his soul. It just didn't excite him any more. Making the dead walk had gotten rather routine in recent years, because it was so useful when examining cadavers.

The little crab-thing twitched. It wriggled and jumped, then staggered to its pointed claws, dripping blood and ichor through the cuts Pathosis hadn't bothered to sew tight on its belly. A dull light gleamed behind its faceted eyes but its tentacles drooped pathetically.

"Interesting." Murmured Pathosis. "187, record this please" Then the balding priest leaned over and started dictating details to the rogue modron, about the unliving thing's stance and height and smell. Pathosis asked the cadaver to turn about, and lift its legs, and open its mouth to say 'ah'. As he did so, he noticed a regular crack that seemed to circumnavigate the whole crab, lengthwise around its shell.

"187, come here and examine this closely, please." The box tootled forward with a steam puff and crouched before the seam. A lens flipped down over one eye as it squinted hard at the fissure. After some careful examination, Pathosis asked for its opinion.

"This incision appears to be artificial. Its regularity indicates manufacture, much the way my own exterior does. Given its hardness," the modron rapped on the shell, producing a strange echo, "and inflexibility, my opinion is that the shell is not an exoskeleton at all, but rather a form-fitting suit of chitinous armor."

Pathosis blinked. "Armor? Hmm. That makes sense, if this is some kind of scout for an invading army. And there certainly seems to be a war going on outside..." Pathosis straightened and picked up a candle to look more closely at the seam. Then he made a decision. "You there! The corpse! Take off that armor and let me get a good look at you."

The candle fell to the floor along with Pathosis' jaw.

As the creature shed its armor, it grew. And grew. It expanded to nearly fill the room, hissing as it took in air, to a full ten feet or more in height. Only the chitinous crab's legs remained unchanged. Pathosis fell to babbling, hoping to get as much of a description rattled off to 187 as possible in case the thing somehow lay beyond the power of the Dead Pact.

The mouth on its belly reared up to a height equal to Pathosis' skull-top. From this angle, Pathosis noted, the fangs and saw-teeth seemed much larger and more menacing. Its body was a gargantuan sack, pus-bloated and yellow-orange. It was oily and amorphous and the half-dozen tentacles that had extended through the armor were now joined by three dozen more, all longer and dripping with slime. Four yellow eyes blazed above its ravening maw, each bulging out from its bulbous, cyst-like head. Three distinct lumps, each the size of a man's skull distorted its huge, nobbly noggin.

The smell was beyond description, and Pathosis had smelled some pretty appalling odors in his time at the Mortuary. He fell silent, staring in stupefaction at the 'little crab'. It was a horror like none he'd ever encountered before, and he had dissected not a few fiendish corpses. If there was a plane of nightmares, this thing had to be one of the leading inhabitants.

"187," he said, "I think we have some more work ahead of us."

Day 2, Dusk
The Civic Festhall
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Factol Erin Montgomery was staring at a huge task as well. As she stalked down the secret passages of the Festhall to her private chambers she wondered which orders to give first. How could she secure all the hidden portals and passages within the gigantic Festhall without having the dark of each one's existence go rattling off down the streets of the cage? But Morrigan take her, she'd see it was done!

The attempt on her life and that of the other factols had united them behind Mertian as no other force could. She'd never imagined old Hashkar could act so quickly. The dodder must have been taking lessons from Rhys. One moment the ceiling was crashing in on them all and the next they'd been safely teleported into Hashkar's study at the City Court. She'd always known Hashkar was trickier with his loopholes than he let on. Now she'd watch him more carefully, almost as close as she watched Darkwood.

Co-operating with Factol Darkwood! Ugh, the thought made her skin crawl. But she'd be hanged for Fomor bait before she'd let that yarking fraud claim he'd protected the city when she sat back and did nothing.

As she reached her rooms, her reverie was pierced by a wail of terror and loss from within. She loosened the mace at her belt and prepared to blitz whomever was using her private chambers for their macabre antics. By the time she blew through the door, Cuatha Da'nanin, her minder, lover, and closest confidant was at her side, sword flashing along with his dreamy blue eyes.

Within was the Kender, or at least her projected image, shrieking at the tops of her lungs and ethereally whispering in and out of the bedchamber's furniture. Erin had never seen her friend so distraught, or pale, but other than the immaterial nature of her astrally projected form, there seemed not a mark on her.

