Did you hear the distant lie, Calling me back to my sin, Like the one you knew before
There was some muttering from Phaedra at the mention of having to go to Center, the largest trade city on the Gray Waste. But the arrival of the letter from Aspaseka also largely ended any further conversation and questions about Phaedra’s revelations to her companions, and also spared Victor from having to cover for his brother’s rather grim and overly detailed description of his history and his goals.
As they broke up to go do their own things, or sleep, or perhaps have more than a few stiff drinks, Inva grinned and walked up behind Velkyn and Phaedra.
“Interesting revelation you had for us just now Phaedra.” The tiefling said. “Though I think you might have both figured out that I already knew what was coming.”
“I figured.” Velkyn said. “I noticed that comment you had about my father before.”
“When everyone went to Rigus I took the opportunity to try to find out a bit more about the two of you.” Inva explained.
“Oh really?” The half-drow asked.
“Velk,” Inva began. “If I may call you Velk. Your father runs an inn in the Clerk’s ward. Your mother is still somewhere on the prime material and sent you and your twin sister, Stre’aka, to Sigil where you grew up. You knew Phaedra, and what she is, before her little coming out party here. In fact, the two of you grew up together more or less.”
Velkyn blinked.
“Does that sound about right?” Inva asked.
Velkyn paused and gave a deep breath. She was right about it all, and hell if he knew where she’d found that out in such a relatively short period of time.
“That’s about right.” He said.
Inva smiled and gave a polite nod of her head to him. She spun to look at Phaedra, her red hair framing her face and giving her a slightly sinister look.
“And you Phaedra. Your mother is a lupinal, rumored to be a fallen one, and a high placed member of the Transcendent Order, currently living somewhere on the Upper Planes, probably Elysium. Your father, and this was a bit harder to come across, is an arcanaloth: A’kin the Friendly Fiend; owns a shop in the Lower Ward and rumored to be all sorts of things that none can seem to really agree upon. Ever.”
Phaedra’s fur bristled a bit.
“About right?” Inva asked.
“Yeah…” The half-‘loth said warily.
“I’m more than willing to trust people if they tell me all I might need to know about them.” Inva said, spreading her hands. “But if you get me curious, I’ll look it up on my own.”
“Satisfied?” Velk asked.
“Yeah, pretty much.” Inva replied. “There’s nothing there that makes me worried, or really gives me any reason to not work with you. You’re both interesting cases, I’ll say that for certain.”
That said, Inva walked off to vanish to wherever she felt like, and Phaedra and Velkyn sat down for a drink they previously weren’t planning on having.
“And suddenly I don’t feel like going to visit my father anymore.” Phaedra said.
“It can wait.” Velk replied. “Not like he’ll be going anywhere.”
“I’ll probably go after we talk to Aspaseka.” Phaedra said, toasting her friend with a raised shot glass. “I might ask you to come along, depending on how I feel.”
“Not a problem.” Velkyn replied with another toast.
The next two days passed without incident.
***
Center was an enigma. It was one of the largest cities within the Gray Waste, a sprawl of marble, iron and wood situated at the tangent point between each of the three-fold glooms of the plane itself. It was a fulcrum between the triple layers of the lowest plane of evil in the multiverse, and it was almost ignored on the surface by the native Yugoloths. The plane itself was antithetical to life and morality, but within Center that ravaging void was still, silent, and somehow placated. Within Center you were spared that depravity, and still, the city gave to you, but what was lost? Altruism did not exist in this place, so why did it seem to shelter some for nothing in return?
Center was a trade city. Given its location between each of the layers of the Waste, and its unusually high number of portals to various other points across the lower planes, plus Sigil, merchants and traders flocked to it like flies to a bloated corpse in an open tomb. From Center, the flesh of that corpse: weapons, magic, knowledge, mercenaries, and souls, it all filtered out to the highest bidder like rot on the wind. Gold filtered out and in, spilling from hand to hand as readily as blood spilt on the ashen soil of the Waste, and wealth and greed rose up like an idol of a god to demand worship as it sucked at the souls of all who sought refuge under its baleful gaze.
