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SIGIL WITHOUT A GUIDE
So, you're looking for the secret of
the multiverse, eh, cutter? Get lost, and then you'll find it. - Darrol Ving, a dustman ![]() Sigil's a big place, and it's just not possible to cover the city with a detailed street-by-street guide to all things interesting, useful, unusual, and outright bizarre. Doing that would have meant talking less about all the other things a DM needs to know about the planes. (Eventually, some blood'll get around to mapping the Cage, street by street, though.) Anyway, a party of bashers checking out Sigil for the first time probably won't want to learn every corner of the Cage right away. Rather, there's certain places in the city that they'll be looking for, and that's what this section's all about. The goal here's not to leave the DM hanging with a big street map and no idea of what to do with it. Instead of trying to tell everything at this point, it seems much better to show, teach, and advise on how to make Sigil a blood-DM's own. Instead of saying what's on what street, this section tells the DM how to decide what belongs in the Cage and where he or she should put it. It allows him or her to build a neighborhood in the ward of his or her choice, one that will be the adventurers' stomping grounds. That means doing more than just describing some interesting buildings, although that's done here, too, so here goes: The first thing the DM should know is that almost anything can be found in Sigil - almost any shop, guild, temple, house, business, industry, laboratory, or library can be put in the Cage. Almost is the key word, now - Sigil and the planescape setting have got a feel that could be ruined by throwing just anything into the pot. The points below make this clear. 1. Sure, this is a weird place, but it ain't science-fiction. Don't stick in stuff that isn't medieval in flavor. It's pretty obvious that spaceports wouldn't belong, but a DM's got to resist the urge for things like blasters as neat weapons, magical devices that feel a lot like computer networks, intra-city teleportation chambers, and crystal ball phone systems. 2. Like the first point, this ain't some prime-material 20th-century world, neither. A lot of DMs forget that life was different in medieval times - not just the buildings, but also the conventions of trading. The DM shouldn't go sticking in things like assembly lines, general stores, travel agencies, cleric-staffed hospitals, newspaper stands, employment agencies (let the faction headquarters do that), grocery stores, or even public street departments. Most folks in Sigil do or deal in one particular kind of thing. One baker makes nothing but bread, and another specializes in pastries. The armorer makes armor but he doesn't make weapons, and so on. Remember, a man either makes something or sells something somebody else made. People who provide nothing but services, like cleaners and investment advisers, are called servants and councilors. There aren't things like banks with security vaults (what cutter'd trust his fortune to another in Sigil?) or travel agents who'll arrange tickets and reservations for a berk's expedition out to the planes. When the player characters want several things, they've got to do a little leg work. Don't drag it out, but just remind them when their characters are gathering equipment that they've got to visit five, six, eight, or ten different-stalls in the Great Bazaar. 3. Don't treat magical items like machinery. This is a fantasy game, so it's got magic, but it's got to feel magical. If a cutter's built a golem, he's not going to use it just to stoke his furnace. Sure a person can buy or sell magic here, but there aren't any department stores and that. Make player characters run around to get what they want. It gives them a reason to explore Sigil. 4. Avoid cute little businesses like Wanda's Tea Shoppe or The Golden Bariaur Beauty Parlor (which also goes against the second point). The reader may have noticed that Sigil's not a cute place. Encounters and locations done for a quick laugh'll sink the tone of Sigil faster than lead weights. That doesn't mean there's not stuff that's funny, pleasant, relaxing, peaceful, and nice in Sigil - it's just not cute.
5. Be inconveniently convenient. If the characters really want
something in Sigil, it's probably there. Finding or using it, though, may not be easy.
A Few Services of Sigil After some generalities about what not to put in Sigil, here's some
things that characters will find in the Cage that might otherwise be forgotten.
Touts There's a fair business in locals willing to lead a cutter around town,
either to show off the sights or take him to some place specific - whichever he
needs. While there's no central guide agency, touts are found at most marketplaces and
gathered around the most frequently used portals. 'Course, sometimes a cutter's taking his
chances with a tout - most are trying to get a cutter to a specific tavern or inn
because that's what the landlord pays them to do. A few'll settle for quick money by
peeling the customer or mugging him outright. Wise bloods are always peery of anyone who's
too eager to help.
Factotums These are the official versions of guides. A factotum works for a
specific faction, and it's his job to see that important visitors get what they need, stay
out of trouble, and don't see what they shouldn't. They'll do more than just guide a body
around. They also know their way through the ins and outs of Sigil's politics.
Sedan Chairs These are Sigil's version of a taxi service. There's not too many
horses in the city, so most things are carried on the backs of others. A cutter can
arrange for a sedan chair at the Great Bazaar and most of the important buildings, like
the Festhall. Each chair can carry two normal-sized folks and is carried by four burly
types, not necessarily human. There are some places, like the Hive, where sedan chairs
won't go.
Harmonium Patrols The ever-vigilant Harmonium keeps the peace - or their idea of it
- with foot patrols of 1d3 + 1 watchmen (Pl/var/F1-3/Ha/var). Now, a Harmonium guardsman's
view of things is that everyone should obey his orders, which are generally lawful and
good. Arguing or trying to explain one's self is a sign of defiance, which in itself is
cause enough to arrest a berk. It's no surprise that when the watch sees something they
don't like, most all of the locals - not just the guilty - make themselves scarce.