"Here now," Montgomery said, "What's all this banshee wailin' about, eh? You nearly caused me to drop dead, you did, and I've been too close to the insides of the dead book once already today."

"You?!" screamed the Kender. "You? I'm the one who's dead! Me! Look at me! I'm nothing more than a ghost, doomed to walk Sigil's streets forevermore!" The small elfin figure broke down into uncontrollable sobs.

Erin turned to Cuatha. "Go on, dearest, I'll see to this. I've a lot of things that need doin' to, so go round up the factors for me, will you? And oh, thanks for the assist. You were mister on-the-spot now, weren't you? Where were you hidin'?"

Cuatha responded slowly, with a strange light behind his sea-blue eyes. "Behind the throne, as usual." He grinned woodenly. "I'm surprised to see you've returned from that Factol's meeting." When Erin looked at him strangely, he added, "So soon, that is. Why don't you come up to my chambers when we're done with the factors? I've... got some new ideas banging around in my head that I'd like to try out on you."

Erin smiled. That was more the Cuatha she knew, if a bit lacking in spirit. "Oh, ye know what I like, ye fiend! But I'll be much too busy for that sort of thing now." She reached up to peck him on the cheek. "I'll be along soon enough, now go and get the forces ready, there's a love."

This time Cuatha complied. But no longer moving on adrenaline and instinct, his walk was as wooden as his smile.

Meanwhile, the Kender continued to wail. "Oh, she killed me, she did, I saw her plain as day." Erin sat beside the thin little woman. "Now dear, you're makin' an awful fuss for a deader. What do you mean you've been killed? Who killed you?"

The Kender replied, "The Lady of Pain! I was toddling through the Grand Bazaar happy as a lark, trying to see where all this psychic turbulence was coming from. I was really enjoying myself, for the first time in years, popping along like a carefree sp-sp-sp-spirit, ohhhh!" She broke into tears again, but caught herself after a few moments of weeping.

"I must have attracted her attention by using too much psionic energy or something. I saw her glide up in front of me, but I didn't run. You see? I've never run from a thing in my life, and how could she hurt me if I was just an astral projection? But then her shadow slid over me, moving like the lights of Mt. Celestia were blazing behind her, and I could feel it! It was so cold! I felt it slice right through my silver cord, my link back to the prime!"

Montgomery was awed and fascinated. She'd never seen a warrior as bold as the Kender broken so swiftly before. But if anyone could do it, it was definitely Her Serenity. "What did it feel like?" she had to ask.

The Kender stuttered into tears again. "Don't you understand? When you're cord's cut, that's it! Finito, done, it's over, you're dead! And my spirit's stuck here in this closed off City of Doors, and my men won't be able to resurrect me back at the my keep, and what's worse, they'll find my will and bury me under my real name!!"

"Och, now how horrible can that be?" said Erin. "So ye've found out why we planars call you projecting primes ghosts, well, things could be worse. Ye've got your memories still, and I've known quite a few deaders that've gone on to lead a happy afterlife."

"But my name!" howled the Kender. "It'll be written in stone for all to see! I'll never be able to go back, I couldn't face my men once they know. I had to flee my home sphere for another to get away from my name once, and now my men will disband and everything I've worked for will be buried under that horrid, horrible name."

"Look, it can't be that awful. What is your name?" Montgomery's curiosity was piqued now.

The Kender sniffed. "Don't laugh."

"I promise. I swear I won't, may Darkwood catch me lyin' with a fhorge in the Speaker's Hall."

"Bimbalina Pinkbottom." The Kender's glare dared the Factol to laugh.

Montgomery gulped and struggled mightily to keep a straight face. It seemed there were worse fates in town than being buried under tons of crushing stone.

Day 2, Dusk
an empty alleyway in The Lady's Ward
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Jimora had seen enough. The Fates were not smiling on Sigil, that was certain as nightfall. She stepped from the shadows she'd been hiding within and let her defenses relax for a moment. She'd spent the better part of the day flitting though the shadows of the Cage and everywhere she went, it was the same as it she'd seen in the Hive Ward.

Tannar'ri infested the Clerk's Ward, folding scribes and trying to sail them though the air like paper gliders. Gehreleths overran the Guildhall Ward, sliming about in the spas and eating the Arcadian ponies on Tea Street. 'Loths and Hordelings and Larva rampaged through the Market Ward, overturning costers and stalls and skirmishing with the Free Leaguers.

