D&D 5E Greenmtn's Planescape Game IC


Welcome to Sigil!
It’s considered by some to be the jewel of the Outlands, the nexus of power of the multiverse, a place of great beauty or ugliness. Every day in Sigil, deals are made that seal the fate of hundreds and thousands, negotiators barter for peace in the Blood War, and factotums seek the truth to the meaning of everything. People die, ideals are born, and great power is wielded with the flick of a finger. The city seems to wrap around you, curving slightly in all directions, you could comfort yourself by thinking of it as a welcoming embrace... but you have all been here long enough to know that on any given day it could also envelope you like the hungry maw of a Tanar'ri.

OOC: I didn't want to make any assumptions about if the PC's knew each other or not. feel free to decide that you do or don't know the other PC's as you see fit

After 3 trips to the hall of records and exactly 15 hours, 28 minutes and 47 seconds of moving from cluttered desk to cluttered desk, dealing with all manner of Takers grumpily and begrudgingly "helping" you, you exit the building again onto the chaotic and bustling streets of the Administrators district of the Clerks ward with a paper detailing the last 3 signatures needed, and the 500 gold fee required, for entrance into a class on the history of Sigilian Law. Over the last few days, a pain has been slowly growing behind your eyes. You start calculating how to come up with that kind of money. The Hive has been seeing an up-rise in deaders, message running would take far to long, you could try again to start a band, someone must need information about something...[/sblock]

You like this place, despite the unsavory company and smell, or maybe because of it. It is the only place you have found in the city that doesn't feel cold. You look up over your cup and the bar is busy, the hustle and bustle of games being played, stories told and harlots courting customers. You take a strange sick comfort in the burning humanoid figure somehow suspended above a grate in the floor, the source of the heat. Word around the bar is that the body is somehow connected to the plane of fire it's self and will burn forever. Your thoughts are interrupted by a thump in your head, it's been there since you woke up this morning but you don't remember drinking THAT much yesterday.[/sblock]

The Hive is a good place to disappear for a while, when you don't want anyone finding you. Unfortunately for those there it also means no one notices when you are written in the dead book, and it seems that has been happening more than usual here as of late. Alleshas Pantry proved to be a dead end, you walk into the "Smoldering Corps" bar, it's a busy place full of unsavory types, the heat is oppressive and the sight of the humanoid body burning in the middle of the main room is sickening to most. In the noise you hear all manner of conversations Harlots flirting, arguments, games of chance, yells for more drinks. You scan the room for any sign of someone that might know the dark of what is going on with these deaders, you are sure the Dustmen would pay well for that information. Your eyes settle finally settle on a pale skinned fellow with coal black hair.[/sblock]

Fresh vegetables are so hard to find in this forsaken place and you swear that the streets themselves move when you aren't looking. You were sure you were on your way to Greenage, a bar ill suited for someone of your size, The Halfling that owns it caters to people her stature but the cider she makes is truly divine, literally and figuratively if her claims are true she makes it from apples from one of her little Gods orchards. and your stomach grumbles at you as you recognize the Hall of Records. You are in the right ward at least. An interesting site indeed distracts you. A Modron with a look you have never seen before on one of it's kind. Even with it's all knowing collective mind. This one seems... confused.[/sblock]
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Deus Machina

First Post
Leau had been wandering slowly through the distict, trying to keep an eye out for any sign that may look promising. He had been born and raised among trees and fields, tribal camps and villages. His expectation for a city had been more like that among a large village, perhaps even during a festival, not... this. Random strangers hadn't been particularly helpful so far, and now he's just hoping for any place that provide anything more than bread supplemented with his own dwindling dried rations. His eyes do pause on the modron with some kind of amused empathy; in a crowd like that, even the metal men get befuddled.


First Post
Ezra gives the burning corpse on display only a brief sideways glance, noting it but barely reacting to it. He appears the sort that cares to not want to seem bothered by something, even something that everyone else would best be bothered by, especially so...

He pulls a small cloth-wrapped package from his coat pocket. It's a long and useful looking coat, the kind that doesn't scream stylish, but also seems carefully selected to appear a nonchalant kind of cool. He knocks a hand-wrapped stick of something out of the package with a flick, taps it on the bar, which sets it to smouldering on the end.

Drawing a drag and exhaling slowly, without turning his head to look at the coal-topped fellow, he says:
"Now, you think a man would get used to the sight a seein' someone burned like that. You think yad reach a point where that would seem like just sum party trick for low-rent bars." He shoots a glance at the bartender, "No offence meant er nuthin." Back to staring at the bottles, perhaps the reflection of the burning man in them or what is illuminated across the bar behind him, "But ya really don't. No, a soul never really gets used to that kinda thing, don't ya think?"

He turns to the pale skinned man for the first time with a questioning look on his face, breathing smoke from the corner of his mouth.

mike peabody

First Post
*Stops; points both index fingers at Leau while keeping elbows at waist height*

"I am Lex and I would like to buy you a tea! Winning smile!"

*Flashes winning smile immediately after saying, "Winning smile".*


Ashir takes his eyes away from the burning corpse and looks at the man talking (Ezra) at the bar in a nonchalant and function coat. The Charismatic and friendly mood and clear good taste of the man seems as fair as his hair. “You are quit right.” Ashir states as he approached the spot along the bar next to Ezra Graymore. “
“It is quit the sight and it does do the trick.” Ashir says waving his hand in a board wave and an attempt at a friendly grin towards the bartender. He scans the rest of the room before looking back towards Erza Graymore.
“ It definitely gives off the heat of a warm fire.” Ashir shrugs towards the burning body. “ Mind If I join you while you can tell me what brings you here good sir? And if it is not my business feel free to cast me off and go on talking about the ambiance of this establishment. ” Ashir feels like he just talked more in the last five minutes than he has in months. Nothing like a friendly face and no weapons pointed at you to make you feel sociable. Besides Ashir likes a good story as much as the next and overhearing the tales is only half as good as hearing first hand. Which will allow Ashir to stay in the warm bar a bit longer without being hit on by harlots while he sobers up. He still has no idea what he going to do for work or pay.


Ashir is not sure what to think about Ezra friendly comments or the other patrons of the bar. He convinced only on the motives of the harlots, a few drudges in the corners and that the unsavory bartenders he may have over tipped. He still holding his cup and double checking his memory on those entering and leaving to figure out what he missed in the night. He smiles and looks with his best friend face at Ezra while trying to check that the persons are not blocking his view of the heat source.


First Post
Ezra taps the bar loud enough for the barkeep to hear. He points to a bottle of somewhat cheap brown liquor and indicates two glasses by making a "V" sign with his fingers. The Barkeep might have been mildly perplexed, Ezra doesn't know, but it's of little consequence anyway. Ezra turns his attention back to the pale man and says:

"You look like you might know the dark of this influx o' deaders of late, and that yeah might consider lightin' the subject without thinkin one a gully ripe for the pick."

He subtly (but not too subtly) indicates the rest of the room: "Not like the rest o' these scum who'll roll ya for jink and bleat grail til ya got no clue where ya are and what happen t'yer purse. Whadda ya say, got a clue there to the goin's on?"
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First Post
It would occur to a native of Sigil that Ezra may be laying the local parlance on thick, and that it might be for appearances.

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