Clueless looked down at the page and its intricate mystical diagrams, each interspersed with dozens of blocks of text and even more notations regarding various footnotes and asides. The material was incredibly complex, and written in such a way as to require a large amount of background knowledge on various topics that while obscure during the height of Netheril’s Shadowed Age, were virtually unheard of in most mortal societies now, thousands of years later.
“This is going to take longer than I expected.” Clueless said, having spent a good and solid thirty minutes trying to make sense of one particular page.
“Karsus was either a genius or just completely insane…” He continued, sliding the book back with a sigh.
“He was a bit of both as I’m to understand it.”
The sudden commentary was crisp, measured and distinct, punctuating the silence of the room like the sharp stab of a knife.
Clueless had been alone, and he’d locked the door to his room earlier.
“What the hell?” He whispered as he spun around, knocking his chair over and drawing Razor before the furniture had actually touched the floorboards.
His breathing shallow, the bladesinger’s eyes darted from side to side, searching for the intruder in his room or any signs of a scry focus lurking in view. There were no sign of either however, and the only sounds to be heard were Clueless’s own breathing and the hush background of the Clerk’s Ward through the still securely sealed window overlooking the street.
His hand still tight around the hilt of his blade, apprehension and tension both leaching his knuckles of blood, leaving them white against the leather, Clueless turned a complete circle about his room.
Nothing.
“Maybe I just need more sleep.” He whispered to himself before rubbing a hand over his still tender back. “Or maybe… no, I think I’d have noticed side effects of that before now.”
The room was empty, the door was still locked when he checked the knob, and the window was still firmly latched. He must have been mistaken, or more likely he’d momentarily fallen asleep while trying to understand the intricacies of Karsus’s theories.
He yawned and looked out the window and down at the lights of the street below, just before there was the sound of rustled vellum behind him as a single page in the book was turned. Clueless’s eyes went wide and he slowly turned around.
Hovering in the air above his desk, one clawed hand outstretched towards the tome with a single talon having just turned the page, an arcanaloth glanced up and made eye contact with Clueless, a sly grin playing across its muzzle.
The ‘loth had fur of a chocolate brown color, fading to a lighter tan around his hands and feet, with speckles of black and light brown around his ears and down his neck. Somewhere, Clueless had seen him before. The fiend was dressed in a red sorcerer’s robe, trimmed in gold at the edges around the cuffs of the sleeves, and at the hem where it hung loosely in the air below the ‘loth’s hovering form. The robe was gathered at the fiend’s waist by a sash cut from the hide of a Rakshasa, the two backwards articulated paws dangling like macabre tassels.
The fiend smiled that knowing smile once more and opened a slim book of his own, setting it down in his lap before likewise producing an inkpot out of nowhere to drift in loose orbit around his body.
Clueless had indeed seen him before. The ‘loth had been standing there as colleague and co-conspirator at the side of the Ebon when the Oinoloth had taken control of Khin-Oin. And now he sat suspended in the air, legs crossed and book in lap, deftly licking the tip of a pen.
“Lord Helekanalaith…” Clueless began warily.
It couldn’t be real. The Keeper of the Tower Arcane was an archfiend by any standard, even before his rise in influence under the new Oinoloth, and The Lady uniformly barred such beings from entry into Sigil.
“And indeed She does.” The Keeper said, as if on cue. “I’m not here in person, not physically at least. That much eludes even myself, though I suppose I should appreciate and feel flattered by your impression of my power and ability.”
Clueless released his grip on his sword and sat down. There was really little he could do, and the subsequent bemused smile on the Yugoloth lord’s face added a bit of confirmation to the notion that the fiend could indeed parse through his thoughts.
“Oh it is –most- tedious to link a spell from the lower planes into the City of Doors.” The fiend said as he turned away from Clueless and drifted across the room to hover before the window.
“Her Serenity is fickle about what passes through her portals. But it is more sieve than shield, and this mind you, manages to pass unabraded.” Helekanalaith continued, unconsciously scribbling in his book.
