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<blockquote data-quote="Shemeska" data-source="post: 7311504" data-attributes="member: 11697"><p>The grey-green clouds that hung low above the Park of the Infernal and the Divine reflected all too well the current atmosphere in Sigil at large and among the minds of its council members and voting, land-holding citizens alike. The City of Doors had been rocked by dozens of Cagequakes over the past month, their frequency and intensity growing as time went on, and in the past twenty four hours had come something almost more profound than the presumed and unexplained disquiet of Her Serenity: Alisohn Nilesia.</p><p></p><p>More than a year earlier, the vanished former Mercykiller Factol had suddenly reappeared in the Cage, rescued from fiendish slavery in Acheron. As barmy as when she’d vanished from Sigil during the height of the Faction War, she’d publicly raged at the presumed death of her “beloved husband, Duke Rowan Darkwood” at the hands of Her Serenity the Lady of Pain. She’d marched towards her old Faction headquarters leading a mob of heavily armed loyalists ready to install her as Factol once more over a unified Mercykiller faction that had, in her absence, fractured into the Sodkillers and the Sons of Mercy. Blaming The Lady for all of her ills, she finally took one step too far and with hundreds of eyes to witness it, she’d pulled a vorpal blade from her scabbard and beheaded a dabus, one of Sigil’s silent caretakers and servitors of Her Serenity.</p><p></p><p>At the time the crowd went deathly silent at the taboo act of a woman hell bent on revenge against the figure she blamed for her fall from power and the death of a man who had never truly loved her. The hush that fell over the city was palpable and cut only by Nilesia’s mad, deranged laughter as she called for The Lady to appear and meet Justice at her hands, so madly devoted was she to her Faction’s creed that all sense had fled her mind.</p><p></p><p>Appear The Lady most certainly did.</p><p></p><p>Drifting above the cobblestones, Her face expressionless and Her blades covered in their speckled, eternal patina, the Lady’s Shadow was shift, lancing across the cobblestones in a tidal wave of screams and butchered flesh, rendering a path through the mad Factol’s followers until at last it struck Nilesia herself. Alisohn Nilesia died that day, flayed alive by The Lady of Pain, and yet one day before the present, none other than Alisohn Nilesia had appeared in Sigil and brought with her blood and fire.</p><p></p><p>What that meant and what portent it carried for Sigil itself were the questions that ran rampant through the minds of most of Sigil’s souls, and all of those individuals invited to the day’s closed meeting of the Sigil Advisory Council. Heavily armed members of the Sons of Mercy and the Sodkillers alike stood at the gates to the park and further down the adjacent streets, their presence necessary to screen the attendees, assure their safety, and to keep the terrified mob of thousands separate and distant. Neither of the two groups of former Faction-mates cared much for the other, but the present events mattered more to them both than the poison of lingering resentment of their Faction’s dissolution.</p><p></p><p>The day was auspicious for another reason entirely as well, as the Council elections to replace a number of retiring members had placed new faces and new perspectives within the body, and today they would be put to a greater test than likely any of them expected.</p><p></p><p>Slowly and with their own particular groups of bodyguards and retinues of followers -all allowed despite the meeting being restricted to landholding citizens only- the movers and shakers of Sigil arrived to see what their leaders had to say about the present troubles. Golden Lords and merchants, former Faction highups and innkeepers, high priests and adventurers alike, they all arrived and shuffled in to fill the seats set before a wide stage in the park’s center, atop of which sat a long table with chairs reserved for the sitting members of the Sigil Advisory Council, most of whom already sat, ready to listen or to pontificate, depending on each one’s nature, with some of them standing out far more than their ostensible peers.</p><p></p><p>All eyes waited for Chairwoman Rhys to stand and call the Council to order, but more than anything they looked for the former Factol of the Transcendent Order to give all in attendance a clue as to the truth or not behind the rumors running rampant in the vacuum of information that filled Sigil’s streets at present. Ready for that attention and seemingly –as best she could given the present circumstances– Rhys gazed out and over the crowd and to the Council members seated to each side of her with an expression of preternatural calm determination.</p><p></p><p>Rhys’s expression and body language was hardly shared by her fellow members of the Council. Jeremo the Natterer the ostensible and self-declared Factol of the Ring-Givers had arrived early and distributed gifts to both his fellow council members and to the first two rows of the audience, and at the moment he was cheerfully out amongst the crowd talking and introducing himself to everyone he’d never met in person. Just one step down from the Natterer in terms of frenetic loquaciousness, Harys Hatchis could barely keep his mouth shut, leaning over to whisper conspiratorially to anyone within arm’s length, while Alluvius ‘Old Lu’ Ruskin actively –and with multiple and repeated brusque waves of her spindly hands– avoided the entreaties of the multiple people that approached her before the meeting got officially underway. The remainder of the council, those which had already arrived, fell somewhere in-between, and then there was the Marauder.</p><p></p><p>Shemeska sat in the center of the right side of the platform, her chair replaced with a custom throne, and the ‘loth sat there drinking from a chalice, clearly considering leaning back and sticking her feet up on the table. Dressed like royalty in a sea green gown, a waistcoat trimmed in the fur of a mauve Prime Material feline, and wearing jewels to the point of absurdity, a smug grin fleeted time and again across the ‘loth’s muzzle as she watched the crowd, with a chuckle and a stare reserved for when Florian arrived and took her seat.