Couriers The best way to get a message across town is to deliver it personally,
but most basher's don't have the time or luxury for that, so they have to use some other
means. A high-up man sends a servant, and a craftsman'll make his apprentice do it, but
most folks don't have either, so they find a courier. Unlike guides, most couriers are
fairly reliable sorts -nobody with a public service job wants a dissatisfied tiefling
looking for them. Besides, a courier makes his money delivering messages and knows he's an
easy target to blame if things go wrong. Even so, no batch of couriers're perfectly
honest, so there's always the chance something important might get lost or read by other
eyes. All said, the best thing to do is to not go telling the dark of things to just
anyone by writing it down and handing it to a stranger.
Light Boys With so many hours of darkness and gloom, and no system of city street
lights, light boys are a common service. These are usually street urchins who've gotten
hold of a continual light wand (probably by bashing some bubbed up wizard in a dark
alley). Light boys are useful for more than just light, since most of them know a
particular neighborhood pretty well and can act as unofficial guides or touts.
Business Specifics When the DM creates a place in Sigil, he's got to be wary of the
this-place-was-just-like-the-last trap. It's easy to fall into a rut when a body's making
so many places all at once. To help the DM avoid it, here are some suggestions for ways to
give common businesses new twists.
![]() Player characters spend a lot of time sitting in taverns, it seems, and there's nothing wrong with a common alehouse. There's a lot more that can be found in Sigil, though. First off, all these folks from the planes have different tastes, and some taverns'll cater to just one. There's taverns, dark and low, with a definite fiendish bend, made to appeal to those bashers from the Lower Planes. There's imitation mead halls for the einheriar of Ysgard, and humorless ones for the rigid thinkers of Mechanus. Some are boisterous with good times, others are riotous with sullen tempers. Taverns can also vary by the type of drink served; there's nothing that says every tavern has to serve the same selection of ale and wine. Not only are there alehouses and wine cellars, but then there's differences even within those. Inns The difference between an inn and a tavern is usually that an inn
offers more lodging and less drink. If taverns serve drinks to suit particular customers,
inns cater even more specifically to the tastes of planar travelers. Aside from common
human-type inns, there's the stable inns of the bariaur, pleasure-stocked inns that cater
to the Sensates, communal githzerai halls, flaming pits for visitors from the City of
Brass, and even black-draped halls devoted to the tanar'ri or baatezu. Of the last, a
cutter's best not knowing what they're like unless he's got a lot of friends with
him. A berk can be in for a rude shock if he just wanders through the door without
checking on the clientele first.
Stables There aren't many stables in Sigil, since most people get around the
city on foot or by sedan chair. Still, there's a need for a few stables to put up most any
kind of creature. This particular business is so small that the grooms can't choose to
specialize in one type of animal or another, so a cutter doesn't need to be as particular
about where he stables his mount as he does about where he drinks. Nevertheless, it pays
to be watchful of what's stabled next to what. It doesn't do nobody any good to put a
einheriar's pegasi in the stall next to a fiend's nightmare. There's a lot of potential
for short adventures in the mishaps that can occur when some stabled beast gets killed or
escapes.
There's more than just the Great Bazaar in Sigil; a city this large can't rely on a single marketplace. Scattered throughout the Cage are places where a cutter can buy and sell all sorts of things. All the markets are either day or night markets. Common day markets deal mostly in food and house-wares, the stuff every sod needs for daily living. 'Course, with a population like Sigil's, even the food gets strange. There's the regular meats, vegetables, and fruits that primes chew on, and then there's stuff to satisfy more exotic tastes. Slabs of quivering jelly-like things that a sod doesn't really want to know about can be bought, and there's fruits gathered from poisonous jungles on the Prime Material Plane, heaps of rare rock to suit the palates of earth elementals, steaming cauldrons of molten slag for the wandering mephit - and that's just food; there's day markets for all sorts of other things, too. Some markets specialize in a single craft like goldwork or weaving. Others offer a wondrous variety of wares from other planes. Over in the Hive, a few shops are run by thieves. It's said a basher can go there and buy back anything that was stolen from him the night before, and at only a tenth of it's true value.
The night markets offer a different variety of goods. Gone are the pots, rugs, piles of
fruit, and bolts of cloth. From the shadows appear all the sellers of entertainment and
pleasure. Food stalls, jugglers, musicians, prophets, and bawds all offer their wares.
Those shopping in the dark hours seek excitement, distraction, and solace, and the night
markets - fascinating and deadly - are only too eager to please. A cutter's got to be
careful so that his misfortunes don't become another body's pleasure.
