Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Baronsquee" data-source="post: 5308052" data-attributes="member: 93587">Sooner or later, everyone learns that Sigil is a bad, bad place to be if you’re penniless. Even the knights of the Lady’s Ward, with their mountains of jink, can be seen sniffing the poverty with distaste when their sedan chairs come too close to the Lower Ward.   Vorrin knew that trouble was ahead when he spent his final copper.   The last job was simple enough. Sit outside the Mortuary and try to believe some clueless sod’s contract out of existence. It hadn’t worked, as far as Vorrin knew, but he’d kept his end of the bargain – eight hours a day for three weeks. The sorry Prime who’d hired him had paid up what little he had left, and that was over a month ago. Now Vorrin’s pouch was empty and he was reduced to begging in the Great Bazaar like so many other bubbers who hope had abandoned. To make matters worse, he had to endure the jibes of those that knew of his unusual profession:  “Hey, Vorrin, you heard the latest? Someone found the top of the Infinite Staircase!”  “Hoi, Githy! Believe this! The modrons and the slaadi have settled their differences and are all living happily in Bytopia with Pelor and Lolth!”   “Hey, you! Would you believe me if I told you that the dabus have written an opera? Yeah, the first performance is tonight, in Acheron, and they want you to be the guest of honour!”   Vorrin weathered these barbs silently, patiently.   It’s just past antipeak. Vorrin is hungry. A red-maned bauriar, furtively glancing around him and inadvertently drawing the attention of more than a few knights of the post as a result, sidles toward him.   “So you’re the believer guy, right? You one of them Chameleons? Them Turncoats? You from Limbo, right?”   Vorrin’s answer is quiet, almost too faint to be heard.   “Yes, I am from Limbo. No, I am not associated with the sect called the Converts. While they abandon their previous beliefs in favour of their latest fad, I merely suppress mine for the duration of an assignment, accumulating new ones and forming them into a coherent whole.”   The Bauriar regarded Vorrin closely.   “Uh-huh. Whatever. Listen, I got some work for ya, if yer interested. Concerns the… ah, you know… those Mercykillers. Y’interested?”  Vorrin licked his lips. It was the first offer of work in weeks, but the Red Death were not to be trifled with. Before he could answer, a contingent of the very topics of conversation appeared through the throng and answered the question.   “There’s the anarchist!” cried one of the Mercykiller soldiers. “Get him!”   The bauriar had already vanished into the crowd. Waiting to be interrogated by the Mercykillers wasn’t really a wise option for a Githzerai vagrant. But the soldiers were closing in, bristling with halberds.   Then, without warning, he vanished completely.</blockquote>

Verification