There was precedent for such at least. Skall, the late Factol of the Dustmen was apparently able to project himself, in some illusory manner, into Sigil from the Citadel of the Soul in the Negative Energy Plane. A yugoloth lord doing something very similar wasn’t too much a stretch from there.
“It is a beautiful city I will ready admit,” The Keeper said, his eyes shedding a faint golden glow onto the glass. “Though the Lower Ward reminds me more of home than current whereabouts. I can see why The Marauder does so enjoy this place, among other reasons.”
The fiend vanished and reappeared directly in front of Clueless.
“And you see, that is what makes this situation of mutual benefit.” He said. “I gain another ear inside this place, and wherever you may happen to travel, as well as yet another motivated person who despises The Marauder. But that matters not.”
Clueless wrinkled his brow at the mention of Shemeska’s name. Evidently she was not on perfect terms with the Keeper, but the archfiend did not elaborate on his meaning as he continued to speak.
“I’ll repeat a question for you that I myself was asked once, and I answered, as you will too.” Helekanalaith said, pointing at Clueless with the tip of his pen. “What is it you want? For you see, I have much, much that I could provide, much that I could give. Some of it could come freely, some with a price attached. But I am nothing if not amenable.”
“Why would I want something from you?” Clueless asked. “And how did you get inside my head?”
Helekanalaith smiled and held out one of his hands, palm up.
“Because you have no other way of ridding yourself of my ability to riffle through your mind, and given your past experience with the Marauder and that bauble in your ankle I think that my presence would not be high on your list of passionate unions.”
Clueless snarled at the memory.
“Exactly.” Helekanalaith said. “You might as well either profit in some way from my presence, or earn yourself free of it. And given your interest in the Free League, I should think you amenable to trading information. Why not make this a two-way relationship by cooperation? Because otherwise I might be content to simply siphon away what I find interesting.”
The fiend’s last statement was decidedly colder and more matter-of-fact.
“You’ve had time to look around inside my head.” Clueless said. “So why not tell me how you got in there in the first place?”
The fiend smiled and an image appeared within his still outstretched and open hand. Cupped within his palm, cradled by his claws, was a blood red scrying orb.
“Son of a b*tch…” Clueless sighed as he recognized the globe that he had taken from the dead arcanaloth, Parphinias, in Elysium’s third layer.
“If it makes you feel any better, it was never intended for you.” Helekanalaith said as he dissolved the illusion in his hand. “It was simply a little cursed bauble to be passed around in the ranks below me, allowing me to occupy the minds of various underlings. I’m rather amused by the fact that it happened to fall into your hands, doubly so the irony since you were Shemeska’s puppet at one time. The chances of such…”
“What was
your answer to that question?” Clueless asked. “The one you said that you’d been asked before.”
The fiend didn’t reply, but seemed to underline something in his book, flashing that knowing smile again and seemingly amused.
“One thing I will require of you however,” Helekanalaith said, looking back up, “is the True Name of my late, departed, missing, dearest Larsdana.”
Involuntarily, Clueless thought back to a tiny box of true names that they had discovered in the Incantifers’ maze. Larsdana Ap Neut had been one of those entities whose true name was listed. Remembering that and making eye contact with the fiend, the ‘loth tilted his head in acknowledgement of the truth of the memory.
“She meant much to me,” He said with false humility. “So much more in her absence than in her life though you understand. Stumbling blocks, regardless of their nature must inevitably be cleared. Do me this small mandatory favor, and perhaps I shall do one for you.”
“And if I don’t?” Clueless asked.
“You are only one of many ears, eyes, or hands that I have within the City of Doors.” The fiend said as a simple statement of fact, not so much a threat. “That said, deliver the original paper within the next hour to the locality beyond a portal bound by the third and forth exterior columns on the eastern wall of an abandoned temple in the Lower Ward, which you have in the past visited. The portal key is a bit of ash rubbed upon your forehead in the shape of a circle."