</p><p></p><p>“Go f*ck yourself…” Florian whispered to herself, making sure to obscure her mouth as she did so. Still, she could feel the telltale buzz of the ‘loth’s telepathy frisking at her surface thoughts. The fiend knew precisely what the cleric was thinking though without needing to actually confirm it, and the comparatively effortless telepathic shakedown was more part of the fiend’s continuing desire to make Florian’s life hell when she wasn’t actively trying to kill her.</p><p></p><p>Clueless was less concerned with the Marauder than with watching the other arrivals to the meeting and any clues that might be discerned by their moods and who arrived for the first time, having missed earlier Council meetings. The bladesinger’s eyes paid particular attention to Arwyl Swanson and General Nagaro, the former seated upon the Council and the latter sitting in the front row of audience chairs. The paladin leader of the Sons of Mercy who didn’t actually refer to himself as Factol but might as well have been was presently engaged in a conversation by multiple go-betweens with the fallen paladin Nagaro. The frightening tall human with close-cropped hair and jet black armor served as leader and effectively Factol of the Sodkillers, and had in recent months arrived in Sigil to lead one of the two Mercykiller successor factions while still tenuously retaining power over the Gatetown of Rigus, a delicate balancing act most assuredly kept secure by an early and excessive amount of bloodshed.</p><p></p><p>“Neither of them seem to have any idea of what’s going on…” Clueless thought, his words echoing in the minds of his companions courtesy of the sending stones that Tristol had made for them all. “So if it’s Nilesia, which I’m not convinced that it is, their old Factol hasn’t informed them of her return from the dead.”</p><p></p><p>Sitting next to Tristol with the aasimar wizard’s fox’s tail in her lap like a familiar, Nisha sat with a bowl of popcorn in her lap. She’d insisted on bringing it, assuming that she’d get hungry, assuming that it would be great to snack on when tempers flared, and if need be she’d be able to dump it –liberal layer of butter and all– over the head of anyone if things came to blows. The Xaositect had to that point done her best to avoid actually making eye contact with the Marauder, though she broke that run by doing so immediately before she turned away and excitedly waved at another ‘loth entirely.</p><p></p><p>The second ‘loth to arrive did so in decidedly understated fashion, Nisha’s telegraphing of his arrival notwithstanding, with A’kin wandering up to the stage doing his best to stay out of the Marauder’s line of sight, having arrived from the rear where the crowd of arrivals was thickest, jostling shoulder to shoulder and leaving the bespectacled shopkeeper’s fur and clothing decidedly tousled in the process. With a cheerful smile he took a seat, his ears perking and swiveling slightly just before he winced as the Marauder gave a hiss loud enough to be overheard.</p><p></p><p>“I thought I smelled something reeking of soot and failure…” Shemeska muttered, again loud enough to be overheard, as she glanced at A’kin, sneered and then took a puff from a gold and crystalline hookah held by one of her guards and formerly having sat in Arwyl Swanson’s chair before the paladin had arrived. Exhaling a stream of smoke from between her fangs and over her painted lips, the smoke distinctly traveled and coalesced into an upright middle finger in A’kin’s direction before dispersing. A’kin ignored it and politely began talking with Alluvius Ruskin about common interests as private shop owners.</p><p></p><p>Fashionably late, Councilwoman Zadara immediately sought out the seat furthest from the Marauder, rather than the spot occupied by a chair specifically set for her that was large enough to accommodate her form. Carrying and moving her chair she arrived at that desired spot, on the far end of the Council table atop the stage, which was of course already taken by the Council’s newest member: A’kin</p><p></p><p>“You’re in my spot.” Zadara called down to the ‘loth.</p><p></p><p>“Oh?” The smiling arcanaloth looked up and blinked, adjusting his spectacles on his muzzle. “I wasn’t aware that there were assigned seats, but…”</p><p></p><p>“Move.”</p><p></p><p>“Lady Zadara, I was already here and you see…”</p><p></p><p>“Get up.” The titan’s tone wasn’t full of malice, but it was clear that she had every desire to sit as far from the Marauder as possible. Given their last encounter at the Natter’s party, that was probably best to everyone.</p><p></p><p>“I really don’t think that it’s a good idea if I sit any closer to… you know who... than…”</p><p></p><p>“Same f*cking reason I want your chair.” Zadara’s face was grim as she briefly darted her eyes over to the smug, pleased with herself face of the Marauder. “Now get your perpetually smiling self up and give me that spot.”</p><p></p><p>“Please…” A’kin’s voice carried a genuine tone of worry. “She firebombed my shop the other night…”</p><p></p><p>“F*ck…” Zadara stared down and grimaced, taking her hands off of the back of his chair. “Fine, get Ruskin to move over slightly and I’ll sit at the end of the table, but you’re still between me and that razorvine-brained bitch.”</p><p></p><p>A’kin nodded and immediately turned to Old ‘Lu who didn’t seem to mind adjusting her seat at the table in the slightest. By the time the three of them were fully seated, most of the crowd had settled.</p><p></p><p>“Before I call this emergency session of the Sigil Advisory Council to order, are there any members of the council who wish to make any statements outside of the immediate and obvious subject matter for the day?” Council Chairwoman Rhys stood and glanced to both sides, hoping inwardly for once that none of her fellows would attempt to grandstand. The ‘loth she worried about was not the ‘loth who stood to speak.</p><p></p><p>“If I might?” A’kin stood, the brief pause between when he spoke to when Rhys nodded to him occupied by a prominent eye roll by the Marauder.</p><p></p><p>All eyes turned to A’kin.</p><p></p><p>“I know that I’m one of the new faces on the Council after the most recent elections, so thank you for trusting me with your votes.” A’kin smiled, “But the other evening my shop, The Friendly Fiend, was hit by vandals, set on fire, and badly damaged. I’d like to publicly offer a reward of ten thousand gold pieces for the apprehension of those responsible.”