Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour - (Updated 14February2024)
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Shemeska
Adventurer
“I’d like to speak with the Portal Jammer’s owners.” Factol Nathaniel spoke with a polite, congenial smile, without any irritation as he stood at bar, “All of them ideally.”
Clueless narrowed his eyes and glanced at the man’s wrists and other exposed skin, looking for any evidence of one of the tattoos that would have marked him as a puppet of Shylara the Manged, Overlord of Carceri. Freshly returned to power it seemed all but certain that she would seek to vent her frustration on the mortals who’d so thoroughly embarrassed her by seeking to kill them yet again.
“And what would this be about?” Clueless asked, still cleaning and re-cleaning the same ale mug with a bar cloth. “Are you upset about something here at the Jammer? Was service not to your satisfaction?”
The bladesinger turned to cough into her shoulder, deftly whispering the words to a spell as he did so. Intending to look for any evidence that the man at the bar was hiding his true nature, geased, or liable to explode in a shower of fire and blood as soon as all of the Jammer’s owners were assembled in one place. Turning back to face the visitor he found nothing of the sort, but the radiant glow of latent, permanencied spells and the puissant glow of objects in the man’s possession made him squint his eyes.
“You’re not here about having been served a bad drink or not having your room tidied up enough are you?” Clueless asked, setting the mug and cloth down on the bar as he studied the literal archmage standing before him, and for the first time noting the Fraternity of Order symbols on the man’s clothing.
“Not in the slightest Clueless.” The Factol replied, “This is a pleasant calling, potentially involving business, but one I’d prefer discretion on if you don’t mind. Is there somewhere more private that we can all talk?”
Politely nodding, the bladesinger motioned towards the door to the private back room, “Through that door. I’ll go find the others.”
“My name is Nathaniel, Factol-Elect of the Fraternity of Order,” He spread his hands and began, “I am also the son of once-Factol Lariset the Inescapable.”
“So, Factol, what brings you to Sigil?” Tristol asked, his ears perked and his tail swishing slowly back and forth. While he’d only just come into his position as one of Mystra’s Chosen, it afforded him the capacity to see the Guvner’s enchantments as if he were reading a restaurant’s menu. He was impressed by what he saw, most prominently by the spells woven to retard the aging process and blunt the curse of long-stays on the Astral that ended up retroactively applying once off-plane. Similar to githyanki spells of the same variety, the Factol’s were unique and likely self-created.
“This is the last place that I’d have expected to see you now,” Clueless nodded to the aasimar, “From what I’ve heard, your faction has suffered the assassination of your predecessor and a burglary in your headquarters in Mechanus. But yet here you are, in Sigil, in a tavern, talking to a bunch of part-time adventurers.”
“I’m not part-time!” Nisha poked Tristol with her tail, “Are you part time? Nobody told me about that!”
As his companions spoke, Toras remained distinctly quiet. Truth be told he was still shaken to the core by the state in which he’d left the Marauder, weeping and full of self-pity, bereft of an arm and an eye by her punishment for crimes unknown by the Oinoloth himself. He wasn’t certain if it was the fact that she’d been brutalized so hideously and so easily by the Lord of Khin-Oin that stunned him more, or the fact that in the wake of her crippling, her eyes virtually glazed over in a mixture of religious ecstasy and lust when she mentioned the archfiend who’d maimed her.
“I’m actually here in Sigil in relation to the events that you’ve heard about.” Nathaniel glanced at each of them in turn, “And events that you’ve apparently experienced firsthand here in Sigil.”
“Who was it that murdered your predecessor?” Fyrehowl asked, remembering the face of Nilesia staring at her from her memories of the burning library.
“A dead woman,” The Factol replied, “Though I’m not sure that either of us can say for certain who or what she was, regardless of her appearance.”
“Nilesia,” Toras muttered.
“So she appeared to be.” Nathaniel shrugged noncommittally.
“So how was the death of your predecessor connected to the burglaries and murders here in Sigil?” Clueless asked, “Though we know the two locations here: a scriptorium and an archive respectively, were owned by your faction.”
“The murders were incidental to a theft,” The Factol explained, “All in search of something kept hidden as a secret among our Factols since the time of my mother’s rule. How much do you know about Lariset the Inescapable?”
“We probably wouldn’t have gotten along?” Nisha shrugged with a sorry grin, “The whole I’m a Xaositect thing and all.”