“And how do I get you to leave me alone and take your leave from my head?” Clueless asked. “You said there were ways of that.”
“Indeed there are two such things that immediately spring to my mind.” Helekanalaith explained. “Two little thorns in my side that I do wish to ultimately see removed as such, but which either lie outside of my sphere of influence at present, are problems with no easy solution, or are simply questions with no answer in sight.”
“Go ahead and tell me if you would.”
The ‘loth nodded and seemed to relax as he hung suspended in the air, losing any adversarial sense and assuming a tone of master to pupil or taskmaster to loyal servant. Indeed, the fiend had only something to gain out of the bladesinger, and had never in the past, or at the current time, come into conflict with Clueless or his fellows directly.
“The first of the tasks that I would accept as payment for release from this sort of quiescent servitude is thusly: in the third layer of Baator, Minauros, within the Kyton city of Jangling Hiter there is something that I want, something that belongs to me.
Specifically, there is an object within one of the towers of the fortress of Panos Qytel there in the Kyton ward of that city.”
“And just what is this object?” Clueless asked.
“We will call it an object and leave it at that.” The ‘loth replied. “I have more of them, but I want this particular one back for various reasons. It was gifted to Quaheim, the late co-regent of the city, and currently rests in the ignorant possession of his brother Quimath. The fool does not know what he has, only that his brother considered it important and had been given it by a Nycaloth in service to some Gehennan Ultroloth.”
“Well…” Helekanalaith said with a frown and a snarl. “That Ultroloth is now dead, dangling from the spires of Khin-Oin, slowly feeding the Wastrels. He foolishly gave away what was not his to give, and I want it back.”
“So I walk into the fortress of a Kyton lord and steal one of his prized possessions?” Clueless asked with a skeptical tone.
“I never said these tasks were easy.” The fiend replied. “That one is difficult if not suicidal, but it will more than earn you enough favor from me to release you from being another looking glass of mine into the City of Doors.”
“And the other task?”
“The other one is less defined.” Helekanalaith said. “But frankly more of interest to me. Simply stated, find me the person known to be creating a revision to the Book of Keeping. I want them alive, their copy of the book and their notes intact in my hands or incinerated utterly, and if you must kill them, I want their body, and their soul or truename if possible.”
“Who are they?” Clueless asked.
“If I knew that I wouldn’t be tasking you to hunt them down.” He replied, flicking one of his ears in mild irritation. “Suffice to say, they are a considerable and nagging thorn in my side. Finding their location and identity would earn you favor, possibly above and beyond release from my service.”
“You don’t sound like other ‘loths, not entirely.” Clueless said, apparently much to the Keeper’s chagrin.
“I could of course channel the one you have been most familiar with, our most beloved King of the Crosstrade, and state that it’s because I’m ‘not most other ‘loths’.” Helekanalaith said with a smirk. “But no, I have no need for bluster and dramatics for dramatics sake. I think you’ll simply find me pragmatic above all else.”
Clueless shrugged.
“You, by way of odd, unfortunate circumstance, have me lurking in your mind.” The ‘loth continued. “Naturally I seek to gain something out of this sudden and unexpected relationship, though it is by no means anything of large importance to me in the grand scheme of things. I can simply sit back and filter information to myself through you, which may or may not negatively impact you and yours, or I can do so while giving you objectives that would buy your release, and provide me with a windfall should you achieve them.
Ultimately I’m not at any loss at any stage of this, and I have only something to gain by giving you a bit of extra motivation. Something a tad sweeter than my Oinoloth would call the Illusion of Hope, but it is there in tangible form nonetheless. Not quite a carrot to be dangled in front of you, but the analogy suffices for the most part.
I am pragmatic, and I am equitable.”
“Better than some others.” Clueless replied.
The fiend shrugged and then his voice assumed a much colder tone.
“Do not however make the mistake of assuming that I am also merciful in any way.” Helekanalaith said very firmly. “You would be sorely mistaken to view me as anything other than what I am.”