Center was a prison. A third of the city lived under quarantine, each of those seeking to enter from the Oinos sector waited for days to determine if they would pass through the buttressed iron gates to the remainder of the city, or if they would show signs of infection and be abandoned to die of plague. Every mortal within Center lived in relative security and comfort, but one inch beyond its walls the Waste waited like a wolf at a cottage door, just beyond the lanterns, eyes twinkling like candlelight in a promise of agony and death. Those who left Center without heavy guard or inner strength and god-given luck typically did not return, be they slaughtered by fiends, one another, or simply giving in to the spiritual agonies of the plane itself and laying down to die.
They arrived in the Niffleheim district of the city through a portal in Sigil’s Lower Ward. It was a place of wood and stone, shops and inns, counting houses and embassies, simple dwellings and marketplaces of the general goods to flow from layer to layer. The population wandering the cobblestone streets under the glow of lamplight was largely mortal: mercenaries and merchants, travelers and refugees. The occasional fiend or night hag kept to themselves and out of trouble, though the city watch was largely unobtrusive and rarely an observed presence.
A mile or so distant, rising up in the city center like a gilded sepulcher or a dagger aimed at the sky was the massive palace of glass and marble belonging to the city’s ruler, Dandy Will. Will, a tiefling of apparent yugoloth heritage, had ruled Center for nearly two hundred fifty years, brooking no rivals except for a brief period a hundred fifty two years earlier when he was removed from power for the space of a month. Local legend claimed that he was restored to his position within twenty-four hours of the rise of the Ebon by the express order of the new Oinoloth himself. Local legend also claimed that along with his position restored to him, Dandy Will was given the head of the Ultroloth who had deposed him on a golden platter, cooked and prepared as a meal.
Still, since that time of strife in the city, it had remained stable and largely free of conflict both within and without. Trade had prospered and the population had swelled, both permanent and transient, with Will’s policies benefiting all involved. But, as everyone knew, altruism was foreign to the Waste…
The seven of them walked a dozen blocks along Hag’s Head Avenue past a group of drunken mercenaries and a trio of Hags offering a motley collection of mortal slaves and larvae to passersby; the larvae looking healthier by far. They ignored them, and Victor did his best to not comment or argue with any of the clerics and itinerant, self-proclaimed prophets gathered along the way, each screaming and proselytizing for gods as diverse as Nerul, Grolantor, Hades, Vecna, Talona, and Falazure.
“I promise I won’t join in and shout over them.” Victor said.
“Good.” Inva said. “Not the time, or the place. I’d have to bet against you.”
“I did bring pamphlets to hand out though if I had the chance.” He replied, briefly flashing a number of parchment sheets.
“Very much not the place.” Velkyn said as they reached the end of the block. “That cleric of Falazure was a half dragon and about twice your size.”
“Hey, you never know when you’ll have a chance to find a person open to a few good words and maybe a change of heart.” Victor said with a shrug. “I know it’s not the place, but like I said, you never know. I’ll try to keep from being jaded, despite the locale.”
They turned the corner, away from the din and clamor of the row of bickering clerics that stretched back two blocks behind them, stepping out onto the smooth and polished obsidian flagstones of Ebon’s Walk, perhaps a hundred feet from the entrance to the Prancing Nightmare Inn. The street was named for the Oinoloth of the same name, and was supposedly the route taken by his consort, the former Overlord of Carceri and current Oinoloth when she entered the city with the army of Anthraxus nearly two centuries prior.
“Oh no…” Phaedra muttered under her breath with a distinct level of disgust.
“What?” Velkyn asked her.
She didn’t reply, but inclined her head towards the opposite corner of the street and the trio of fiends that stood there.
Two hulking mezzoloths stood back reverently from a third figure, standing guard over him. Their black chitin shells glistened in the ruddy glow of adjacent streetlamps and the pale luminescence of the sky of the Waste that hung over Center like a funeral shroud. The least yugoloths however were not objects of interest, their superior was. A brown and gray furred arcanaloth with the head of a wild hunting dog, he - though its gender was an open question as per its kind - stood there upon the street corner dressed in black robes fringed in scarlet and silver.