</p><p></p><p>Zadara turned to stare at the Marauder and Shemeska stared right back, her eyes flickering with the faintest hint of purple flame. Ten seconds of cold silence between the two of them ended with the ‘loth pursing her lips and making a kissing motion. The titan scowled and turned away.</p><p></p><p>Though the staring contest between the Marauder and the Titan of Potential remained a cold war in and of itself, the simmering mood of the audience would in moments provide a spark to set the meeting alight.</p><p></p><p>“What in the gods’ names is going on?!”</p><p></p><p>“We all watched Alisohn F*cking Nilesia die!”</p><p></p><p>“Why haven’t we been told anything?!”</p><p></p><p>“What are the Sons of Mercy and Sodkillers hiding from us?!”</p><p></p><p>“Well… that certainly didn’t take all that long to go to hell…” Fyrehowl sighed and looked to her left where Clueless sat with a frown upon his face.</p><p></p><p>“It took longer than I expected actually.” Toras gave a shrug, “And Nisha might get to use that bowl of popcorn before it’s all said and done.”</p><p></p><p>They would have to wait a bit longer as Rhys stood and called for order. The former Factol’s voice remained calm, and as of yet she had not raised either her voice of the staff of the magi that rested upon the table in front of her.</p><p></p><p>“Many of you seem well aware of the odd events of the past few days.” The tiefling nodded sagely, “There were fires set in two properties held by the Fraternity in Order, with the first being a library and the latter a repository of records for the Faction-In-Exile. The first building was unoccupied, though the latter was not, and in that second location the faction members in attendance were killed prior to the arson.”</p><p></p><p>“What of Nilesia?!” Shouted one voice from the crowd.</p><p>“Reports have flown swift and myriad that a figure resembling the late Alisohn Nilesia was seen in both locations.” Rhys admitted, though her frown made it clear that she did not trust those reports. “Clearly those witnesses were mistaken. Factol Nilesia is dead.”</p><p></p><p>“Then what of the Cagequakes?” Councilwoman Oridi Malefin asked, her voice as hollow and emotionless as ever, though the third eye in her forehead darted between the two leaders of the Mercykiller splinter factions. “Clearly Her Serenity is upset at something, and a resurrected Nilesia would certainly provoke that, to say nothing of upsetting the powers of Death.”</p><p></p><p>That was when Toras stood up.</p><p></p><p>“It was Nilesia.” He called out to a chorus of astonished gasps, “I was there when she was flayed alive, as so many of us were, but I was there at one of the burning buildings and I saw her then and I heard her voice. It was her. Somehow.”</p><p></p><p>The crowd erupted into a tumult of arguments and plaintive cries, as the crowd argued amongst themselves and most of the council shouted at one another, although the Marauder stayed absolutely silent as she gazed out at Toras and gave a fleeting, subtle smirk.</p><p></p><p>“Was that the best idea?” Fyrehowl glanced over at Toras. “Was it?”</p><p></p><p>“You saw her too.” He replied, “It was her.”</p><p></p><p>“Maybe…” The lupinal muttered.</p><p></p><p>Up on the stage, Harys Hatchis, ever one to feed off of and stoke public feelings to his own benefit –as well as stoke it himself expertly–, stood up and pointed first to his fellow Councilmember Arwyl and then to the Sodkillers’ Nagaro. “She’s your old mess and your old Factol! We deserve some answers and you owe it to us and to this city to deal with her!”</p><p></p><p>“If you think you’re deserved something from me old man you’re more than welcome to come and take it!” The Sodkiller all-but-Factol stood up and pointed a mail-shod hand at the businessman, daring him to make all his accusations at the point of a sword. “This has nothing to do with the Sodkillers and far be it for me to support our wayward brothers and sisters overly much, but this has nothing to do with the Sons of Mercy either.”</p><p></p><p>Up on stage, Alluvius Ruskin stayed silent and beside her A’kin began nibbling on a cookie rather than inflame the situation any further beyond the caterwauling mess it had already become.</p><p></p><p>“Your first day on the council and you’re eating cookies?” Zadara glanced down at the Friendly Fiend himself, her expression unreadable, just up until A’kin reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out a second cookie, one distinctly larger than the one in his hand and about as close to appropriate for the titan as could physically exist tucked on his person. The titan broke into a smile, took the cookie, and joined him in taking a single moment of respite for their surroundings. “Well, your fist day on the council and you’re miles ahead of the other ‘loth, so there’s that.”</p><p></p><p>Speaking of that other ‘loth, as A’kin and Zadara both had their mouths full of oatmeal raisin cookie and the attentions of the crowd were fully fixed on the shouts between Hatchis and Nagaro, there came a subtle flicker of light next to the Marauder’s head. There, tucked amidst the tangles of her razorvine crown was the illusory form of the Cheshire Fiend.</p><p></p><p>The Marauder didn’t seem to notice the Grin’s presence until it wiggled out of her crown, sidled up to her left ear and whispered something to her. The particular words weren’t actually spoken aloud, but rather via person to person telepathy with a visible conjugate of the Cheshire Fiend’s mouth moving, though the angle and the distance precluded reading the illusory fiend’s “lips” and garnering any sense of what they spoke. What was visible however was the faintest but oh so deliberate smirk on its visage as soon as it relayed its message. </p><p></p><p>Whatever they’d told her, the Marauder’s reaction was immediate.</p><p></p><p>“OH F*CK ME!!!!” Eyes wide, the King of the Crosstrade’s composure was as absent as the concept of truth to a petitioner of Carceri. “F*CK! F*****CK!!!”</p><p></p><p>At his counterpart’s sudden, screaming outburst, A’kin glanced over, pausing only to brush cookie crumbs from his collar, his ears perked and one eyebrow raised as he adjusted his glasses. The Cheshire Fiend was gone, nowhere to be seen, and the Marauder had managed to compose herself to the extent of shutting up.