![]() It's easy for somebody like an Outsider to get the idea that Sigil's just a scramble of places without any rhyme or reason to where they are. After all, the architecture doesn't make sense, streets are laid out in every direction, and there's not even an uptown, downtown, edge of town, or city center to guide a body. Natives of Sigil know, though, that there's different parts of town, that the city's divided into wards. Now, the wards aren't official. In other words, there's no map in the Hall of Records that shows the line where one ward ends and another begins. (The closest thing to it is the map of Sigil, included in this boxed set.) Everybody sort of knows where the boundaries meet, yet depending on where he stands, a cutter could ask two folks what ward he's in and get two different answers. Nothing's officially organized or done by wards, either. For instance, nobody votes for anybody by ward (but then common citizens don't get to vote for anybody, anyway). Wards are used to help find things and people. A basher looking for a good armorer goes to the Guildhall Ward, and barmies are usually found in the Hive Ward. Wards also are used to give directions ("The Golden Bariaur Inn? It's on the third street after the big statue in The Lady's Ward."). Wards can be used to judge folks, too; having a case in The Lady's Ward suggests a cutter's got power, even if some other berk's got a bigger place in the Lower Ward. Ask a local and she'll likely say there's six wards in Sigil: The Lady's Ward, the Hive Ward, the Lower Ward, the Guildhall Ward, the Market Ward, and the Clerk's Ward. Some folk's argue that the Hive shouldn't be included because it's gotten smaller over the years, but most folks stick with the six because it's traditional. A few scholars with nothing better to do point out the relationship to the Rule of Threes (six and three and all that), but this is probably nothing but wind to justify their calling. Within each ward are one or more faction headquarters. These buildings are more than just the centers of a given faction - they're like islands for adven-turing types. The faction headquarters attract travelers from other planes, and those travelers in turn attract businesses to serve them. Furthermore, those shops are going to take on the character of their big neighbor. Around the Civic Festhall where the Sensates cluster, player characters will find more alehouses, more wine shops, more importers of exotic goods. In the streets around the Harmonium's barracks, there are few businesses catering to customers from the Lower Planes. Thus, clustered in the blocks around each headquarters, a cutter's going to find taverns, inns, markets, and shops suited to the needs of adventurers, including the player characters. This will always include at least two taverns and two inns, a stable, and at least one market that sells goods found on standard equipment lists. Since getting around is important to the factions, permanent portals tend to be concentrated around the headquarters' buildings. In fact, many headquarters are actually built around portals to the factions' plane of major influence.
With these "faction islands," the DM can save himself time and effort.
Campaigning in Sigil can begin centered on a small neighborhood with all the services that
characters are likely to need, saving the DM the task of trying to develop the entire city
all at once. All he needs to do is focus his attention on the one (or two) faction
headquarters most often used by the player characters, and then gradually let things grow
from there.
The Lady's Ward Hey, I thought there
were only three bedrooms in this house... - Thirin Jecobs, after 'giving the Lady of Pain the laugh' It's always The Lady's Ward, not the Lady's Ward, because they're talking about the Lady of Pain here. Not that she's got a house there, or that she appears there more than anywhere else; the ward's named so because the greatest instruments of her might are found there. Of the six wards, this is far and away considered the richest and most powerful. Within its boundaries are the City Barracks, the Court, the Prison, and the Armory - things that make for real wealth and power. Folks with both money and clout set their cases in The Lady's Ward, and over half the city's temples are based there. The Lady's Ward is the quietest and most orderly in the city, because only a leatherhead'd make trouble in an area that's home to both the Harmonium and the Mercykillers. Not surprisingly, the buildings in this ward reflect the power and wealth of their owners. The Prison's a dominating, grim structure while the Temple of the Abyss - a cross between a portal to and a temple celebrating that plane - soars dangerously into the sky. The Barracks are dour and humor-less, and the Court is regal and imposing. Naturally, every temple here is designed to display the might and glory of its high-up man. It's as if the multiverse itself had been mined of it's monuments, and all of them were placed here. For all it's majesty, The Lady's Ward is still cold and lifeless. The regular hurly-burly of street life is missing, as too many folks are afraid of the Harmonium and the Mercykillers (and not without good reason). That suits the residents just fine, because the rich haven't ever been fond of the idea of the poor camping on their doorstep. The life that goes on there, which is actually much more than it seems, is carefully hidden behind iron-gated walls and discreet facades. For the cutter that finds her way inside, there's great balls where rivals circle each other, where grand plots are hatched over lavish dinners, and where secret affairs are hidden far from sight... Hey, don't confuse power with security, berk! The ward's far from honest, although a cross-trading knight who's nipping purses on the street'll get scragged in an instant. Just like their prey, the criminals of that ward think on a grand scale. The risks are great, but so are the rewards, and only the finest of burglars can worm through the magical protections and alarms that safeguard the ward's treasures. And only the wisest of thieves can avoid the revenge that is sure to follow such a job. Nerve and luck are needed in equal measure. 