“The hell if I’m getting noticed by them.” Phaedra said, almost immediately shifting into the form of a tiefling.
The robed ‘loth didn’t seem to notice her, and as they passed by he seemed to only be calling out like a beguiling siren to passing yugoloths, and occasionally to tieflings with obvious ‘loth heritage. All others were ignored utterly, though passing clerics and the rare celestial or aasimar drew a cold stare and a low, feral snarl.
Phaedra had assumed herself free from notice, but it was not to be. Looking directly at her, the fiend’s eyes glowed, focused on her, as it began whispering, just audibly, and calling out into her mind telepathically. To anyone on the street, it was extolling, preaching even in some perverse way, to her in a cold, fanatic’s tone about holding loyal to the ‘rightful Oinoloth’. One of the mezzoloths even held out scraps of parchment of dubious origin going into detail about its master’s tenets.
Inside Phaedra’s head however, the words were different, and at once they both gave promises to her like a beguiling lover and horrified her. Her heritage had mixed feelings on the matter, and she wasn’t sure how to respond, though she did not dwell on the images it showed her; terrible things. She didn’t respond, she kept walking, even as the ‘loth followed her with his eyes and continued speaking directly into her head even as its lips fell silent and blossomed into a zealot’s smile.
Loyalty is given power. Purity begets power. That is what He offers you.”
***
The Prancing Nightmare Inn was one of the larger ones in the district. It was just off from the market sector, in range of the tents and lights that framed and sequestered the sellers, dealers, swindlers and thieves of the city from those they preyed upon only blocks away, all drinking and slumbering within the slate roofed public houses of which the Nag, as some called it, was but one of many.
Lamplight spilled out from the inn’s open door along with a bit of laughter and catcalls, a welcome beacon to the weary set of seven. Phaedra was still frowning as she stepped through the door, the upper portion of its frame cut into the shape of a rearing Nightmare with eyes of glittering red glass.
Stepping inside they looked at the taproom and its clientele. There was a small, well stocked bar, a reception desk for those seeking lodging, and a stage around which a large collection of humans, tieflings, and one amused looking cambion sat to drink, be amused and aroused, and be peeled of their jink at the very least.
“Oh that’s just amusing.” Velkyn said as he looked at the dancer with a minor sneer.
An incubus was dancing around a pole set into the center of the stage, rubbing himself against it, curling his tail around it like a lover’s member, spinning around its length, and dancing provocatively. Of course, the tanar’ri was completely naked.
“Not bad.” Inva said with an amused chuckle and twitch of her tail.
“If you don’t mind having your soul sucked dry.” Victor said dryly.
“Among other things.” Velk replied.
Phaedra, Inva and Francesca both gave one or two more glances, guilty glances on the part of the last, as they all walked to the reception desk and inquired if Aspaseka had already arrived. She had, and the manager directed them upstairs to a private room just off of the walkway on the second floor balcony that surrounded the open space over the first floor and the dancer below.
“Interesting place she chose.” Phaedra said as they ascended the stairs.
“One way of putting it.” Victor said.
“Maybe she likes the entertainment.” Velkyn replied.
“Something wrong with the entertainment Velk?” Inva asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Not at all.” He said, perhaps a bit too quickly.
Inva laughed and let it drop as they walked up to the door to where Aspaseka was meeting them.
Marcus knocked on the door.
“Come in.” Came the quick reply from inside.
The door was ajar and a pool of warm, fluttering firelight was cast out and into the hallway as they tentatively pushed open the door to where their contact was waiting for them, seated comfortably at a table in line with the door.
Aspaseka waved them in as she quaffed the last swallow from a goblet of wine and tossed a napkin over the remains of a meal that she’d been finishing. Unlike the last time that they had met her, at swordpoint, she was smiling and seemed much more relaxed and at ease.
“Please, take a seat.” She said as they walked in.
A fire was roaring in the fireplace and a pleasant smell of incense rose up in tiny curls of white smoke from a smoldering cone set in a brass dish upon the table around which eight chairs had been arranged.
