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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Unsung" data-source="post: 6596047" data-attributes="member: 6781406">There is no rain, not even of the falling soot that plagues the Lower Ward. But the streets are packed, and not just with the working-class sorts Shandrizar might expect to see in his part of the city. Well-dressed merchants, gamblers, gangsters, and smugglers of the sort to frequent a den of thieves like Torch, in various states of disarray, many of them smoldering or lightly charred. Thugs and ne'er-do-wells and down-and-outs, less wretched than those of the Hive, but more scarred, and if possible, more desperate-looking. Adventurers, of course, but then there was no telling if they'd jumped ship from the sliding gate-town or been in Sigil to begin with.Many of them entered with naught but the clothes on their backs, though a few seemed to have arrived with luggage in tow, or the occasional keepsake or bit of valuables. Stolen, many of them, almost certainly. The brawls over pittances have already begun.Of the portals in view down this side-street, many of them are opening and closing continuously, as more and more refugees pour through. Each time a portal opens, another boom. Through the shimmering surface of the portals, in back of the churning mobs trying to escape, Shandrizar can see Torch falling, its steep streets upending, cracking and crumbling, sending gouts of greenish smoke up into the air and hurling people to the marshes below. The volcanoes that make up Torch's skyline are aglow with sputtering flame, drooling bright orange lava. Winged contingents of fiends, of all three major races, battle for air supremacy, blotting out the sky.</blockquote>

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