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.
[sblock=Lex]
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]
[sblock=Ashir]
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]
[sblock=Ezra]
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]
[sblock=Leau]
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]
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.
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[sblock=Lex]
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]
[sblock=Ashir]
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]
[sblock=Ezra]
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]
[sblock=Leau]
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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