Aspaseka was dressed in the same fine leather armor as when they had first met her, but her sword hung on her chair and the cloak she wore this time was made of much finer material. Her blue-black hair fell down behind her, nearly pooling on the floor, though it was held up a foot or more by a pair of silver combs. She looked content, almost like a cat curled up in front of a fire or in a sunbeam.
“I trust you didn’t have any difficulty getting here?” She asked.
“Not really.” Inva said.
“Scenery could be better.” Phaedra said with a shrug.
Aspaseka tilted her head. “The dancer downstairs not your type?”
Velkyn snickered.
“No, not that at all, he’s fine.” Phaedra replied. “The ‘loths outside on the corner.”
“Oh…” Aspaseka said. “I didn’t think that they would be an issue. Normally they only care about full-blooded ‘loths. My apologies.”
“Eh, I’ll deal with it.” The half-‘loth said.
“And now before we begin,” Aspaseka said. “I just want to apologize for being so curt with you all the first time we met.”
“It’s not an issue.” Velk said. “Buy us a round of drinks sometime, show us a good time and all’s forgiven.”
“I’ll have to remember that then.” Aspaseka replied. “Next time I’ll have the entertainment in the room rather than downstairs.”
“So, you have employment for us?” Inva asked, getting off the topic of complaints or not regarding Center, and apologies from anyone.
Aspaseka nodded and took out a small, leather-bound notebook and thumbed through to a page near the front.
“As I mentioned in the letter, our employers have a number of different prospects that they feel your mutual talents make you suited for. You have a choice of which of these, if any, you might choose to take.”
“Well, you’ve got our interest.” Marcus said.
“And you pay well so far, so you’ve bought our time regardless of anything else.” Inva said as she played with the light reflected from her tail spade.
“So what do you have for us?” Victor asked curiously.
“Four things.” She said, tapping the book with a fingernail.
“In order:
1) A bit of tomb robbing in the far northeast of the continent of Faerun on Toril on the Prime Material. Looking for something specific.
2) A snatch and grab in the mines of Marsallen on Acheron’s second layer. Sodkiller territory, something related to the former Mercykiller presence there a little over a century or two ago. It may or may not still be there, but we simply want you to find out.
3) Wetwork. Hunting down and retrieving, one way or another, in the Abyss, a specific lesser tanar’ri of interest to my employers.
4) Finding an object related to a former Lord of the 1st of Baator, likely in Celestia or Arcadia, oddly enough.”
She smiled and waited for a reaction.
“The Abyss doesn’t sound all that fun.” Marcus said, and the others swiftly agreed.
“I wouldn’t mind hunting down Tanar’ri, but… no.” Victor said.
“No love lost the Mercykillers, or Sodkillers…” Velkyn said. “Bloody lines in Rigus.”
“Messing around with them might have repercussions though,” Inva said. “Considering that they’re an active faction and all.”
“If we went looking for something on Celestia or Arcadia, what’s the chance that we’d end up having to fight celestials?” Phaedra asked.
“High.” Aspaseka replied bluntly.
“Count me out on that one.” Victor said.
They bantered back and forth for a few more minutes, each of them pointing out pros or cons to each of the potential jobs. While they talked, Aspaseka discretely put away the dish that she had been finishing when they arrived, making certain to keep the bones and rather large amount of spilt blood out of sight. Thankfully none of the meal was still twitching by the time they had arrived.
“So,” Victor asked. “Tell us some more about that first option?”
“Whose tomb are we robbing, and what’s there to grab?” Inva added.
Aspaseka nodded and turned a page in her notebook.
“I know that one of you is originally from Toril.” She said, glancing at Inva. “How familiar are you with the region of the Great Dale?”
“Not particularly.” The tiefling replied. “Enlighten us if you would.”
“It’s a flat, windy grassland that stretches between the forest of Lethyr and the Rawlinswood. Located approximately a days ride out of the furthest outpost of civilization there, and a two or three hour ride from the trade road that cuts through the middle of the Great Dale is a massive earthen mound known as the Great Barrow.”
“It’s a series of concentric rings actually,” She continued. “Not just a single mound. And it’s sodding old, dating back to the period of the Imaskari war against the incarnate deities of Mulhorand and Unther.”