“She’s something of a hero among your Faction believers,” Tristol replied, “And she vanished or ascended after discovering some key loophole in the laws of the cosmos.”
“And that was where it started,” Nathaniel bit his lip, “My mother did not ascend. She was murdered.”
Silence blanketed the room for several long moments before the Factol continued.
“And she would not be the last of our Factols murdered in cold blood.”
“Hashkar was murdered during the days of the Faction War,” Nisha explained, hiding a guilty smile, “But I have a rock solid alibi for where I was at the time!”
“It wasn’t you,” Nathaniel chuckled, “As it happened, Hashkar’s killer claimed no knowledge of the crime he committed in broad daylight. It isn’t public knowledge that he had a blue, egg shaped gem embedded in his leg that shattered and turned to dust at his execution.”
“F*cking ‘loths!” Clueless slammed his fist down on the table and ran his other through his hair angrily as his companions all glanced down tellingly at his ankle where the Marauder’s gem still set lodged within his ankle. Though she no longer held control over the artifact lodged there, it had been created by the Oinoloth himself as one tool of many that led to his ascension atop Khin-Oin, and clearly it had been used in subtle ways for a much longer period of time than anyone had previously expected.
“We suspected them but could never confirm.” The Factol exhaled as the bladesinger confirmed his suspicions.
“It’s confirmed.” Clueless’s voice dripped with rancor, “But why kill Lariset? Why kill Hashkar? What were they looking for?”
“They were desperate to find Lariset’s journals and Hashkar’s further work upon what she’d discovered, not that the answer to that was known outside of themselves, sadly,” Nathaniel explained, “And this most recent time they largely succeeded. Not entirely though, because they missed some of Lariset’s private papers. It isn’t entirely cohesive what remained behind, but I’ve spent days pouring over them and I have some clues where to begin.”
“So we know the connection to what happened to your Faction and what happened here in Sigil,” Fyrehowl’s ears were perked with curiosity, “But why come here, to us?”
“You have a profound reputation and skill set, and a personal connection to the events.” Nathaniel reached into his satchel and pulled out a partially burnt journal, the title written in Lariset’s hand with a stretch of years to indicate the dates of composition. “You also have more connections than you think, but we’ll get to that.”
“So what –did– Lariset find?” Tristol asked, his ears now perked as much as Fyrehowl’s.
“The public story is that she found a “profound loophole” but it was something more.” The Factol opened up the notebook, “This is an outline of her life’s work here. Shortened notations to catalog and organize hundreds of lost volumes, but her private comments on various events are invaluable in and of themselves.”
“What did she find?” Tristol asked a second time.
“I don’t know why she was there in the first place, but she thought that she’d found the existence of universal axiom underlying everything.” Nathaniel paused, “EVERYTHING. She didn’t know what it was, just that it existed, and she thought that she’d found a way to determine what it was, and she was set upon that path in the city of Portent in the Gray Waste where, in her own words, ‘A fire was set to burning in my brain.’”
“F*cking ‘loths…” Clueless snarled.
The Factol opened the journal up to a page previously marked with a heavy velvet bookmark and turned it to face the Portal Jammer’s owners, setting them face to face with an illustration in Lariset’s hand of a single human, smiling up and out of the page, “I believe that you recognize this man.”
There with a smile belying his actual nature, hundreds of years before he was born, lay the face of a man they did indeed recognize as none other than Professor Cilret Leobtav.
“That’s not possible.” Florian interjected, “He was human and we know when and where he was born. That’s centuries too early for him to have been there.”
“And yet there he was,” The Factol shrugged, “Prominent enough in my mother’s memories to be given a chapter in her journal.”
The Factol’s journal began with copious notes on Portent itself, its political divisions, the lack of yugoloth influence compared to such locations as the City at the Center, a sketch of the Grand Hall, the streets spread out like arteries of some great heart, and then the half-page illustration of Leobtav. The madman was smiling, seemingly sane, but in the corners of his mouth and his eyes there was the same undercurrent of madness showing. The religious fanaticism seen prior to his death in the Outlands was there for those who knew what to look for.
The Factol’s own text talked about her encounter with the man who would be born centuries later:
"…a jovial sort. He spoke at length to me about Laws and Rules and Inevitability. He got me to thinking about a number of things, and in a new way on a good number of others. He never gave me his name though, and my inquiries after the fact as to who he was came to a dead end. None of the groups and gangs knew of him and I could not gain access to the Grand Hall to ask Laughing Jane. But even without knowing his identity, his words stayed with me and the more I thought about what he said the more it rattled around in my mind, getting more and more insistent for thought and attention.