And here in the Lady's Ward, squads of Ba'atezu made deals with the high-ups, pledging to keep the peace for just a small token in exchange...

Jimora spat in disgust. She didn't even want to speculate on what it was like in the Lower Ward.

Evil was everywhere, the city was drowning in it. And there was nothing she could do. She'd killed a score of fiends, nay, fifty at least, stabbing out of the shadows until her arms grew weary. But she couldn't assassinate an army. For every fiend she slew, 20 more stalked down the streets. It was time to seek help.

Someone in this misbegotten anthill had to have an idea of what was going on, who was causing all this destruction. All she wanted was for that someone to show her which throat to slice, which neck to strangle in shadows. Some person had to be behind it all. Her holy vows ached within her with the need to stop the foulness rampant this night, preferably by ripping that person's head from his shoulders.

The air *popped* behind her, with the sound of someone suddenly cross-piking into existence. A warm golden glow surrounded her, chasing her shadows away.

She spun, ready to slash whatever had the audacity to strip her from her darkness. She halted in mid-swing when she recognized the radiant but concerned features of Mertian the Mindspider.

"Huh," she said, looking up. "Things must be bad if you're walking the streets in your own form, Mertian. Care to tell me just how bad it is?"

He grimaced as he looked down at the mortal, then shifted his size to look her in the eye. "It's worse than it's been since the Great Upheaval," he said, then "If you've only seen the streets, you've only seen the tip of the iceberg," and "I need your help. Will you come with me and join some others I've assembled to try and combat this crisis?"

Jimora nodded, shocked. She'd never seen the Mindspider act in so direct a fashion before. She'd not thought he had such straightforwardness in him.

He gathered her close to him, saying "Let me change into a form the others will know," and "I'll teleport us both to the rendezvous after you answer one question," then asked, "How long have you been in Sigil? I thought you'd lost your spider-charm, as I'd not 'felt' you through the web in weeks."

Jimora answered smugly as the shining form of Mertian shrank into the less luminous but equally enthralling features of Cantha the Dancing Deva. "I've been here for all those weeks, just seeing if I could hide from you. I've found a way to hide in the shadows of my own mind, and if you couldn't find me with your web still attached, then the technique must work well."

"I'm glad it does," said Cantha. "You might need that ability against what we're fighting.

Day 2, Evening
The Barbed Tail
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Given the raucousness of the fiendish forces elsewhere in Sigil, the mood in the Barbed Tail was very quiet. The tieflings and fiends and things that came to see women go bump and grind in the night were unusually restrained.

This tranquillity was due wholly to the party at the table in the corner, who had, after two threatened fights, turned various fiendish aggressors into stone, dust, pincushions, several score pounds of chopped hogmeat, and one very wretched frog.

They were now being given a lot of elbow room.

Sabrilla, Uriel, Stefan, Durthelaxus, G'kar, Kerjal and Tandin sat around their table comparing notes on what information each was trying to bring to Cantha and alternately wondering where the deva was. They had decided that she was the only person they knew who could likely tell them what was behind the portals' closure. Sabrilla suspected the rest of the table was only in this for money, but she was genuinely concerned for Cantha's welfare. If the deva had died somewhere in this mess, Sabrilla would forever be in her debt.

That worry lifted from the medusa's shoulders when Cantha walked in the front door of the 'Tail, sheltering another young woman from the drizzle with her wings. Some of the regular patrons chortled and nudged one another in anticipation of soon degrading a deva onstage, but their grins fell into their ale when the beautiful dancer joined the party of bloods in the corner.

Cantha came up to the table sparkling, genuinely overjoyed to see her friends again. She hugged Kerjal and G'kar, ran her fingers through Sabrilla's snakes (which to everyone else's amazement actually purred at her touch) and bowed low and respectfully to Durthelaxus. Tandin and Stefan, who'd never met her before, were entranced. Even Uriel seemed affected by her presence, although his stance betrayed a heightened wariness rather than ease.

Jimora was astounded. She'd seen Mertian disguised before, but had never watched him behave in his other personas. Nothing of the Mindspider leaked through Cantha's beatific smile. Nothing.

Cantha introduced Jimora around as another old friend here to help, and was in turn introduced to those she'd not met before.

"Oh, Mr. Swiftfoot, I'm so happy you delivered this message for me!" she exclaimed. Tandin shifted from foot to foot in embarrassment. "T'weren't nuthin'" he mumbled, then spoke up. "But don't think that means I don't want my pay!"