They listened to her explain more, fairly well rapt with attention.
“During the final days of Imaskar, several of the gods of the Mulhorandi and Untheric people laid siege to the Imaskari capital of Inupras. The war was largely won that day, and the incarnate manifestations of Horus-Re, Nergal, and several others fought and killed the Imaskari Sorcerer-King, Grand Artificer Yuvaraj, the Purple Emperor.”
Aspaseka paused.
“And in turn, Yuvaraj mortally wounded Nergal. The Untheric deity of air, darkness, and death, he lingered in a delirium wrought of magic for four days; agonized, in pain, and rambling. He died, and his worshippers carried him to the Great Dale, half a world away from the cursed sands of Imaskar, the land of his killers, considered too unholy to house his tomb.”
“The Great Barrow…” Velkyn said almost reverently.
“Indeed,” Aspaseka said. “But that’s simply the place, not what you’d be looking for. Now when Nergal was at his deathbed, hallucinating and babbling, all of his words were said to have been recorded. Everything he said, including the reactions of his clergy, the lamentations of his mortal children and wives, the fine details of how he had been killed; all of that was recorded in utter detail.”
Aspaseka paused again for dramatic effect.
“And that is what we want you to find: an object, likely a book, known as the Codex of Long Shadows and Last Breaths. And no, I don’t have a clue what it actually looks like. No one does.”
“Nergal is dead, yes?” Victor asked.
“Yes, and so are his clergy in Unther, as well as any faithful to him.” Aspaseka said. “His faith died with him, and what remains of him is out there floating in the Astral.”
“So there’s no current clergy to deal with if we plunder the place,” Inva said appraisingly. “And it’s so far away from Unther than even if we do, there isn’t a soul that will care.”
“I think we’ve got one that sounds a bit more realistic for us to go after.” Marcus said.
Aspaseka unfurled a map of the Great Dale and its local environs, stretching it out in the center of the table and pointing out the various major cities and landmarks, as well as the Great Barrow itself.
“So what’s the catch?” Velkyn asked to a polite chuckle from Aspaseka.
“So why is the tomb of a deity still sitting there out in the open and unplundered after all these centuries?” Inva asked. “Like Velk said, what’s the catch here?”
“For starters, the people of the Great Dale don’t know the origin of the Barrow or who was buried there. Very few people on Toril know that bit of information.” Aspaseka explained. “Secondly the Great Dale has a very, very low population, some unhappy things lurking in the Rawlinswood to the north and the druids to the south in the Forest of Lethyr tend to not smile upon anyone ‘disturbing nature’. Plus, the druids have good reason to suspect that the Great Barrow is associated with the ancient kingdom of Narfell; their ruins dot the Rawlinswood and they had the tendency to summon and bind Tanar’ri. The Great Barrow predates Narfell significantly, but the druids, being fairly intelligent, aren’t taking the risk of having people set up towns, or dig in the area for fear of setting loose a troupe of Balors.”
Victor shrugged. “Can’t honestly blame them, they’re being cautious.”
“Outside of them, and the occasional incursion of blighted creatures from the Rawlinswood to the north, the place is desolate. Further to the west is the port city of Uthmere, and beyond the merchants and nobility, the only real group with any power is the clergy of Selune, though in terms of faith the various nature powers hold more faithful numbered among the people: Chauntea, Silvanus, Mielikki, Eldath.”
“Hey, Phaedra.” Velk said to the sorceress. “You’ll do fine then, everyone’ll just assume that you’re a Selunite werewolf.”
Phaedra scoffed.
“Not a bad idea.” Aspaseka said. “The area isn’t used to anyone beyond humans and the occasional elf or dwarf. Given the past history of the region, fiends and tieflings are going to be viewed as objects of hate and fear to be avoided like a plague, at best.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Inva said as she tapped her hooves on one of the legs of the table.
“If you take this job, I’ll have a local guide paid to meet you, give you a rundown on the lay of the land, anything specific to worry about, and accompany you to the Barrow itself.”
They glanced at one another.
“We’ll take it.” Velkyn answered.
Aspaseka smiled.