It’s that spark, that almost tangible spark in your brain when a block in a puzzle locks into place and makes a picture all make sense. That's what he gave me and that’s when it all hit me. That's when I found it, one of the Universal Axioms. This is amazing. This alone is enough for a life's work. But that's not all. Not in the least. This is… this is almost like a piece of a puzzle, part of a bigger picture, a key to something more. There's something deeper here, something hidden in the equations. Something I can almost grasp. To hell with my faction responsibilities. I’ll lock myself away till I find it. Coordinates? There’s a location hidden in part of the equations. If only the math would behave as I understand it. I can solve part of it, but not all of it. It will take time to calculate the next step. The numbers seem to only work when applied to the inner planes which is… odd. This is all leading to something, but WHAT?! First step is …"
The page was torn and the rest of the book was missing except for a single bit of marginalia, thoughts half-considered and not up to being formally penned in the main body of the text. They hinted though at the next step, the first in the dead Factol’s path that had begun and now began again in Portent:
Limit / zero sum
First iteration: Positive touched quasiplane of mineral, boundary with
Positive. Gemfields. ??? 1/5 iteration.
Scattered and broken. By who?
What does the Axiom prescribe?
The subtle and not-so-subtle aftershocks that had rocked the streets of Portent since the Oinoloth’s recent surprise visit had nearly settled, the baernaloth prisoner’s rage expended and its consciousness subsided back into a soft, twisted arrhythmia of its heartbeat echoing through the stones if one had the capacity to notice, listen, and understand. The gangs and warring interest groups had only slowly recovered from the slaughter as perpetrated by the Oinoloth’s forces in inexplicable violation of Portent’s Laws that made actual violence a suicidal affair. New self-proclaimed powers remained in the vacuum left behind as the ‘loths abandoned the city once more, their master’s intents satisfied by a few scant moments atop the throne and a conversation with the prisoner far, far below.
Alone and left to her own company, one figure remained who knew of both the Oinoloth’s actions and the true nature of Portent itself: Laughing Jane. The tiefling, or the entity that seemed to be a tiefling, had been there for almost as long as Portent had been a city upon the Waste. She was in fact the first mortal to step foot into the sanctum there, and the first foolish soul to connect with the godlike entity slumbering far below the city’s foundation stones. She would never be the same again: never sane, never fully in control of herself, and never again capable of such mortal capacities as death.
What Laughing Jane had though were her memories, a perfect recall of every moment from the first time that she sat upon the throne and the serpents erupted from her eyes, so many, many thousands of years ago. She remembered the faces and the threats, bravado, and begging by the would-be doges and lords of Portent and how each of them had died by one another’s hands, one by one like clockwork chugging along in time with the beating of Portent’s literal heart.
“The Oinoloth and those he has touched and enslaved have been here before.” One of her serpents hissed in the darkness, its eyes burning a brilliant red.
“The mouthpiece, the hollow filled by vor’nel’thraanix has spoken here before, from nothingness into the marketplace.” Laughing Jane whispered, chuckling from her mouth. “There to whisper from out of time, dead and nullified, to one who would bring together the pieces.”
“But not for herself, but for the jackal yet to sit atop Khin-Oin, and she a sacrifice to that goal.” The other serpent hissed with malice.
“Others will come and we will direct them.”
“Direct them to a light in the darkness.”
“Burning bright like a Torch.”
“A lantern in the shadows, there to attract.”
“A Weaver of Lies…”
“There to doom and devour…”
Distantly one of the city’s bells rang, tolling out the hour and Laughing Jane laughed and waited. The Oinoloth had dismissed her, mocked her frailty and overwhelmed her with nary an effort such was his power. But every player in that game possessed strings and she would tug those she could for nothing was settled, not even plans set in place at the dawn of time.
Others would come and they would speak to her. She would babble and she would tug upon their own strings before sending them into the webs of others’ and the hungry spiders weaving since it had all begun, since before Portent, since before the shattering of the Clan of Baern.
Clueless narrowed his eyes and glanced at the man’s wrists and other exposed skin, looking for any evidence of one of the tattoos that would have marked him as a puppet of Shylara the Manged, Overlord of Carceri. Freshly returned to power it seemed all but certain that she would seek to vent her frustration on the mortals who’d so thoroughly embarrassed her by seeking to kill them yet again.