Cantha regarded him gravely. "I'd never consider defaulting on a debt to someone who's done me such a service, sir. Please, take this," she handed him a heavy bag. "It's twice the fee you agreed upon with Ellipsis, for the hazards you endured to deliver my message." Tandin took the bag, grinned, and hopped on a stool to count his loot.

Cantha looked around. "Durthelaxus, this is for you." Another heavy sack exchanged hands. "And these are for you, Kerjal; G'kar." Many hands went to drawstrings, and Stefan leaned back to speak to Uriel. "Payday, Deva. You aren't going to let the little dust mite welch on me, are you?"

Uriel replied, "No, the debt will be honored." Durthelaxus said, "Hey, I was gonna pay," and then Cantha intervened. "Did you help Durthelaxus the Doom-Dealer, Slayer of Fiends, Favored of the Gods, Greatest of all Dust Mephits, and Ruler of the Great Sea of Dust? Then please, take this." She tossed Stefan a smaller bag, but one that clinked resoundingly as well. "It's not as much as the others have been paid, but I hope you'll take my bracelet as compensation for the lack." She handed him a man's silver band, with a spider motif in the middle. "A drow gave that to me here last week, but I'd rather you have it. You seem much nicer than he was. I'll think of you always so long as you wear it."

Stefan's hand tingled where she touched him, and fire coursed through his veins. "Missy, you can be double-damned sure this bracelet ain't leaving my person." He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it, and she blushed demurely.

Jimora just stared.

"Now please, everyone," Cantha said as she sat and folded her fiery wings about her, "I know you have a lot to tell me about what you've been doing, and I have things to say that you should know too." They all gave her their rapt attention.

"You've seen the fiends at large in the city?" Each of the party nodded. "Well, I've been given a chance to redeem myself by the other celestials in Sigil. They're trying to organize a resistance to the fiendish invasion, and if I can help that happen, it'll mean I'll be able to see the heights of paradise again." Tandin sneered into his drink, and Durthelaxus coughed out a rude 'blekheads" like the mephit he was, but Stefan slapped him into silence and Cantha pretended not to hear.

"I've been given a rather large amount of jink to spread around to help the cause and it's all yours if you'll help me," she said. "But before you agree, let me tell you what else I know about the war and the portals." Cantha then told them all the Mindspider knew about the Lady and the portals and the Neh-thalggu.

"Brain collectors from beyond reality, spying on us from the astral plane?" choked Tandin when she was done. "It sounds like bad penny-gush that you'd see in one of the cheap theaters on the wrong side of the Festhall!" Cantha shook her head. "They're real, and you can see one for yourself if you'd like. Go talk to Pathosis at the Mortuary. He had one on a slab there, the last I knew."

She continued. "In fact, that's not a bad idea. I don't expect the eight of you to be able to repel an invading army. But you could find the neh-thalggu behind it all and see if you can stop their plans.

"Tandin, why don't you take Durthelaxus and Uriel with you to the Mortuary, and ask Pathosis if he'll help? Uriel's an Astral Deva and can see into that plane, and Pathosis will be able to recognize them." "The four of you would make an ideal force to go look into the dabus warrens, where I suspect that they're hiding." "Dabus Warrens?" spluttered Tandin. "Yes," said Cantha. "They must be affecting the Lady somehow, and where better than from there?"

Durthelaxus whispered in Tandin's ear, "Take the deal, cutter. Uriel won't want any part of the jink, and there's no need to tell the old Dust-eater there's a reward either, see? Two-way split instead of four." Tandin brightened up. "Lady, you've hired yourself a warren-sniffer!"

"That leaves you four, G'kar, Kerjal, Sabrilla and Stefan to go hunt for them through the streets. Sabrilla can see into the astral as well, but I don't know how you'll recognize them if you do..." She was interrupted by Stefan. "I've seen the berks before. Don't worry, I'll tell ya what they look like. You don't forget something that ugly too fast."

Everyone else at the table looked at him. "Yup, happened to me in the Ethereal Plane. Party I was with got jumped by one of the beggars, and it ripped the brain right out of the priest's head before we could stop it. The wizard I was with shot it with three different spells before it got out of range, and not a one of them made it so much as blink. Swords seemed to work on it though, but it was big. I could have hacked at it for minutes and still have been staring down its maw."

"Well then, you four ought to go check out the faction headquarters," said Cantha. "I have good reason to believe that they're trying to kill off the factols, maybe to replace them with addle-coves that they've got some psychic control over."