</p><p></p><p>Snarling to herself, the King of the Crosstrade gestured to one of her tieflings. Obediently they dashed up to the platform to receive a whisper from their master and then dashed off towards the closest exit to the park.</p><p></p><p>“What the f*ck was that about?” Fyrehowl motioned towards the Marauder, poking Clueless to get his attention, although he was already looking at the ‘loth with a knowing chuckle perched to rattle past his lips.</p><p></p><p>“I’m guessing that she just found out that someone she hates more than us is back in town…” The bladesinger grinned. “A certain manged ‘loth…”</p><p></p><p>Fyrehowl laid into Clueless about just how he knew that, given that he hadn’t said a word to her or any of their companions prior to that point, while all around them the meeting went to hell.</p><p></p><p>Up on stage Rhys tries to keep order as arguments and accusations flew, tempers rose, and people began to openly wonder if the wrath of The Lady had come upon them all, with the flayed dead alive once more and risen to take vengeance upon the city. Some screamed that Jeremo had brought it all upon the city with his bringing a faction formally back into Sigil. Others still blamed the Minders Guild or their masters the Sodkillers. Some blamed Rowan Darkwood, not dead by escaped from his Maze and now returned to topple Her Serenity with the dead following him. For all their wild and baseless claims, all of them understood and agreed upon one thing: whatever it was had been brewing for some time now, what with the Cagequakes rattling the wards with greater frequency than ever before in recent memory, it all spoke loud and clear that something was brewing. And then one voice called out a claim perhaps too dangerous to make.</p><p></p><p>“It’s Fell! It’s the fallen dabus! Aoskar the Portal Father’s return is upon the City of Doors!” The fool berk was immediately tackled and beaten into silence by a dozen of those citizens sitting around her.</p><p></p><p>Finally as violence was sparked, Rhys finally stood up and banged her Staff of the Magi on the table, shouting out over the crowd to immediate effect, “Silence!”</p><p></p><p>All eyes fell upon the former Factol.</p><p></p><p>“While undoubtedly some of us here know the reason for the arsons and murders plaguing the city, and also for the recent Cagequakes, they also would be aware that shadows do not fly randomly. They strike true…” Rhys’s voice was strong and clear, her strength projecting out to the crowd and calming fraying nerves. “Yes something is amiss. Yes something is brewing. But The Lady is not likely behind what has been occurring within Sigil, though Her displeasure may be felt beneath our feet. Apparently Her message after the late Nilesia’s death went unheeded by some.”</p><p></p><p>Under the table, in direct response to Rhys’s words, Shemeska hand tightened upon the Shadow Sorcelled Key, clutched tight in reassurance to herself. Obscured by the furred ruff at the end of her coat sleeve, the artifact’s shadows licked at her fingers like the tongues of a dozen broken lovers.</p><p></p><p>“And to others here,” Rhys called out, “Do not bring up dead powers and shouts of doomsday. This is not some planes ending eschaton and understand that I am still here in Sigil.”</p><p></p><p>Rhys’s face remained stern and confident, though in her heart she was anything but. In the prelude to the Storm of Doors years earlier during the Faction War, she had known something terrible was coming before Sigil had erupted in conflict and the Lady’s wrath was unleashed. She’d felt it coming, building in the tension expressed by the Cadence of the Planes as she felt it. This time however, the Cadence was silent, and that silence in the presence of Cagequakes and the return of the dead slain by Her Serenity: though her external attitude was one of stoic confidence, internally Rhys was terrified beyond measure.</p><p></p><p>“I say now to all of us here: end this berk’s errand in Sigil! Be done with it! Whatever the actual identity of the one posing as the dead Factol, stop this game and the string pulling that follows it, for the sake of your own existence, if nothing else…”</p><p></p><p>And with that statement from the Council’s chairwoman, the meeting was abruptly adjourned. Without answers but with a certainty that their civic leaders had their best interests in mind and suspected that rather than The Lady’s wrath it was some act of subterfuge to advance some hidden agenda, the crowd began to disperse for the exits. Most of the council’s members stayed, either talking to citizens who approached them on the platform or like Jeremo went out among the crowd themselves to mingle, but one member left immediately: the Marauder.</p><p></p><p>With her guards clearing a path for her, Shemeska left with a smirk upon her face. Walking directly past A’kin, she didn’t turn to glance at him nor did she say a word. The Friendly Fiend’s proprietor opened his mouth as she walked past, intending to say something but paused before doing so with Zadara’s hand on his shoulder in warning. Thinking better of it he said nothing, but turned his head to follow her as she left, giving a soft and uncharacteristic snarl once she was out of earshot.</p><p></p><p>Watching the Marauder leave, Fyrehowl raised an eyebrow as she could feel the torrent of telepathy that raced between the two of them, the precise words unknown, immediately preceding A’kin’s reaction. Tempted as she was to walk up to A’kin, either to ask for a cookie or to ask him what that had all been about, she figured that whatever it had been, it had been sufficient to upset him and she didn’t care to add to it if she could avoid it. Curious as the thought was as it came to her mind, she considered him a friend, even if she knew next to nothing about him.</p><p></p><p>Going along with the crowd, the companions gathered together and left once Nisha finished her popcorn, bitterly complaining with butter-slicked fingers that she hadn’t been close enough to the one fight that had broken out to have used the snack or the bowl during its duration. They had a world of options as to where to go next, but as Clueless wanted to explain to them about Shylara’s return from her imprisonment in stone, they ultimately decided to go back to the Portal Jammer.