“And what would this be about?” Clueless asked, still cleaning and re-cleaning the same ale mug with a bar cloth. “Are you upset about something here at the Jammer? Was service not to your satisfaction?”
The bladesinger turned to cough into her shoulder, deftly whispering the words to a spell as he did so. Intending to look for any evidence that the man at the bar was hiding his true nature, geased, or liable to explode in a shower of fire and blood as soon as all of the Jammer’s owners were assembled in one place. Turning back to face the visitor he found nothing of the sort, but the radiant glow of latent, permanencied spells and the puissant glow of objects in the man’s possession made him squint his eyes.
“You’re not here about having been served a bad drink or not having your room tidied up enough are you?” Clueless asked, setting the mug and cloth down on the bar as he studied the literal archmage standing before him, and for the first time noting the Fraternity of Order symbols on the man’s clothing.
“Not in the slightest Clueless.” The Factol replied, “This is a pleasant calling, potentially involving business, but one I’d prefer discretion on if you don’t mind. Is there somewhere more private that we can all talk?”
Politely nodding, the bladesinger motioned towards the door to the private back room, “Through that door. I’ll go find the others.”
****
“My name is Nathaniel, Factol-Elect of the Fraternity of Order,” He spread his hands and began, “I am also the son of once-Factol Lariset the Inescapable.”
“So, Factol, what brings you to Sigil?” Tristol asked, his ears perked and his tail swishing slowly back and forth. While he’d only just come into his position as one of Mystra’s Chosen, it afforded him the capacity to see the Guvner’s enchantments as if he were reading a restaurant’s menu. He was impressed by what he saw, most prominently by the spells woven to retard the aging process and blunt the curse of long-stays on the Astral that ended up retroactively applying once off-plane. Similar to githyanki spells of the same variety, the Factol’s were unique and likely self-created.
“This is the last place that I’d have expected to see you now,” Clueless nodded to the aasimar, “From what I’ve heard, your faction has suffered the assassination of your predecessor and a burglary in your headquarters in Mechanus. But yet here you are, in Sigil, in a tavern, talking to a bunch of part-time adventurers.”
“I’m not part-time!” Nisha poked Tristol with her tail, “Are you part time? Nobody told me about that!”
As his companions spoke, Toras remained distinctly quiet. Truth be told he was still shaken to the core by the state in which he’d left the Marauder, weeping and full of self-pity, bereft of an arm and an eye by her punishment for crimes unknown by the Oinoloth himself. He wasn’t certain if it was the fact that she’d been brutalized so hideously and so easily by the Lord of Khin-Oin that stunned him more, or the fact that in the wake of her crippling, her eyes virtually glazed over in a mixture of religious ecstasy and lust when she mentioned the archfiend who’d maimed her.
“I’m actually here in Sigil in relation to the events that you’ve heard about.” Nathaniel glanced at each of them in turn, “And events that you’ve apparently experienced firsthand here in Sigil.”
“Who was it that murdered your predecessor?” Fyrehowl asked, remembering the face of Nilesia staring at her from her memories of the burning library.
“A dead woman,” The Factol replied, “Though I’m not sure that either of us can say for certain who or what she was, regardless of her appearance.”
“Nilesia,” Toras muttered.
“So she appeared to be.” Nathaniel shrugged noncommittally.
“So how was the death of your predecessor connected to the burglaries and murders here in Sigil?” Clueless asked, “Though we know the two locations here: a scriptorium and an archive respectively, were owned by your faction.”
“The murders were incidental to a theft,” The Factol explained, “All in search of something kept hidden as a secret among our Factols since the time of my mother’s rule. How much do you know about Lariset the Inescapable?”
“We probably wouldn’t have gotten along?” Nisha shrugged with a sorry grin, “The whole I’m a Xaositect thing and all.”
“She’s something of a hero among your Faction believers,” Tristol replied, “And she vanished or ascended after discovering some key loophole in the laws of the cosmos.”
“And that was where it started,” Nathaniel bit his lip, “My mother did not ascend. She was murdered.”
Silence blanketed the room for several long moments before the Factol continued.
“And she would not be the last of our Factols murdered in cold blood.”
“Hashkar was murdered during the days of the Faction War,” Nisha explained, hiding a guilty smile, “But I have a rock solid alibi for where I was at the time!”