'Course, housebreakers are small fish compared to the real criminals. The corruption and graft in The Lady's Ward make a jewel robbery look petty. See, the high-up men who live here know the way of things - whom to squeeze just when and for how much. Behind the image of respectability may be the secret face of a hidden crime lord. The Prison. The Mercykillers' headquarters looks like everything a berk fears: It's a mass of grim stone and spikes, surrounded by broad avenues. Sometimes a cutter'll hear a faint wail from within, and when he does he doesn't stop walking. There's things a sod just don't want to know about. If there's one up-side to the area, it's that the street-crime rate here is virtually nonexistent. There's not a cross-trading body around who's going to ply his skills under the very noses of the Mercykillers. There's too many rumors of them deciding they can arrest, try, and punish a berk themselves, especially if their headquarters is close and convenient. Rigidly honest folk who've got the money and no vices at all set their cases in the blocks around the prison. The businesses around the Prison seem as gray and humorless as the cage, itself. The taverns are quiet, well-ordered places where nobody makes trouble, as only a barmy'd attract the attention of the Mercykiller squad drinking at the next table. The inns are spartan, with no hint of the temptations that some of the other establishments in Sigil offer. The markets are scrupulously honest, so the prices are higher here than just about anywhere else. Traban's Forge. Located in a side street behind the day market, just across from the Prison, this smoke-spewing smithy produces fine nonmagical armor. The ancient Traban (Pr/m/d/F1/LG) specializes in highly ornamental plate mail, suitable for triumphs, parades, and battle. All work is done to order and costs five-to-one thousand times the normal price, depending on the workmanship. Traban's assisted in his work by his son Traban-son (312 years old), grandson Tarholt (205), great-grandson Tarholtson (138), and an adopted ogre, Coal-chewer. The latter, with the family since he was orphaned at two, is an experiment of Tarholt's, who's curious to see if an ogre raised in proper dwarf fashion can be reformed. So far, Coal-chewer hasn't killed anyone. The family came to Sigil from Krynn about 120 years ago, as part of a small exodus of dwarves to the Outer Planes. Traban's got no plans to ever go back, although his children are all curious to see the homeland again. The City Court. Of all the places in The Lady's Ward, this area's got the most life. Everybody, it seems, comes here sooner or later. Because it's got a public function, the Guvner's headquarters is divided into public and private halls. In the public halls, a cutter's going to find criminals, citizens, witnesses, advocates, clerks, accusers, and Mercykiller and Harmonium guards. It seems like disorganized chaos, but the Guvners have everything scheduled and timed out. In the private parts of the Court, a body doesn't find anyone but Guvners and their guests. There, the judges meet to discuss cases and reach their decisions, often referring to the immense library of laws the faction's assembled. Outside the Court there's a number of taverns and inns to serve those attending trials. In comparison to other places in The Lady's Ward, they're pretty lively. In comparison to places elsewhere in the city, they're damned quiet. The taverns serve anybody, from thief to Hardhead, and there can't help but be a little life there. Most of the alehouses do extra business selling meals to prisoners or running wine and beer to the back rooms of the Court. The Armory. Home to the Doomguard, this headquarters is in the seediest part of the ward. In fact, some folks argue it's really part of the grimy Lower Ward. Like most of the other buildings in The Lady's Ward, it's huge and dominating. All the windows are covered with stone grates, and razorvine covers the lower walls. The heavy iron gates make it clear that the Doomguard's got the weapons and intends to keep them. However, some of the shops in the neighborhood specialize in custom-made weaponry that a blood can drop a lot of jink on, if she knows the right words to get her into the back room. The streets around the Armory are quiet, but that stillness hides a lot of sinister activity. So close to the Lower Ward, this area's the toehold of thieves and rogues seeking entrance to The Lady's Ward. It's also a popular area for the wealthy to mingle with the lower classes and for mercenaries and assassins to meet their employers.
The City Barracks.
At the opposite end of the ward from the Armory is
the headquarters of the Harmonium, the City Barracks. It's a long, low two-story structure
that forms a quadrangle around an immense parade ground. Unlike many other faction
headquarters, the Barracks were built to look strong without inspiring terror. The
Harmonium really wants people to like them and believe in their cause (and they'll use
force to get that result if they have to). Given their attitude, it's no surprise the
streets around there are the most deserted of all the ward. There's very few businesses in
the Harmonium district, mainly because any merchant who doesn't conform to Harmonium
standards gets himself arrested. Sure, he's usually released by the Guvners, but who wants
to go through that all the time? The taverns and inns in the area all closely follow the
Harmonium official line
It's argued that this area of the city isn't a proper ward at all, an argument that ignores the fact there's no definitions of wards to be found anywhere. Certainly the Lower Ward's been shrinking over the decades. Old-timers remember when it included the City Armory and the Mortuary. (Younger folks and newcomers place these in The Lady's Ward and the Hive Ward, respectively.) This creates a little confusion between young and old. Whatever the boundaries are, most sods agree that the Great Foundry is the center of the ward. Radiating out from this are lightless warehouses, smoky mills, ringing forges, and a host of other small workshops. In this district are concentrated most of the city's craftsmen. The ward got its name from the number of portals to the Lower Planes that're found here. These doorways have affected the nature of the place, so there seems to be more smoke, steam, and cinders in the air than there should be. The Lower Ward's the source of most of the foul industrial smogs that sometimes choke the city, brownish-yellow blankets of stinging sulphurous gas that cling to the air and linger as a stench in clothes for days afterwards. Too long outside in the Lower Ward and a cutter's throat gets raw and his eyes teary. After a while, his skin absorbs enough crud to take on a sickly tone. His eyes grow hollowed and