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Message: <blockquote data-quote="OneCrappy DM" data-source="post: 9826331" data-attributes="member: 7033788">The Crooked Sword Gredmark's TableGredmark leans back allowing the smoke he's been holding in his lungs to let out among the conversation at the table, he has been taking it all in the introductions the names the places and the needs of everyone here. "Right catch a skeg at this," he pulls the circular top off the black box, "I'm looking for this barmy name of Eliath, here in the hive." Inside the box is a humanoid skull with mechanical cog built into the cracked open cavity of the top. "Bring'm to me and it'll be worth yer while. This will sweeten the pot for the cagestruck," The skull lifts itself off the table, cogs begin rotating.“I am Mimir: Testing… testing. Hells, is this thing listening? It always listens. I find myself in Sigil, the Cage, the City of Doors, the place where the multiverse gets lost.” The skull turns slowly, “The locals talk funny here. Lucky for me, language has a way of bleeding out of here. Planar Common starts here, seeps outward like rainwater through cracked stone falling on the heads of all other primes in their worlds. So I’m recording it all. Every phrase, every cant word, every sideways meaning. This skull’s got room, and the multiverse has a lot to say.” It floats a little higher, voice dropping. “And while I’m at it, I’ll store anything else worth knowing. End record. For now.” The skull settles back onto the table with a dull clack, Gredmark eyes the lot of you, measuring, weighing, deciding what kind of berks you are. “Keep the skull,” he says at last. “Might keep you breathing.” He leans back, folding his arms. “And for any of you clutching faith like it’s a lifeline, hate to crack your halo, cutters, but the powers don’t send folks to the Cage. Never have. Never will. Sigil don’t work that way.” A humorless snort. “Gods got no reach here. Can’t plant visions, can’t yank strings, can’t stick so much as a toe inside the city. You pray, you’ll just be talking to yourself. The Lady doesn’t share.” He straightens, voice turning businesslike. “If you want out, find me a bubbler named Eliath. You bring him back breathing, I’ll cut you a door home. The rest of you? I’ll square you up with some jink for the trouble.” Gredmark gestures vaguely, like the city itself is a bad memory.“Now, this Spellslinger you’re sniffing for could be anywhere. Places worth bleeding for: the Gatehouse, where the lost go for help; the Night Market, if you don’t mind getting peeled; the Mortuary, where the Dustmen count bodies; and the Blood Pits, if you’re feeling suicidal.” He taps the table “Questions? Ask the mimir. That skull’s got more sense than most cutters I meet. And crack open the Memoirs of a Traveler.” Gredmark empties out his pipe and repacks it with more tobacco, his face says it all. This is an offer that if you refuse would mean being out large bit of coin, or stuck here without hope of escape. "If you stick together you may not die looking for 'im, it pays well for all needs." </blockquote>

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