G'kar and Kerjal nodded together. "But what about Jimora, here," asked G'kar. "Jimora's a shadow walker," replied Cantha. "She works best alone. She'll trail along behind you and watch your backs. I think there are some assassins working for the neh-thalggu, and it'll be Jimora's job to stop them from taking you out along the way."

G'kar nodded and smiled at Jimora. "Sounds fine to me. I won't mind having this lovely lady at my back in the least." Kerjal just rolled his eyes.

Cantha then directed them all to go and get some rest, as much as they could. The celestials she was going to meet would hold ground for as much of the night as possible, and they needed the sleep. She herself was going to round up a few more friends and make sure The Hammered Fist was cleared of fiends. They would use that place as a base to meet and exchange information, and she'd make sure it was fixed up properly after.

Sabrilla sighed. "Thank you, Cantha. I don't know why you're so kind to me." Cantha responded by putting an arm around the medusa and saying, "Yes, you do. I've never forgotten what we meant to each other when you danced here. I'm sure you haven't either. Besides," she smiled, "This will finally give me a chance to decorate it the way I always wanted."

Day 2, Night
The Voidjumper Inn
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Aqva'at had found the place he had been looking for at long last, two hours past the meeting time. Nestled as it was up against the void edge of the City, about midway between the Gatehouse and the Hive proper, it looked like it got most of its business from Xaositects and Bleakers. Mertian would be furious, but the berk should've given him better directions.

When he finally got into the creaking hovel that passed itself off as an inn, Aqva'at was repulsed. On the outside it had certainly seemed popular. Half the Hive Ward was lined up before the minders at the front entrance, all begging and pleading to be given their chance to enter. But on the inside, the inn looked about as run down and dilapidated as it did on the outside. Ruined finery seemed to be the theme of the place. Grand stairs beckoned visitors up to the third floor, carpets peeling all the way, and the line of bubbers and sods continued to shuffle their way up.

Aqva'at looked for someone to garnish, but there didn't appear to be anyone working here other than the guards at the door. When he reached the third floor, he understood why. All the employees were here, working as fast as they could to keep up with the demand for service.

The third floor was dominated by immense broken windows, which looked out over Sigil's walls. They had once been glazed and inlaid, but now the only remnants of the glazier's art were a few jagged hunks left in the bottom of the frames. Beyond the once-magnificent windows lay... nothing.

Nothing whatsoever. The Voidjumper's main room provided possibly the finest view in Sigil of the nothingness that surrounded the city. The view was obscured only by the plank anchored to the middle window, and by the hapless souls leaping off of it into the void beyond. Aqva'at appropriated a table from some githzerai who had just finished fortifying their courage enough to join the line before the plank. A great blue slaad squatted at the bottom of the makeshift stairs leading up to the plank, collecting handfuls of jink from every jumper.

Aqva'at had heard that rats always leapt from a sinking ship. Now he knew it was true, even though he'd never seen an ocean. He had to admire the audacity behind the scheme, though. Some clever knight of the post had found a way to bob folks into paying him for the privilege to commit suicide.

Aqva'at shivered. He knew the rumor about how jumping off of Sigil's edge transported one to a random plane of existence. But he couldn't imagine himself being so desperate as to risk such a chance. Had these sods no sense of duty or courage? Better to fight the hated tannar'ri and die while defending your home than to flee into chaos and certain death.

He watched a family of four jump together, the man and wife each roped to a child, scanty goods tied behind them. When he turned back he was shocked to see another slaad sitting at his side. It was a green one with a silly wide grin.

It opened its maw wide and croaked, "Glad to see you finally made it, Aqva'aaaaabit." It switched to the middle elegant ba'atorian tongue and said, "The seventh ring holds fire." Aqva'at responded likewise, saying, "The sixth holds ice and hail." The slaad finished the doggerel pass-code by switching to high elegant and singing, "The fifth holds screaming torture, filled with woe and wail."

It was Mertian all right. The deception was flawless, though. Aqva'at detected not a hint of illusion about his form. Mertian wasted no time. "This is the message I want you to take to Iron Lily. You spoke with Minister Zapan and the whole mission is a trap. Tell her to pull her forces back immediately or they're doomed. Tannar'ri control the portals she plans to use and her orders are fake."

Aqva'at wavered. "I don't have the authority to countermand a strike mission of this magnitude. That sort of order has to come from a field commander!"