dark, his hair pale. The Lower Ward's the only spot from which a berk can be placed just by his appearance. Folks in the Lower Ward tend to be secretive and stubborn. Most of the craftsmen feel like they've got trade secrets, and they're always peery of strangers, even customers. Their moods aren't helped by the number of lower-planar types that haunt the dives and flophouses tucked in back alleys, or by the barmies who slip out of the Hive by night to prowl. The Harmonium patrols aren't strong here, and most folks expect they've got to take care of themselves. The Great Foundry. This is the headquarters of the Godsmen. The foundry's a dirty sprawling complex of workshops, warehouses, storage yards, and furnaces. The Gods-men work it nonstop. By day it belches smoke and steam, and by night the district's lit by its fires. The products of the foundry, petty metal goods needed by everyone throughout Sigil and beyond, are the Godsmen's major source of jink. They make tools, hinges, pots, nails, and anything else that can be fashioned out of iron. Their skills are not great; very little of their wares are fancy work, but it's all strong and serviceable. The streets around the foundry are a jumbled weave of workshops and worker's taverns. They're not luxurious or particularly clean; when a cutter's been at the forge all day, he tracks in a lot of grime. Drinking and dealing are both serious business. There's always somebody haggling over the price of goods. Other deals get cut there, too, for that's the neighborhood where men and fiends meet. Their dark talk doesn't get whispered outside these doors. The Styx Oarsman. If the name doesn't give a cutter a clue about this kip's ambiance, the tiefling guarding the door will. Nobody gets inside without knowing the password, which tends to change from day to day. ('Course, the one password that never changes is "jink," as in grease the bouncer's palm, berk.) Once inside, a body knows for sure he's in a fiendish watering hole. The common room's dark - not just romantically dim, but outright dark. A single candle glimmers by the taps. Voices whisper to each other in the blackness. A cutter may feel the touch of cold, snakelike skin against his side. Eyes flash with their own light. The tavern's run by Zegonz Vlaric (Pl/m/gz/F4/ W6/BC/CE), an emaciated and scarred githzerai with one arm frozen into a clawlike pose. He was permanently maimed beyond the means of even magic to repair during a run-in with a band of good-aligned adventurers. This tavern is now his revenge on all those he blames for his sorrows. Zegonz openly courts tanar'ri clientele, giving them a place to discreetly meet and do their business. The fiends know it, too, and they protect him from the wrath of the Harmonium or any band of self-styled do-gooders who might try to close his place down. The Shattered Temple. The faction headquarters of the Athar stand at the heart of a zone of destruction several blocks across. They've only repaired what little they had to in order to make the temple useable, preferring the broken look of the place. (They are the Lost, after all.) The area's been a ruin for a long time, as anyone who knows anything about Sigil can testify, but there's no clear hint as to what caused it. The best guess is that it involved the Lady of Pain and a conflict with a rival power. That would explain the broken temple, once belonging to the power Aoskar, which is now the Athars' home. Whatever the cause, the area's considered ill-omened by most, and nobody has ever built there since. Only a bunch like the Lost would ignore these superstitions. Still, even they can't overcome other folks' fears. The few Athar merchants who've tried rebuilding in the blasted zone have all gone out of business for lack of customers - only other Athar'd even consider dealing with the berks. Wagoners stop at the very edge of the ruins, porters with sedan chairs won't enter, and moneylenders refuse to give out loans to those foolish enough to ignore the tradition. While all this makes good security for the Athar, it's lousy for business.
Yet there's always a way to turn trouble into profit, folks figure. Packed at the outer
edges of the ruin are a whole host of shops and inns catering to the Lost and their
visitors. These form a ring of gaudy nightlife around the ruin. Over the years, the
reputation of the area's grown enough to attract even wealthy lords looking for a little
low-life fun.
![]() On the ring of Sigil, this ward runs from the edges of the Shattered Temple to beyond the walls of the Hive, the Xaositect headquarters that give the ward its name. Embraced within the ward, among other sites, are the Mortuary and the Gatehouse. The Hive Ward is physically synonymous with the chaotic sprawl and the tangled slum that surrounds it. Indeed, it's almost impossible to be sure where the faction headquarters end and the true slum begins. Life in the Hive is the worst of all places unless, of course, a berk likes living in the heart of decay, where anyone's life is cheaper than the cost of a cutter's next meal. Life here is seldom boring, but it's also short and deadly. Honest work is scarce, so people live by whatever means they can. For most, that means stealing or signing on for dangerous jobs that no sane basher'd touch. This is where a cutter goes when he needs bodies for a staged riot, if he wants to raise a company of ill-trained fighters, or if he wants an assassin willing to risk all on a desperate job. There's high-ups and bloods within the Hive, too. They're smart and careful. They know how to hide from their enemies and conceal their wealth behind seamy facades. (Those that can't do so just don't make it that high.) They're the master thieves and the most unscrupulous of adventurers. Not everybody in the Hive's evil and sinister, though. The ward holds more than its share of noble folks, too: folks broken by Sigil or their enemies. There's poets and bards waiting for their break, wizards who've spent their fortunes researching some impossible dream, and out-of-town warriors who went out on the town and woke up broke. Then there's the barmies - the mad and insane who can't confront the reality of the planes. They're all found in the Hive. Proper business is pretty thin in the ward, but there's still things bought and sold. Thieves and fences ply their wares here, as do pawnbrokers and moneylenders. There's secret slave markets, too. For entertainment, there's dives that sell the cheapest bub possible, and gladiatorial pits where