“It wasn’t you,” Nathaniel chuckled, “As it happened, Hashkar’s killer claimed no knowledge of the crime he committed in broad daylight. It isn’t public knowledge that he had a blue, egg shaped gem embedded in his leg that shattered and turned to dust at his execution.”
“F*cking ‘loths!” Clueless slammed his fist down on the table and ran his other through his hair angrily as his companions all glanced down tellingly at his ankle where the Marauder’s gem still set lodged within his ankle. Though she no longer held control over the artifact lodged there, it had been created by the Oinoloth himself as one tool of many that led to his ascension atop Khin-Oin, and clearly it had been used in subtle ways for a much longer period of time than anyone had previously expected.
“We suspected them but could never confirm.” The Factol exhaled as the bladesinger confirmed his suspicions.
“It’s confirmed.” Clueless’s voice dripped with rancor, “But why kill Lariset? Why kill Hashkar? What were they looking for?”
“They were desperate to find Lariset’s journals and Hashkar’s further work upon what she’d discovered, not that the answer to that was known outside of themselves, sadly,” Nathaniel explained, “And this most recent time they largely succeeded. Not entirely though, because they missed some of Lariset’s private papers. It isn’t entirely cohesive what remained behind, but I’ve spent days pouring over them and I have some clues where to begin.”
“So we know the connection to what happened to your Faction and what happened here in Sigil,” Fyrehowl’s ears were perked with curiosity, “But why come here, to us?”
“You have a profound reputation and skill set, and a personal connection to the events.” Nathaniel reached into his satchel and pulled out a partially burnt journal, the title written in Lariset’s hand with a stretch of years to indicate the dates of composition. “You also have more connections than you think, but we’ll get to that.”
“So what –did– Lariset find?” Tristol asked, his ears now perked as much as Fyrehowl’s.
“The public story is that she found a “profound loophole” but it was something more.” The Factol opened up the notebook, “This is an outline of her life’s work here. Shortened notations to catalog and organize hundreds of lost volumes, but her private comments on various events are invaluable in and of themselves.”
“What did she find?” Tristol asked a second time.
“I don’t know why she was there in the first place, but she thought that she’d found the existence of universal axiom underlying everything.” Nathaniel paused, “EVERYTHING. She didn’t know what it was, just that it existed, and she thought that she’d found a way to determine what it was, and she was set upon that path in the city of Portent in the Gray Waste where, in her own words, ‘A fire was set to burning in my brain.’”
“F*cking ‘loths…” Clueless snarled.
The Factol opened the journal up to a page previously marked with a heavy velvet bookmark and turned it to face the Portal Jammer’s owners, setting them face to face with an illustration in Lariset’s hand of a single human, smiling up and out of the page, “I believe that you recognize this man.”
There with a smile belying his actual nature, hundreds of years before he was born, lay the face of a man they did indeed recognize as none other than Professor Cilret Leobtav.
“That’s not possible.” Florian interjected, “He was human and we know when and where he was born. That’s centuries too early for him to have been there.”
“And yet there he was,” The Factol shrugged, “Prominent enough in my mother’s memories to be given a chapter in her journal.”
The Factol’s journal began with copious notes on Portent itself, its political divisions, the lack of yugoloth influence compared to such locations as the City at the Center, a sketch of the Grand Hall, the streets spread out like arteries of some great heart, and then the half-page illustration of Leobtav. The madman was smiling, seemingly sane, but in the corners of his mouth and his eyes there was the same undercurrent of madness showing. The religious fanaticism seen prior to his death in the Outlands was there for those who knew what to look for.
The Factol’s own text talked about her encounter with the man who would be born centuries later:
"…a jovial sort. He spoke at length to me about Laws and Rules and Inevitability. He got me to thinking about a number of things, and in a new way on a good number of others. He never gave me his name though, and my inquiries after the fact as to who he was came to a dead end. None of the groups and gangs knew of him and I could not gain access to the Grand Hall to ask Laughing Jane. But even without knowing his identity, his words stayed with me and the more I thought about what he said the more it rattled around in my mind, getting more and more insistent for thought and attention.