Mertian's froggy grin turned into a snaggle-toothed, threatening grimace. "What do you think I am, you blek-eating berk! You'll pass that message on and make sure she follows it, or its your flayed hide that'll be waving from the Demotions Banners next week! Now, get going!"

Aqva'at quailed. "Yes, b-but, how? You don't expect me to...?" The Wretched One pointed at the plank from which two bleaknik teens dove at once, lips locked in a final kiss. Somehow, the romance of the moment escaped him.

"Of course I do. Here. The fee." Mertian dropped a handful of greens into Aqva'at's palm. "Pick yourself up from wherever you land and cross-pike your sorry butt back to Iron Lily's Command post-haste." Under his fierce stare, Aqva'at could do little more than join the line. As it shuffled forward, he tried to imagine he was walking up to a guillotine. At least that would be quick.

Day 2, an hour before Anti-Peak
The Plains of Woe, the Outlands
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Iron Lily cursed Aqva'at's name soundly. A simple scouting mission that should have taken an hour, no more, and he still hadn't returned. The traitor! She was willing to bet merts to mud that the Wretched One was hiding somewhere in the Embassy, sipping blood wine and rattling his bone box to those effete diplomats about how he was single-handedly winning the war.

Gehreleth sucking tiefling-spawn! She'd flay him to the bone if she ever caught up with him. At least the troop's equipment transfer had gone well. Nearly a full day had been spent, but she and her legion were ready to run the final leg.

She ought to get a commendation for this record breaking attack strategy. One day to get her troops and equipment into Ribcage from Ba'ator. Another (today) spent in carefully cross-piking the modronic steam horses out here to the Plains of Woe. And now, she was ready for the twelve-hour run to the Forest of Weeping Doors.

The high-ups had said it couldn't be done. Teleporting to the Plains of Woe, in the Fifth Ring of the Outlands, was risky because the natural teleportational abilities of ba'atezu broke down within the fifth ring. Errors could be made, and only those who knew the location well could make the jump with assurance.

But her troops had done it, suffering no more than 2% casualties. The few fiends in her command who knew the Field had cross-piked holding a friend, who was set to studying the landscape. After awhile, the numbers of soldiers cross piking the distance doubled. After a similar amount of time, that number doubled again. She'd gotten the legion across in mere hours when the standard estimates for reaching the Plains of Woe required weeks of marching spireward from the Seventh Ring.

A few forlorn heads stuck out of the ground still, their lost former owners suffocated instantly when they'd teleported in low. But she'd neither the time nor inclination to dispatch a burial detail. And morale had been helped when some of the lower ranks got to take out their frustrations on the deaders by using their brain-boxes as convenient boot scrapers.

Teleportation didn't work at all in the Fourth Circle, whose boundary lay just beyond the edge of the Plains of Woe. That was too close to the Spire, the magic-draining center of the Outlands. Its shadow had lengthened across them all during the day while the troops assembled the steam horses.

No, to get to the uncountable number of portals in Forest of Weeping Doors, you had to do it the old fashioned way. The troops would have to walk, run, or be carried. Normally, it was a three day march.

But again, Iron Lily's ingenuity was going to win the day. She wasn't known as 'Iron' Lily for nothing. She had more than a passing acquaintance with modron clockworks, and she was going to prove that their use was the wave of the future. For decades, she'd been stockpiling 'steam horses' from Mechanus. All you needed was water and fire, and they'd run like the wind pulling a 10-troop battlewagon. Water was plentiful here, and fire! Well, no ba'atezu was ever without flame. With the hundred steaming steeds she'd laboriously cross-piked out here to the edge of the plains, she'd have her troops at the Forest's borders in a sixth of the time expected of her.

Most of Lil's day had been spent pushing her engineers into re-assembling the horses faster and faster. Now, after she'd run through a half-dozen barbed whips, the force was ready to move. And there was still no sign of Aqva'at. Hrunt!

She could wait no longer. Her orders told her that a hundred shifting portals to Sigil would be ready at peak tomorrow. If she could be there then, she'd have an unprecedented opportunity to blitz the city with the entire legion at once. Hah! Let the Lady try and maze a legion of faithful ba'atezu! They'd swarm the factions and have the common sods worshipping at their feet before her blades could slice even the abishai to bits.

But the portals amongst the willows of the Forest of Weeping Doors would start shifting again, the longer after peak she was delayed. It was now or never. Victory or desertion. She chose victory. No one would ever again taunt her with her failure at the Nettles!