a basher can stake her life against another's. None of it's glamorous, and there's always an air of desperation to a body's doings here. The Mortuary. The Dustmen's headquarters is a collection of windowless vaults that rise like a giant's mausoleum above the surrounding shacks. They're all dark, catacombed, vaulted, and chambered halls filled with sods living on the lives of others. Grim traffic trundles down the silent lanes to its doors -creaking wagons of the dead, driven by the skull-faced, their eyes hollow, their cheeks sunken from the years of their ashen work. The bodies pass through the doors and then beyond. Behind the doors of the Mortuary is one of the largest concentrations of portals in Sigil. There's doorways to everywhere, or at least one to every plane, including the Prime Material and most of its worlds. There, the Dustmen and their undead assistants send the city's corpses to other worlds where they belong. As mentioned, the other sides of these portals open into places made especially for the dead, so any cutter who decides to use one of them might end up stepping right into a crematorium or some other place where he'll be lost for certain. Long story made short: These portals are not for getting around the multiverse, berk. The streets around the Mortuary are the province of the unclean, those in Sigil who'll do the jobs nobody else will touch: collecting the dead, butchering meat, nursing the diseased, anything objectionable to others. Some are proud of their victory over superstition, while others have been broken by the scorn of those they work for. They lead desperate lives in their shanties and shacks, isolated from each other as much as the rest of the world. There are few taverns, inns, or shops around the Mortuary. It's not a place for thriving businesses, but that doesn't mean there aren't any services an adventurer needs here. The outcasts'll almost always open their cases to strangers, for both jink and company. It won't be warm and there's precious few smiles, but a cutter can get what he needs. The Gatehouse. At the very edge of the Hive, the most desperate and wretched part of the whole ward is the Gatehouse, home of the Bleak Cabal. It's like the boundary between sanity and despair, and who better to man that than the faction that's given up all hope. In common folklore it's said to sit on the border to the Mazes, but the real chant is the Mazes can appear anywhere. Still, the Gatehouse sits at the edge of the Hive Headquarters, which is close enough to the Mazes for most honest souls. The Gatehouse is an arched tower with sprawling wings, where the Bleakers minister to the mad and lost. They're kind to their charges, but their treatments are unorthodox. "Give up the illusion of meanings," they advise their patients. "Accept that which doesn't make sense and then peace'll come." Some folks say the Bleakers do more sinister things in there, in the parts of their headquarters where other folks aren't allowed. 'Course, that gets said about every faction, by enemies hoping to put fear into others. Still, haunting, unnatural moans and screams echo throughout the ward, and there's no saying whether they come from the hospital wings or from somewhere deeper within. Where The Lady's Ward is order and calm, the streets around the Bleakers' headquarters are thriving chaos. Lined outside the Gatehouse there's sad parents lined up to commit their children, sad children with their old parents, and many-a poor sod needing to be committed for his strange visions - manic dreams of fortune, crazed appetites for power, and lunatic promises of cosmic destiny. There's also rogues from the heart of the Hive, selling the fruits of their trade, and dives where information flows for the price of a drink. Hawkers offer "true and authentic maps" to all the portals of Sigil. Just remember, a cutter gets what he pays for... The Gatehouse Night Market. Located only a few innocent blocks into the Hive Ward, the Gatehouse Night Market is a plunge into another world for most folks. Here, thieves sell their take to fences, who sell it in turn to other fences, who then sell everything to speculators for shipment out of Sigil. Was something stolen yesterday? A sod can probably buy it back during the night, as long as she doesn't ask questions. There's more for sale here than just stolen property, too. The dark that cutters keep away from all others can also can be bought in this market. All a buyer's got to do is find the right seller and be able to pay. Just remember, the price may not be jink; it might cost a whole lot more. The Hive. This is it: faction headquarters, ward name, and slum all bundled up in one simple name. The Hive's the heart and headquarters of the Xaositects, the harbingers of chaos. The headquarters of the Chaosmen is like no other. There's no one building that holds all the faction's secrets and powers. It's broken up, scattered, sprawled through the tangled alleys of the slum. Hive (Headquarters) and Hive (Ward) are one, but Hive and Hive are also many. A cutter goes to one shack for healing, to another for food, and to still a third to meet with his factol. The shanties aren't all what they seem on the outside, either. There's genuine wonders to be found inside some of them, wild collections of things that make no sense to one sod and shed light on the meaning of life to another. What else's a berk to expect from the Xaositects? Unlike other places, folks in the slum of the Hive are far from despairing. They're too busy fighting and struggling for life. Maybe they're the greatest capitalists in all of Sigil. They see all around them what happens to those who get ahead and what happens to those who slip behind in the game, which only makes them all the more determined to stay in the race. Treat him well and a Hiver can be a loyal ally. Turn stag on him and a berk will regret it forever.
The Hive's got every service a cutter's likely to need. Most of it's not the best quality -
the bub's cheap, the weapons are plain but usable, and the servants are insolent -
but it's all there. Exotic goods from other worlds may be rare, but there's always
a hand willing to go get them for a fee. There's plenty of entertainment, too. There's
bodies who'll do anything for jink: perform gladiator fights, magic duels, death-defying
stunts, and more. A lot of folks from the Lower Planes mingle here, like tanar'ri,
yugoloths, and baatezu to name a few. It's no surprise that the Blood War's secretly
fought in these very alleys.