“The site is also, according to local legend, haunted.” She said. “Overlooking the Barrow, built on a nearby hillock is an old stone keep, about a century old. It was built by a minor nobleman who claimed the area as his own and planned to dig it up to obtain whatever riches lay within. All went well for a time, but supposedly the first night after he completed his manor house and slept within its walls, he, his family, and the entirety of his staff and guard vanished in the space of a single night. The place has sat abandoned since that point, and the legend alone tends to keep would-be treasure seeker’s away.”
“I can guess what it might be.” Victor said. “Restless dead.”
“Or guardians bound into the tomb when Nergal was being buried.” Aspaseka added. “I’d like to be able to tell you more, but when the Barrow was constructed the builders were killed. On top of that the clergy and family of Nergal were sealed inside so that none would remember the location of the tomb outside of a handful of loyal guards, all of whom were said to have killed themselves upon the sealing of the last tomb.”
Victor nodded again.
“So in which mound of this complex is the Codex?” Inva asked.
“Again, I can’t answer that.” Aspaseka said. “However, given its value and its importance to the clergy, it would either have been buried with Nergal himself, his first wife, or with one of his most senior priests or preistesses. And so either the primary, central mound, or one of the larger secondary mounds.”
“Do we know where the entrances are?” Marcus asked curiously.
“Not a sodding clue.” Aspaseka said. “But that’ll be the fun of it all.”
“Outside of the vengeful dead you mean.” Victor said softly.
“Yes, outside of that.” Aspaseka replied. “But you’ll do fine. I’m also not likely to be in Sigil for the foreseeable future, so any sending spells you send to me will be reached and responded to. When you’ve found the Codex get back in touch with me and we can meet to discuss payment. And now, before you ask, that payment is likely to be a flat amount to each of you, not a lump sum, simply to discourage people from killing one another to get paid more. And depending on how much I’m authorized to give, a bonus depending on time and any requests for aid or special resources.”
“Now when do you want us to go, and how do you suggest we get there?” Victor asked.
“Your call.” She replied. “Tell me when and I’ll arrange for your guide. And I can provide you with a portal to Toril, and from there, a scroll of teleport and a description of any one of a few possible spots to start from. I’d suggest either Uthmere itself, or one or the outposts along the trade road, the furthest out of which is a day from the Barrow. Where you want to go determines which guide I can get you.”
“The closer the better,” Inva said. “Especially since I’ll have to put up with the locals.”
“True.” Phaedra added.
***
Over the next hour they discussed some of the more general precautions over a bottle of wine with Aspaseka before they said their goodbyes and left to return to Sigil and then to Tradegate with the intent of leaving in the morning for Toril.
As they left the inn, the Incubus dancing on the stage winked at them and curled his tail in a beckoning gesture.
“Another time.” Inva said, feeling tempted to toss him a coin.
The tanar’ri chuckled and curled a leg around the dance pole, glancing his eyes across the women in the party, and the men as well, licking his lips as he evaluated them in numerous ways.
They ignored the fiend as they left, though he did get a coin tossed at the stage that he caught with his teeth.
Phaedra further ignored the ‘loths outside the inn as they left and made their way back to the gate to Sigil. She was still grumbling about them though as they left them behind in the distance.
A few blocks down the road, next to a stunted private garden and a bustling slave market, they paused next to a fenced off corral of horses, of few of them snorting flames and clearly more than mundane versions.
“Does anyone here besides Francesca and I have a horse?” Marcus asked.
None of the others nodded.
“You’re right.” Victor said. “Considering we’re going to the prime, with a ways to walk to this place… good idea.”
A bit of haggling with a Night Hag later, and pushing away her attempts to sell them Nightmares rather than normal horses, or larvae, they had five horses. They were normal and fairly healthy, if in need of more to eat than they’d been getting. But overall, they came at a fair price considering where they had been purchased, and they would be welcome once they arrived on Toril.
“Why would I want to buy a larvae?” Phaedra asked as they walked away.
“You do realize the irony in that right?” Victor asked.
“What?” She replied, honestly befuddled.
“You’re part ‘loth dear.” Inva said. “As far as most people are concerned you eat them for breakfast, poke them with sharp objects for fun, or screw them in your spare time.”