Lil screamed to her fiends in the night: "Forward soldiers of Ba'ator! May our banners wave proudly in the dying breaths of the foe!" All around her, the camp broke. Diabolic hands flamed under Mechanical engines, and the steam-driven charge began.

"And to the Abyss with Aqva'at," she muttered to herself.

Minutes after the whole force had moved off, a torn, bedraggled form appeared thirty feet in the air above the encampment and fell to the trampled sod. Aqva'at was barely recognizable under the caked mud of the swamps of the Abyss. He almost broke his neck before spreading his aching wings to stay his fall.

"No! Wait!" he croaked to the backs of the advancing battalion.

The iron-shod hooves of the steam horses drowned his pathetic cries. The invasion had commenced.

Day 3, Anti-Peak
Famine's Edge, an inn in the Lower Ward
**[by Mr. Niceguy]**

Brother Bliss understood now why the Bleakers referred to the Gracious Feast as the 'Feast & Famine'. When he awoke after a refreshing seven hours of meditation and rest, he was no longer sitting on the sumptuous bed he'd reclined on the previous day. It, along with his luxurious room and delectable wine, had transformed into a rat-trap kip of the worst order.

His bed was now a cot infested with roaches, and the smell from the chamber pot beneath was offensive to even his stunted olfactory nerves. The wine was sludge and Bliss hardly dared to wonder at its taste. The floor creaked and swayed when he stood, and the mindflayer had to make his way most carefully downstairs. There, the rude staff told him to sod off when he asked if this was the Gracious Feast Inn.

He'd wandered outside to find himself in the middle of the Hive ward, stepping gingerly across a bubber bubbed blind and stinking. The sign on the inn, if you could call the leaning monument to disrepair an inn, read (in poorly spelled and badly faded letters) the Famin's Edj. The flames burning from nearby ruins made the sign easy to read, though.

If he hadn't detected Cray's unnaturally cheerful thoughts emanating from within, he would have sworn he'd been shanghaied in the middle of his rest.

Cray stepped out into the night with Bliss and dodged a pail of malodorous slops a neighbor Hiver had heaved out her window. His smile nearly split his head in two. "Isn't this great, Bliss?" he shouted. Other hivers shouted back, telling Cray to stitch himself or they'd do it for him. "Ah, you've gotta love the Feast & Famine. A real metaphor for life, it is. Come on, let's go get the ladies up." He chuckled. "Good thing they took their baths yesterday, eh? You don't want to know what the facilities are like on this side of things."

Bliss trudged back into the inn with his deranged companion. Bleakers found beauty in the strangest situations.

An hour later, the four of them stood at the inn's rear, nearly knee deep in casually tossed lumber and fallen roof tiles. Harpsichord held a lantern on the end of her staff, and munched delicacies she'd saved from the Feast last night. Bliss glanced at what they'd become and paled, but the taste didn't seem to bother the young priestess. She spat a piece of gristle onto the hem of his robe. "Oh, sorry there, Mister Quid. I'll mind me aim next time."

Cray asked Delva if she could read the scrolls they'd been provided. "Oh, yessir, I can," she replied. "I may not remember the spells lodged in my brain most of the time, but I can read any magic you set in front of these old eyes." Bliss wondered. The spell was a complicated one of high magnitude, and would form a sphere of protection that would enable the four of them to survive in the plane of Ooze. One misread word, and...

Well, it wasn't worth dwelling on. Bliss looked again at the slopping puddle underneath the boards behind Cray's feet. He was beginning to question his own sanity, banging around with these poor addled people. What sane person willingly stepped into an ooze portal?

But the stakes as Cray had explained them certainly seemed to justify the risk. And they had been well-prepared, with portable supplies, spell, portal and power keys, and careful instructions on how to find one of the most sought-after items of legend he'd ever heard of. Their path led from the muck of Ooze to the soup of Limbo to the winds of Pandemonium, but it seemed carefully thought out.

Delva read the scroll and Bliss deliberately lowered his phenomenal resistance to magic, allowing the spell's effect to roll across him as well. It seemed to be working.

Cray removed the boards and the ooze portal sucked greedily at them.

Harpsichord prodded the gunk with her staff and shrugged.

Bliss stepped forward. This was a test of extraordinary magnitude. He told himself he was honored to be included. Then the muck dragged him down.