![]() The Lady's Ward may be the most powerful and prestigious, but cutters from the Clerk's Ward proudly point out that it's their ward that keeps the city running. This is the domain of bureaucrats, scribes, sages, and scholars. Here, life is peaceful and without surprises - or without too many surprises, at least. It's the perfect burgomaster's neighborhood. Pure fact is, the claim ain't too far from the truth. This ward's got the Hall of Records and the Hall of Speakers, the instruments and voice of the city's daily life. Without these there'd be no law, no proof of ownership, no listing of citizens, no tracking of debts, no records of arrest, and no taxation. (It's no wonder folks in other wards sneer at this lot.) Folks in the Clerk's Ward try hard to achieve "normalcy." The streets are well patrolled and the buildings are maintained. There's less duplicity here than in the two-faced world of The Lady's Ward and less danger than in the turbulent Hive. Travelers from the Lower Planes don't visit here too often, but the ward's popular with primes and upper-planar types. In fact, their presence adds even more security to the place. Some folks would say the ward is dull, but it's dullness that attracts a sod who's looking for a little peace and quiet for the night. Folks common to the Clerk's Ward include shopkeepers, moneylenders, importers of exotic goods, go-betweens, sages, wizards, common priests, and - naturally - clerks. They try to lead quiet lives, friendly but not intrusive to their neighbors. Scattered among them are more intriguing types who favor untroubled surroundings, like mercenaries resting between campaigns, devas in disguise, and even lone thieves who enjoy the discrete privacy of the area. The Hall of Records. This is the headquarters of the Fated. The building once was a college, but the Fated foreclosed on a slightly overdue debt and made it their home. After selling off the library (they didn't need it), the Fated settled into the broken campus and made it theirs. It wasn't long before they convinced the Speakers that the city needed to keep proper books, and who better to do it than the Fated, with all that shelf space? Now the Hall of Records is the center of Sigil's financial world. Foreign merchants file their bills of credit here, moneylenders set the official exchange rates, landlords register their property deeds, tax rolls are revised, and debtors' defaults are posted for the public to see. In another part of the Hall, records of the Court are filed in huge, dusty stacks, while elsewhere the proclamations of the Speakers are carefully copied for posting. The Fated run the City Mint, too, although almost every other faction closely supervises their work. In the private sections of the headquarters, the factol supervises the work on The Secret History of Sigil, a collection of all the Fated's doings and all the secrets their followers have learned. The businesses that cluster around the Hall mirror life behind those walls. The great merchant-houses of Sigil maintain well-appointed townhouses in the district, where the ground floors hum with industry and the families live upstairs. The few respectable counting houses in Sigil do their business here as well. There are even fledgling "assurance companies," willing to protect a merchant's investment for a fee. All this money attracts other business, too. Fancy inns cater to the merchant princes who sometimes come to town, while slightly less sumptuous places tend to the needs of their followers. Services are clean and efficient, though not spectacular. Food and lodging prices are both costly. Bodyguards, wizards, and mercenaries can be hired in most taverns, as can thieves. There's often a merchant looking for guards to accompany him to some far off plane, and sometimes there's special high-paying jobs for those willing to take the risk. Nothing is done without haggling or loud complaints over the cost of everything. The wealthy intend to stay that way, even if it means misery and hardship for others. The Civic Festhall. The Civic Festhall is a combination concert hall, opera house, museum, art gallery, tavern, wine shop, and faction headquarters, mixed in with a few other services that are best left undescribed. This mash of services makes sense, given that the place is run by the Sen-sates. Their desire to experience everything includes the arts, but also much, much more. There's tall tales to be told about what happens in the back halls of the Sensate headquarters... But all that's just whispers to the folks who come here for the shows and excitement. They're here to have a good time - a safe, cultured good time with just enough daring to make them feel dangerous. Not that the folks who come here are at any particular risk. Aside from the cutpurses and peelers, there's no real danger in the streets around the Sen-sate headquarters. In fact, true Sensates make for other parts of town for the "true" experiences. With the Civic Festhall as an anchor, the district around it has attracted a number of artistic businesses. There's dealers in artistic curiosities from all the worlds of the multiverse. There's taverns noted for the bards that play there. Other businesses have the finest wines, the best food, or the best of many other comforts. Jongleurs wander down the streets, portable puppet theaters are set up at the intersections, fire eaters belch their talents from the alleys, and wizards craft beautiful illusions for the crowds. Even stranger beings from the hinterlands get into the show, acting for coins or using their strange powers to dazzle the multitudes. Those that live and work in this district - the showmen, the actors, the musicians, and the mountebanks - are all just a hair's breath above disreputable, or at least that's what other folks say. The good folk of the district'll point out their entertainments are honest products of training and skill. 'Course, the idea that a strolling singer or comedic actor has to work hard just sits foreign with most other berks. The Greengage. Located just across the street from the Sensate headquarters is a tiny little cider shop known as the Greengage. This is the establishment of Marda Farambler (Pr/f/ha/0/CG). Marda followed her adventurous husband out to the planes, and after he got himself killed, she decided to stay. Scraping up what little jink she had, she bought this place. Over the years it's earned a fine reputation, although it's not popular with big folks. Marda, it seems, refused to bow to common sense and built the place to a proper scale. The commons are both immense and cozy to short folk, but the seating is cramped for anyone over four feet in height. A cutter might think that small drawback'd be the end of the business, but the Greengage is popular with the communities of gnomes and halflings found in Sigil. Marda specializes in cider, both unfermented and hard, from the orchards of the goddess Sheela Peryroyl. The latter cider is such a potent brew that Marda normally allows only two tankards per