“Noted…” Clueless said. “But on that note, I do have one question for you.”
The fiend inclined his muzzle and peered down at the bladesinger.
“Why haven’t you just sent someone to kill me and my companions? You must know what we’ve done on the Astral, and in Carceri. We know that yugoloths are involved there, somehow wrapped up in all of that, though we’re still not sure why.”
The fiend chuckled.
“I’m not involved there.” He said. “You aren’t impacting my interests in the least, and so…”
The ‘loth shrugged and remained mum on the subject. In reality he was well aware of the involvement of the Ebon’s protégé, but didn’t really care one way or the other if the warped little harlot suffered any setbacks or not in her current pursuits at the Ebon’s beck and call. Difficultly on her part simply made him and his own look better by comparison, just as similar situations had each and every time that the late Bubonix had his tower razed to the ground by the Gehreleths.
The various ideological factions of the yugoloth hierarchy, the Ebon’s own conspirators within the Wheels and his favorites alike were united only to a certain extent, loyal within limitations and subject to caveats; they were yugoloths after all.
“Do as you will.” He explained. “I have no stake in the matter, but neither will you find me any sort of wellspring of information on the topic either.”
The fiend gazed out of the window once more and closed his book as his eyes seemed to grow distant for a moment, like his attention was being distracted by events or topics of conversation elsewhere.
“Understand,” he said, turning back to Clueless, “as much as I might enjoy being inside your head each passing moment of the day, The Tower keeps me occupied dearly. What with the Blood War’s day to day progress passing through my hands and a million contracts and blood oaths to pull, twist and manipulate to fill the coffers of me and mine, it is a busy life. All too often there is so much to do and so little time to sit back and observe things beyond the prosaic details of the day. But I make the time as I do now with you my mortal friend.”
Clueless could only sigh at the mild intonation of delight in the fiend’s voice.
“But now, I have other duties to attend to, the hour is late and you have something to deliver.” The fiend instructed. “I would advise you to do so posthaste…”
And with that last instruction lingering on the air, the fiend evaporated like so much smoke, leaving not a trace of his presence behind, leaving Clueless to slump back in his chair, cursing circumstance and his own dumb luck.
Exactly six seconds later he blacked out.
***
“All praise and glory to Doragon the lord of Might and Storms, light of a million souls, master of the prime material!”
Skalliska turned and winced at the sudden outburst by the garishly dressed cleric brandishing a lightning bolt shaped rod.
“Pay homage to him with coin and prayer!” The cleric continued. “And in his mercy he will give his favor unto thee!”
Skalliska rolled her eyes again and continued walking past him and his tiny cubicle of a shrine.
“No! Have faith in Learix the Mother of Wine and Song!” Shouted a rival cleric in the next shrine as Skalliska walked past it as well.
“Listen not to all of these falsehoods!” A third cleric called out. “Only faith in Finder will bring you happiness!”
“Then why have I never heard of any of you?” Skalliska muttered to herself as she brushed past them all and a hundred other fanatical clerics of a hundred other minor and unheard of powers in the lowest level of the Spiral Cathedral.
The sprawling complex on the border of the Lower and Lady’s Ward was a veritable hedge maze of stalls, niches, and shrines of each and every saint, demigod and power too obscure or otherwise new to Sigil to have a base of followers to support having an established place of worship therein.
As such, the warren of minor temples was a place of open, brutal, and sweltering competition between minor and upstart faiths, all seeking to further establish themselves within Sigil, all in cold or oftentimes open conflict with one another for the hearts, minds, and purse strings of the public. Each of the clerics tending to their so-called temples ranged from naïve and idealistic to jaded to pushy to outright dangerous, depending on the exact tenets of their particular faith.
Skalliska however wasn’t honestly interested in any of them that she passed. She was only interested in one of the upper floors of the complex, where most of the non-humanoid faiths had covered just over a third of the area. That was the one place where she might manage to find a cleric of a power she had assumed long dead, one who sparked something in her heart that might well be considered hope.