</p><p></p><p>True to Rhys’s words though, something major was indeed brewing.</p><p></p><p>Something terrible was about to occur.</p><p></p><p>And as they left the Park of the Infernal and Divine a portal flickered into forced existence below Florian’s feet once again.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">****</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Shemeska, post: 7311504, member: 11697"] The grey-green clouds that hung low above the Park of the Infernal and the Divine reflected all too well the current atmosphere in Sigil at large and among the minds of its council members and voting, land-holding citizens alike. The City of Doors had been rocked by dozens of Cagequakes over the past month, their frequency and intensity growing as time went on, and in the past twenty four hours had come something almost more profound than the presumed and unexplained disquiet of Her Serenity: Alisohn Nilesia. More than a year earlier, the vanished former Mercykiller Factol had suddenly reappeared in the Cage, rescued from fiendish slavery in Acheron. As barmy as when she’d vanished from Sigil during the height of the Faction War, she’d publicly raged at the presumed death of her “beloved husband, Duke Rowan Darkwood” at the hands of Her Serenity the Lady of Pain. She’d marched towards her old Faction headquarters leading a mob of heavily armed loyalists ready to install her as Factol once more over a unified Mercykiller faction that had, in her absence, fractured into the Sodkillers and the Sons of Mercy. Blaming The Lady for all of her ills, she finally took one step too far and with hundreds of eyes to witness it, she’d pulled a vorpal blade from her scabbard and beheaded a dabus, one of Sigil’s silent caretakers and servitors of Her Serenity. At the time the crowd went deathly silent at the taboo act of a woman hell bent on revenge against the figure she blamed for her fall from power and the death of a man who had never truly loved her. The hush that fell over the city was palpable and cut only by Nilesia’s mad, deranged laughter as she called for The Lady to appear and meet Justice at her hands, so madly devoted was she to her Faction’s creed that all sense had fled her mind. Appear The Lady most certainly did. Drifting above the cobblestones, Her face expressionless and Her blades covered in their speckled, eternal patina, the Lady’s Shadow was shift, lancing across the cobblestones in a tidal wave of screams and butchered flesh, rendering a path through the mad Factol’s followers until at last it struck Nilesia herself. Alisohn Nilesia died that day, flayed alive by The Lady of Pain, and yet one day before the present, none other than Alisohn Nilesia had appeared in Sigil and brought with her blood and fire. What that meant and what portent it carried for Sigil itself were the questions that ran rampant through the minds of most of Sigil’s souls, and all of those individuals invited to the day’s closed meeting of the Sigil Advisory Council. Heavily armed members of the Sons of Mercy and the Sodkillers alike stood at the gates to the park and further down the adjacent streets, their presence necessary to screen the attendees, assure their safety, and to keep the terrified mob of thousands separate and distant. Neither of the two groups of former Faction-mates cared much for the other, but the present events mattered more to them both than the poison of lingering resentment of their Faction’s dissolution. The day was auspicious for another reason entirely as well, as the Council elections to replace a number of retiring members had placed new faces and new perspectives within the body, and today they would be put to a greater test than likely any of them expected. Slowly and with their own particular groups of bodyguards and retinues of followers -all allowed despite the meeting being restricted to landholding citizens only- the movers and shakers of Sigil arrived to see what their leaders had to say about the present troubles. Golden Lords and merchants, former Faction highups and innkeepers, high priests and adventurers alike, they all arrived and shuffled in to fill the seats set before a wide stage in the park’s center, atop of which sat a long table with chairs reserved for the sitting members of the Sigil Advisory Council, most of whom already sat, ready to listen or to pontificate, depending on each one’s nature, with some of them standing out far more than their ostensible peers. All eyes waited for Chairwoman Rhys to stand and call the Council to order, but more than anything they looked for the former Factol of the Transcendent Order to give all in attendance a clue as to the truth or not behind the rumors running rampant in the vacuum of information that filled Sigil’s streets at present. Ready for that attention and seemingly –as best she could given the present circumstances– Rhys gazed out and over the crowd and to the Council members seated to each side of her with an expression of preternatural calm determination. Rhys’s expression and body language was hardly shared by her fellow members of the Council. Jeremo the Natterer the ostensible and self-declared Factol of the Ring-Givers had arrived early and distributed gifts to both his fellow council members and to the first two rows of the audience, and at the moment he was cheerfully out amongst the crowd talking and introducing himself to everyone he’d never met in person. Just one step down from the Natterer in terms of frenetic loquaciousness, Harys Hatchis could barely keep his mouth shut, leaning over to whisper conspiratorially to anyone within arm’s length, while Alluvius ‘Old Lu’ Ruskin actively –and with multiple and repeated brusque waves of her spindly hands– avoided the entreaties of the multiple people that approached her before the meeting got officially underway. The remainder of the council, those which had already arrived, fell somewhere in-between, and then there was the Marauder. Shemeska sat in the center of the right side of the platform, her chair replaced with a custom throne, and the ‘loth sat there drinking from a chalice, clearly considering leaning back and sticking her feet up on the table. Dressed like royalty in a sea