It’s that spark, that almost tangible spark in your brain when a block in a puzzle locks into place and makes a picture all make sense. That's what he gave me and that’s when it all hit me. That's when I found it, one of the Universal Axioms. This is amazing. This alone is enough for a life's work. But that's not all. Not in the least. This is… this is almost like a piece of a puzzle, part of a bigger picture, a key to something more. There's something deeper here, something hidden in the equations. Something I can almost grasp. To hell with my faction responsibilities. I’ll lock myself away till I find it. Coordinates? There’s a location hidden in part of the equations. If only the math would behave as I understand it. I can solve part of it, but not all of it. It will take time to calculate the next step. The numbers seem to only work when applied to the inner planes which is… odd. This is all leading to something, but WHAT?! First step is …"
The page was torn and the rest of the book was missing except for a single bit of marginalia, thoughts half-considered and not up to being formally penned in the main body of the text. They hinted though at the next step, the first in the dead Factol’s path that had begun and now began again in Portent:
Limit / zero sum
First iteration: Positive touched quasiplane of mineral, boundary with
Positive. Gemfields. ??? 1/5 iteration.
Scattered and broken. By who?
What does the Axiom prescribe?
****
The subtle and not-so-subtle aftershocks that had rocked the streets of Portent since the Oinoloth’s recent surprise visit had nearly settled, the baernaloth prisoner’s rage expended and its consciousness subsided back into a soft, twisted arrhythmia of its heartbeat echoing through the stones if one had the capacity to notice, listen, and understand. The gangs and warring interest groups had only slowly recovered from the slaughter as perpetrated by the Oinoloth’s forces in inexplicable violation of Portent’s Laws that made actual violence a suicidal affair. New self-proclaimed powers remained in the vacuum left behind as the ‘loths abandoned the city once more, their master’s intents satisfied by a few scant moments atop the throne and a conversation with the prisoner far, far below.
Alone and left to her own company, one figure remained who knew of both the Oinoloth’s actions and the true nature of Portent itself: Laughing Jane. The tiefling, or the entity that seemed to be a tiefling, had been there for almost as long as Portent had been a city upon the Waste. She was in fact the first mortal to step foot into the sanctum there, and the first foolish soul to connect with the godlike entity slumbering far below the city’s foundation stones. She would never be the same again: never sane, never fully in control of herself, and never again capable of such mortal capacities as death.
What Laughing Jane had though were her memories, a perfect recall of every moment from the first time that she sat upon the throne and the serpents erupted from her eyes, so many, many thousands of years ago. She remembered the faces and the threats, bravado, and begging by the would-be doges and lords of Portent and how each of them had died by one another’s hands, one by one like clockwork chugging along in time with the beating of Portent’s literal heart.
“The Oinoloth and those he has touched and enslaved have been here before.” One of her serpents hissed in the darkness, its eyes burning a brilliant red.
“The mouthpiece, the hollow filled by vor’nel’thraanix has spoken here before, from nothingness into the marketplace.” Laughing Jane whispered, chuckling from her mouth. “There to whisper from out of time, dead and nullified, to one who would bring together the pieces.”
“But not for herself, but for the jackal yet to sit atop Khin-Oin, and she a sacrifice to that goal.” The other serpent hissed with malice.
“Others will come and we will direct them.”
“Direct them to a light in the darkness.”
“Burning bright like a Torch.”
“A lantern in the shadows, there to attract.”
“A Weaver of Lies…”
“There to doom and devour…”
Distantly one of the city’s bells rang, tolling out the hour and Laughing Jane laughed and waited. The Oinoloth had dismissed her, mocked her frailty and overwhelmed her with nary an effort such was his power. But every player in that game possessed strings and she would tug those she could for nothing was settled, not even plans set in place at the dawn of time.
Others would come and they would speak to her. She would babble and she would tug upon their own strings before sending them into the webs of others’ and the hungry spiders weaving since it had all begun, since before Portent, since before the shattering of the Clan of Baern.
****
Shemeska
Adventurer
She only appears in the Planes of Conflict box set on a page or two about the city of Portent. I actually own the original DiTerlizzi artwork of her from that box set, courtesy of two friends (one of whom was Clueless's player) who straight up bought it from Tony at GenCon a few years ago when I wasn't able to go due to a death in the family. I still owe them dinner.
Malachite_Mack
Villager
Shemeska
Adventurer
There's not really anything out there on her except for that bit in 'Planes of Conflict'. There is/will be more here, and since you're interested in her I'll probably add some more than I otherwise would have. I seem to have a tendency to take minor characters from the original setting material and just go crazy with them.
That's awesome, thank you! Exactly that is one of the aspects i love about your storyline. Having read the setting stuff about the minor/major characters in the past, they feel so much more alive, evoking the vague feeling that there's always something more just around the corner, but always shrouding answers in yet more questions provoked
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