But of course, this entailed working her way through the crowd of semi-itinerant preachers, priests, moral shepherds, shysters, frauds, would-be messiahs, and fishers of souls that packed every available inch of land where they might conceivably hang an icon, drape a prayer cloth, or pitch an altar. The kobold was thankfully short enough though to weave her way through the babbling and proselytizing crowd at around hip height, avoiding the worst of it all.
She was only interested in finding a shrine, or even just a single follower or priest of Saravtesh, lord of shadows and illusions. In the myths of her childhood, the Scaled Shadow was one who rewarded the quick of wit and hand. He was a subtle god, neither good nor evil, but nestled somewhere in the twilight between the two, focused upon the needs of his faithful more so than any grand ideological battles beyond his chosen people.
But of course, finding a deity of shadows, stealth and illusion might be easier said than done, especially in the clerical madhouse that Skalliska currently wandered. Eventually the powers of humans, elves and others gave way to dwarves, gnomes, and hin, followed by dozens of others and finally giving way to those faiths worshipped by beings termed ‘monstrous’ by some.
Passing by the delicate and ornate Ashram of Ravanna, then an apparently abandoned and defaced shrine to Manzicorian, nestled close to a shrine to Urdlen, Skalliska once more tried to gain her bearings. If the deity who seemed to call out to her was present in some way within the confines of the Cathedral, his shrine would be somewhere close by, given the other powers represented in the area.
If only she could find it.
Or maybe he would send someone to her.
“You seem confused child.” Came a voice in pidgin-draconic from behind Skalliska.
The voice was distinctly kobold in accent and intonation, and for a moment, Skalliska’s heart raced with hope.
“I see you wandering, looking, searching, seeking, hoping…” The kobold cleric whispered in a sing-song voice. “But there is only one place that you need seek, and you have found it. Or rather this humble hand of the Horned Sorcerer has found you amid this labyrinth of falsehood that you have wandered till now.”
Skalliska turned around to face the cleric, her hopes being dashed when she saw the carved gnome skull transfixed by a spike hung upon the wall of the shrine.
“Our father Kurtulmak welcomes all of his children.”
***
Clueless opened his eyes and looked around in no small amount of confusion. He was still sitting upright at his desk, not slumped over atop the Karsus tome as he would have been had he simply fallen asleep.
The most immediate thought in his head was that he had indeed fallen asleep, and he had something to deliver on the other bloody side of Sigil. But a quick glance out the window showed that the level of light in the sky had not changed, so he hadn’t been out long.
“F*cking ‘loth…” Clueless then cursed, glancing down immediately to the gem in his ankle, seriously worried that the ‘loth might have managed a way to activate it, once more making him a puppet at the fiend’s pleasure.
But no, the gem had not changed, and it felt the same as it had since he’d regained full control over himself.
Then he noticed that his hand was deftly clutching a pen, the Karsus tome had been pushed to one side, and there was a sheet of parchment atop the desk covered in a few brief bits of writing in his own hand, with the exception of a single baroque sigil, the letter J in the Infernal alphabet superimposed above a classical symbol of a maze or labyrinth.
“F*ck my crowded head…” Clueless muttered to himself with a mixture of resignation, bemusement, and curiosity as he looked down at what he had been compelled to write.
“I thought this as appropriate a time as ever to have a word with you, given that you’ve started to read that particular book by Karsus, and with the other occupant in your head making himself known.
As I believe I said before, you seem to attract things of power, so here’re a few words, a quotation in fact by someone who is not held in high regards by either of us. And in case you weren’t already aware of them and their content, now you are:
“And the blackest of pleasures when I whispered into the ear of the Archwizard Karsus, telling him secrets not meant for the ears of mortal or mundane fiend alike. His arrogance was his downfall, and that of his empire and the goddess he worshipped as well. Thus did a fiend conspire to slay a god… and succeed.” – Vorkannis the Ebon
***