green gown, a waistcoat trimmed in the fur of a mauve Prime Material feline, and wearing jewels to the point of absurdity, a smug grin fleeted time and again across the ‘loth’s muzzle as she watched the crowd, with a chuckle and a stare reserved for when Florian arrived and took her seat. “Go f*ck yourself…” Florian whispered to herself, making sure to obscure her mouth as she did so. Still, she could feel the telltale buzz of the ‘loth’s telepathy frisking at her surface thoughts. The fiend knew precisely what the cleric was thinking though without needing to actually confirm it, and the comparatively effortless telepathic shakedown was more part of the fiend’s continuing desire to make Florian’s life hell when she wasn’t actively trying to kill her. Clueless was less concerned with the Marauder than with watching the other arrivals to the meeting and any clues that might be discerned by their moods and who arrived for the first time, having missed earlier Council meetings. The bladesinger’s eyes paid particular attention to Arwyl Swanson and General Nagaro, the former seated upon the Council and the latter sitting in the front row of audience chairs. The paladin leader of the Sons of Mercy who didn’t actually refer to himself as Factol but might as well have been was presently engaged in a conversation by multiple go-betweens with the fallen paladin Nagaro. The frightening tall human with close-cropped hair and jet black armor served as leader and effectively Factol of the Sodkillers, and had in recent months arrived in Sigil to lead one of the two Mercykiller successor factions while still tenuously retaining power over the Gatetown of Rigus, a delicate balancing act most assuredly kept secure by an early and excessive amount of bloodshed. “Neither of them seem to have any idea of what’s going on…” Clueless thought, his words echoing in the minds of his companions courtesy of the sending stones that Tristol had made for them all. “So if it’s Nilesia, which I’m not convinced that it is, their old Factol hasn’t informed them of her return from the dead.” Sitting next to Tristol with the aasimar wizard’s fox’s tail in her lap like a familiar, Nisha sat with a bowl of popcorn in her lap. She’d insisted on bringing it, assuming that she’d get hungry, assuming that it would be great to snack on when tempers flared, and if need be she’d be able to dump it –liberal layer of butter and all– over the head of anyone if things came to blows. The Xaositect had to that point done her best to avoid actually making eye contact with the Marauder, though she broke that run by doing so immediately before she turned away and excitedly waved at another ‘loth entirely. The second ‘loth to arrive did so in decidedly understated fashion, Nisha’s telegraphing of his arrival notwithstanding, with A’kin wandering up to the stage doing his best to stay out of the Marauder’s line of sight, having arrived from the rear where the crowd of arrivals was thickest, jostling shoulder to shoulder and leaving the bespectacled shopkeeper’s fur and clothing decidedly tousled in the process. With a cheerful smile he took a seat, his ears perking and swiveling slightly just before he winced as the Marauder gave a hiss loud enough to be overheard. “I thought I smelled something reeking of soot and failure…” Shemeska muttered, again loud enough to be overheard, as she glanced at A’kin, sneered and then took a puff from a gold and crystalline hookah held by one of her guards and formerly having sat in Arwyl Swanson’s chair before the paladin had arrived. Exhaling a stream of smoke from between her fangs and over her painted lips, the smoke distinctly traveled and coalesced into an upright middle finger in A’kin’s direction before dispersing. A’kin ignored it and politely began talking with Alluvius Ruskin about common interests as private shop owners. Fashionably late, Councilwoman Zadara immediately sought out the seat furthest from the Marauder, rather than the spot occupied by a chair specifically set for her that was large enough to accommodate her form. Carrying and moving her chair she arrived at that desired spot, on the far end of the Council table atop the stage, which was of course already taken by the Council’s newest member: A’kin “You’re in my spot.” Zadara called down to the ‘loth. “Oh?” The smiling arcanaloth looked up and blinked, adjusting his spectacles on his muzzle. “I wasn’t aware that there were assigned seats, but…” “Move.” “Lady Zadara, I was already here and you see…” “Get up.” The titan’s tone wasn’t full of malice, but it was clear that she had every desire to sit as far from the Marauder as possible. Given their last encounter at the Natter’s party, that was probably best to everyone. “I really don’t think that it’s a good idea if I sit any closer to… you know who... than…” “Same f*cking reason I want your chair.” Zadara’s face was grim as she briefly darted her eyes over to the smug, pleased with herself face of the Marauder. “Now get your perpetually smiling self up and give me that spot.” “Please…” A’kin’s voice carried a genuine tone of worry. “She firebombed my shop the other night…” “F*ck…” Zadara stared down and grimaced, taking her hands off of the back of his chair. “Fine, get Ruskin to move over slightly and I’ll sit at the end of the table, but you’re still between me and that razorvine-brained bitch.” A’kin nodded and immediately turned to Old ‘Lu who didn’t seem to mind adjusting her seat at the table in the slightest. By the time the three of them were fully seated, most of the crowd had settled. “Before I call this emergency session of the Sigil Advisory Council to order, are there any members of the council who wish to make any statements outside of the immediate and obvious subject matter for the day?” Council Chairwoman Rhys stood and glanced to both sides, hoping inwardly for once that none of her fellows would attempt to grandstand. The ‘loth she worried about was not the ‘loth who stood to speak. “If I might?” A’kin stood, the brief pause between when he spoke to when Rhys nodded to him occupied by a prominent eye roll by the Marauder. All eyes turned to A’kin. “I know that I’m one of the new faces on the Council after the most recent elections, so thank you for trusting me with your votes.” A’kin smiled, “But the other evening my shop, The Friendly