Phaedra paused, clearly about to make some reply, but she held her tongue. It wouldn’t make any difference anyway. Perceptions were perceptions. Heck, given who she was related to, that held true even more so.
“Anyway, let’s just get back to Sigil.” Phaedra finally said as they walked on. “The sooner I get away from this plane the better I’ll feel.”
***
The portal back to Sigil was a large iron archway covered over in dead and dying razorvine. The ground surrounding the portal itself was stained brown with several spots of a more recent, half dried reddish liquid: blood.
“So, who wants to provide the portal key?” Phaedra asked.
“What is it?” Marcus asked, warily looking down at the ground.
“Fresh mortal blood.” She replied.
Victor glanced around before rolling up his sleeve, willing to provide a drop or two to activate the portal. But despite his willingness, it wasn’t needed.
“Give me a minute.” Inva said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you…Oh.” Phaedra asked as the tiefling wandered off, following discretely behind a gnome that passed by along the street.
“Oh for the love of…” Victor muttered with resignation as he rolled his sleeve back down. “I’d swear that gnomes killed your parents or something…”
“EEEEAAAAA!” Came a sharp, shrill cry from the direction the gnome and Inva had gone.
“Oooooowwwwwwww…” Echoed a plaintive, vaguely nasal moan from behind her as Inva waltzed back to the portal.
The spade on her tail was bloodied down to the first inch or so of its length and she gave an overly innocent grin as she tapped the blade through the boundary of the portal and activated it.
“That was incredibly amusing.” Phaedra said with an admiring chuckle.
Velk smirked, perplexed by her reaction when only minutes before she had reacted so negatively when confronted by full-blooded yugoloths. She was odd at times, but he didn’t mention the contradiction he saw her expressing as they all stepped through the portal and back into Sigil’s Lower Ward.
“Straight on to Toril?” Victor asked. “Or does anyone want to rest at all, or maybe pick up any extra food or supplies? Now’s the time certainly, though it might be cheaper back in Tradegate.”
Velk and Phaedra were already breaking away from the group, each to handle their own things in Sigil, though they left their horses behind with the others going to Tradegate.
“We’ll meet you back in Tradegate in an hour or so, I just wanted to go say hello to my dad in Sigil.” Phaedra said. “He wanted me to just check in, and it’d be rude if I didn’t, especially since we’ll be on the prime for a while.”
Inva smirked knowingly but said nothing.
“Not a problem.” Victor said. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Not long.” Phaedra replied. “Maybe an hour?”
“I just need to shop around somewhere in the city,” Velk said. “I’m going to pick up some wands that might come in handy for the trip.”
And so they went their own way, walking further into the smoggy interior of the Lower Ward, heading for a very specific destination while the others returned to Tradegate and waited their return.
***
The door swung open with the light jingle of a small, silver bell. Phaedra stepped into the shop’s interior and glanced around for her father amid the eclectic jumble of odds and ends from across the planes, both junk and rare and expensive treasures. She didn’t see him, but a black-scaled kobold, his assistant, peeked out from behind a pile of items he’d been tasked to sort, price and arrange.
“Is A’kin here?” Phaedra asked.
The kobold looked up at her, dressed in the black and gold robe that he typically wore. He blinked his large, luminous blue eyes and nodded obediently.
Roughly a second or two after the door swung shut and the bell ran again, the sign that hung in the door reading ‘OPEN’ flipped over to ‘CLOSED’ and the Friendly Fiend himself stepped out from the back room of the shop.
Smiling that jackal’s smile he glanced down at his apprentice. “Take a break, go have lunch, do whatever you want for the next hour or so. Go! Have fun!”
The kobold nodded obediently and darted out the door with a coin flipped at him by the ‘loth.
As soon as they were alone, A’kin chuckled and put an arm over Phaedra’s shoulder, walking her towards the back room where a pot of tea was just coming to boil and a cookie jar sat in the center of a table with exactly two chairs already arranged and pulled out.
“So, what’s on your mind?” A’kin asked.
***
Now, THIS ... is where it gets interesting (and proceeds to intentionally tease the reader).
.