Fiend, was hit by vandals, set on fire, and badly damaged. I’d like to publicly offer a reward of ten thousand gold pieces for the apprehension of those responsible.” Zadara turned to stare at the Marauder and Shemeska stared right back, her eyes flickering with the faintest hint of purple flame. Ten seconds of cold silence between the two of them ended with the ‘loth pursing her lips and making a kissing motion. The titan scowled and turned away. Though the staring contest between the Marauder and the Titan of Potential remained a cold war in and of itself, the simmering mood of the audience would in moments provide a spark to set the meeting alight. “What in the gods’ names is going on?!” “We all watched Alisohn F*cking Nilesia die!” “Why haven’t we been told anything?!” “What are the Sons of Mercy and Sodkillers hiding from us?!” “Well… that certainly didn’t take all that long to go to hell…” Fyrehowl sighed and looked to her left where Clueless sat with a frown upon his face. “It took longer than I expected actually.” Toras gave a shrug, “And Nisha might get to use that bowl of popcorn before it’s all said and done.” They would have to wait a bit longer as Rhys stood and called for order. The former Factol’s voice remained calm, and as of yet she had not raised either her voice of the staff of the magi that rested upon the table in front of her. “Many of you seem well aware of the odd events of the past few days.” The tiefling nodded sagely, “There were fires set in two properties held by the Fraternity in Order, with the first being a library and the latter a repository of records for the Faction-In-Exile. The first building was unoccupied, though the latter was not, and in that second location the faction members in attendance were killed prior to the arson.” “What of Nilesia?!” Shouted one voice from the crowd. “Reports have flown swift and myriad that a figure resembling the late Alisohn Nilesia was seen in both locations.” Rhys admitted, though her frown made it clear that she did not trust those reports. “Clearly those witnesses were mistaken. Factol Nilesia is dead.” “Then what of the Cagequakes?” Councilwoman Oridi Malefin asked, her voice as hollow and emotionless as ever, though the third eye in her forehead darted between the two leaders of the Mercykiller splinter factions. “Clearly Her Serenity is upset at something, and a resurrected Nilesia would certainly provoke that, to say nothing of upsetting the powers of Death.” That was when Toras stood up. “It was Nilesia.” He called out to a chorus of astonished gasps, “I was there when she was flayed alive, as so many of us were, but I was there at one of the burning buildings and I saw her then and I heard her voice. It was her. Somehow.” The crowd erupted into a tumult of arguments and plaintive cries, as the crowd argued amongst themselves and most of the council shouted at one another, although the Marauder stayed absolutely silent as she gazed out at Toras and gave a fleeting, subtle smirk. “Was that the best idea?” Fyrehowl glanced over at Toras. “Was it?” “You saw her too.” He replied, “It was her.” “Maybe…” The lupinal muttered. Up on the stage, Harys Hatchis, ever one to feed off of and stoke public feelings to his own benefit –as well as stoke it himself expertly–, stood up and pointed first to his fellow Councilmember Arwyl and then to the Sodkillers’ Nagaro. “She’s your old mess and your old Factol! We deserve some answers and you owe it to us and to this city to deal with her!” “If you think you’re deserved something from me old man you’re more than welcome to come and take it!” The Sodkiller all-but-Factol stood up and pointed a mail-shod hand at the businessman, daring him to make all his accusations at the point of a sword. “This has nothing to do with the Sodkillers and far be it for me to support our wayward brothers and sisters overly much, but this has nothing to do with the Sons of Mercy either.” Up on stage, Alluvius Ruskin stayed silent and beside her A’kin began nibbling on a cookie rather than inflame the situation any further beyond the caterwauling mess it had already become. “Your first day on the council and you’re eating cookies?” Zadara glanced down at the Friendly Fiend himself, her expression unreadable, just up until A’kin reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out a second cookie, one distinctly larger than the one in his hand and about as close to appropriate for the titan as could physically exist tucked on his person. The titan broke into a smile, took the cookie, and joined him in taking a single moment of respite for their surroundings. “Well, your fist day on the council and you’re miles ahead of the other ‘loth, so there’s that.” Speaking of that other ‘loth, as A’kin and Zadara both had their mouths full of oatmeal raisin cookie and the attentions of the crowd were fully fixed on the shouts between Hatchis and Nagaro, there came a subtle flicker of light next to the Marauder’s head. There, tucked amidst the tangles of her razorvine crown was the illusory form of the Cheshire Fiend. The Marauder didn’t seem to notice the Grin’s presence until it wiggled out of her crown, sidled up to her left ear and whispered something to her. The particular words weren’t actually spoken aloud, but rather via person to person telepathy with a visible conjugate of the Cheshire Fiend’s mouth moving, though the angle and the distance precluded reading the illusory fiend’s “lips” and garnering any sense of what they spoke. What was visible however was the faintest but oh so deliberate smirk on its visage as soon as it relayed its message. Whatever they’d told her, the Marauder’s reaction was immediate. “OH F*CK ME!!!!” Eyes wide, the King of the Crosstrade’s composure was as absent as the concept of truth to a petitioner of Carceri. “F*CK! F*****CK!!!” At his counterpart’s sudden, screaming outburst, A’kin glanced over, pausing only to brush cookie crumbs from his collar, his ears perked and one eyebrow raised as he adjusted his glasses. The Cheshire Fiend was gone, nowhere to be seen, and the Marauder had managed to compose herself to the extent of shutting up. Snarling to herself, the King of the Crosstrade gestured to one of her tieflings. Obediently they dashed up to the platform to receive a whisper from their master and then dashed off towards the closest exit to the park. “What the f*ck was that about?” Fyrehowl motioned towards the Marauder, poking Clueless to get his attention, although he was already looking at the ‘loth with a knowing chuckle perched to rattle past his lips. “I’m guessing that she just found out that someone she hates more than us is back in town…” The bladesinger grinned. “A certain manged ‘loth…” Fyrehowl laid into Clueless about just how he knew that, given that he hadn’t said a word to her or any of their companions prior to that point, while all around them the meeting went to hell. Up on stage Rhys tries to keep order as arguments and accusations flew, tempers rose, and people began to openly wonder if the wrath of The Lady had come upon them all, with the flayed dead alive once more and risen to take vengeance upon the city. Some screamed that Jeremo had brought it all upon the city with his bringing a faction formally back into Sigil. Others still blamed the Minders Guild or their masters the Sodkillers. Some blamed Rowan Darkwood, not dead by escaped from his Maze and now returned to topple Her Serenity with the dead following him. For all their wild and baseless claims, all of them understood and agreed upon one thing: whatever it was had been brewing for some time now, what with the Cagequakes rattling the wards with greater frequency than ever before in recent memory, it all spoke loud and clear that something was brewing. And then one voice called out a claim perhaps too dangerous to make. “It’s Fell! It’s the fallen dabus! Aoskar the Portal Father’s return is upon the City of Doors!” The fool berk was immediately tackled and beaten into silence by a dozen of those citizens sitting around her. Finally as violence was sparked, Rhys finally stood up and banged her Staff of the Magi on the table, shouting out over the crowd to immediate effect, “Silence!” All eyes fell upon the former Factol. “While undoubtedly some of us here know the reason for the arsons and murders plaguing the city, and also for the recent Cagequakes, they also would be aware that shadows do not fly randomly. They strike true…” Rhys’s voice was strong and clear, her strength projecting out to the crowd and calming fraying nerves. “Yes something is amiss. Yes something is brewing. But The Lady is not likely behind what has been occurring within Sigil, though Her displeasure may be felt beneath our feet. Apparently Her message after the late Nilesia’s death went unheeded by some.” Under the table, in direct response to Rhys’s words, Shemeska hand tightened upon the Shadow Sorcelled Key, clutched tight in reassurance to herself. Obscured by the furred ruff at the end of her coat sleeve, the artifact’s shadows licked at her fingers like the tongues of a dozen broken lovers. “And to others here,” Rhys called out, “Do not bring up dead powers and shouts of doomsday. This is not some planes ending eschaton and understand that I am still here in Sigil.” Rhys’s face remained stern and confident, though in her heart she was anything but. In the prelude to the Storm of Doors years earlier during the Faction War, she had known something terrible was coming before Sigil had erupted in conflict and the Lady’s wrath was unleashed. She’d felt it coming, building in the tension expressed by the Cadence of the Planes as she felt it. This time however, the Cadence was silent, and that silence in the presence of Cagequakes and the return of the dead slain by Her Serenity: though her external attitude was one of stoic confidence, internally Rhys was terrified beyond measure. “I say now to all of us here: end this berk’s errand in Sigil! Be done with it! Whatever the actual identity of the one posing as the dead Factol, stop this game and the string pulling that follows it, for the sake of your own existence, if nothing else…” And with that statement from the Council’s chairwoman, the meeting was abruptly adjourned. Without answers but with a certainty that their civic leaders had their best interests in mind and suspected that rather than The Lady’s wrath it was some act of subterfuge to advance some hidden agenda, the crowd began to disperse for the exits. Most of the council’s members stayed, either talking to citizens who approached them on the platform or like Jeremo went out among the crowd themselves to mingle, but one member left immediately: the Marauder. With her guards clearing a path for her, Shemeska left with a smirk upon her face. Walking directly past A’kin, she didn’t turn to glance at him nor did she say a word. The Friendly Fiend’s proprietor opened his mouth as she walked past, intending to say something but paused before doing so with Zadara’s hand on his shoulder in warning. Thinking better of it he said nothing, but turned his head to follow her as she left, giving a soft and uncharacteristic snarl once she was out of earshot. Watching the Marauder leave, Fyrehowl raised an eyebrow as she could feel the torrent of telepathy that raced between the two of them, the precise words unknown, immediately preceding A’kin’s reaction. Tempted as she was to walk up to A’kin, either to ask for a cookie or to ask him what that had all been about, she figured that whatever it had been, it had been sufficient to upset him and she didn’t care to add to it if she could avoid it. Curious as the thought was as it came to her mind, she considered him a friend, even if she knew next to nothing about him. Going along with the crowd, the companions gathered together and left once Nisha finished her popcorn, bitterly complaining with butter-slicked fingers that she hadn’t been close enough to the one fight that had broken out to have used the snack or the bowl during its duration. They had a world of options as to where to go next, but as Clueless wanted to explain to them about Shylara’s return from her imprisonment in stone, they ultimately decided to go back to the Portal Jammer. True to Rhys’s words though, something major was indeed brewing. Something terrible was about to occur. And as they left the Park of the Infernal and Divine a portal flickered into forced existence below Florian’s feet once again. [center]****[/center] [/QUOTE]
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Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour - (Updated 14February2024)
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