customer - it's sure sign of her trust in a basher when he gets more than this in a single night. Nobody knows how she manages to get this rare brew, but most guess it's a repayment for a debt owed to her late husband. The Hall of Speakers. The Sign of One's headquarters is a marked contrast to the normally dour, heavy and dark buildings chosen by many other factions, especially the Harmonium. The Hall of Speakers is a soaring, almost graceful structure that rises like a spire over the neighborhood. This is the seat of everyday government in Sigil. Here the factols and plebeians meet to debate the few laws and ordinances of the city. More often than not, the Speaker's Podium is a forefront of the war between the factions. On a regular day, the factol of the Xaositects is likely to propose getting rid of the Harmonium guard, which instantly gains the support of the Doomguard, since the move is sure to promote chaos and decay. The Harmonium counters by demanding the arrest of the Xaositect factol, promising the Mercykillers that they can administer the punishment. On and on it goes, as factions attempt to recruit political allies, until somebody - usually the Guvners - manages to kill the whole issue on a point of order. The chant is, real lawmaking in Sigil's a rare event. It makes sense that this place is the Signers' headquarters. Where can a berk be any more at the center of his own multiverse than on the Speaker's Podium? Unlike the other factions, where all the speaking's left to the factol, the Signers like to rotate their followers through the Speaker's chores, giving each a chance to address all of Sigil. 'Course, the factol always makes sure he's the one speaking anytime there's an important vote (this is his multiverse more than anybody else's, after all). Most of the Hall of Speakers is open to the public for a fee. The Hall's got council chambers, meeting rooms, private apartments, and more; these can be leased for official uses. The heart of the Hall is private faction territory, however. Here, the Signer's hold their own sessions and plot their many-branching courses, but how they agree on anything is anybody's guess. It can be pretty tough for so many centers of the multiverse to agree on even the smallest issue. The streets around the Hall are noteworthy in that the lodgings are expensive and the drink strong. There's little in the way of entertainments, and the choice of adventurer services - armorers, weapon-smiths, map dealers, etc. - is limited. There are a fair number of street-corner criers and scribes for hire. Grundlethum's Automatic Scribe. In a tawdry shop on a back street behind the Hall of Speakers is the city's first and only "Automatic Scribe," a creation of Grundlethum Blackdagger (Pl/m/h/W15/FL/LN). Old Grundlethum's been considered barmy for years, obsessed with the idea of magicking up invisible scribe cutter just speak and have the writing appear. The idea didn't seem that hard to start with, but the wizard purposely made it difficult by adding all sorts of "refinements." At any rate, it looks like the addle-cove's finally succeeded, because elegantly written announcements have been appearing around the city, announcing his Automatic Scribing service.
This has got the local scribes heated up. They see the loss of their livelihood if
Grundlethum's fool thing works.A few of the hot-heads, encouraged
by some berks from the Revolutionary League, have been talking about
smashing up the shop and teaching the wizard not to meddle with a basher's career, but
their fear of Grundiethum's kept them still so far. He may be old and he may be a
leatherhead, but the man's a wizard after all. If they knew, the angry scribes might take
heart in the fact that Grundlethum's invention isn't perfect. It seems the wizard didn't
bind some over-educated elemental into the machine, like he planned, but accidently
magicked a flaw into The Lady's defenses around Sigil, instead. Now, a lesser power of the
Abyss has managed to leak a little bit of its power inside by pretending to be the
Automatic Scribe. Whether it can stay hid long enough to gather its strength is a
question, because it's malicious and mischievous by nature. Already unpleasant things have
been happening in and around the shop. It's only a matter of time before something serious
happens.
The Guildhall and Market Wards Although the Lower Ward is far bigger, it's the one folks argue is vanishing. That should give a cutter some idea of the clout of these two wards. Each of them is tiny, but folks in Sigil can't imagine the city without them. Still, for all their supposed importance, there's not much to tell the two wards apart. The things that make them so ordinary are just what make them important to the city. Life's impossible with the basics of food, clothing, and the like, and that's what these wards provide. These are the wards of the mercers, greengrocers, provisioners, rug sellers, tinkers, and peddlers. This is where a cutter can buy all the common, useful, and everyday things he needs for life inside and outside the city. This is where a basher can find the great permanent portals to the other trade cities of the planes. Of all the areas in the city, this one is the most cosmopolitan. There's no greater preponderance of beings from one plane or another here; everything, from aasimons to tanar'ri, mingles here, and there's an unstated and ill-watched truce between all things that come to this ward. The streets here are alive, day and night, with commerce, but just what's being bought and sold changes with the hours. Who wants to buy fruit in the blackness of night, when a cutter can't see the rotten produce that's being passed off on him? Who can take their entertainment during the day when there's too much work to be done earning a living? Hence, by day the market's alive with fruit sellers, vegetable stalls, drapers, cutlers, and tinkers. And by night it's filled with bards, cookshops, wine peddlers, illusionists, and companions. There's something for everyone here. The Great Gymnasium. This is a gymnasium in the grand old sense: It's got baths, steam rooms, massage tables, an exercise field, pools, lounges, and even a portico where the teachers of the Transcendent Order instruct their students. All of this is enclosed in a great compound of gold-veined black marble. The Gymnasium is open to all, but only on the Ciphers' terms. Compared to other parts of Sigil, life here is deliberately unhurried. The Transcendent Order (whose faction headquarters these are) believes understanding can only come with a calm mind, so they do their best to keep the pressures and concerns of the outside world at bay. Those who enter must leave weapons and magic behind. No spells can be cast there, nor are beings with innate powers allowed to exercise their talents. 'Course, none of these rules apply to the Ciphers, although these edicts are generally followed by most of them, too. Nor are the rules perfectly obeyed by visitors. There are always little incidents to disturb the perfect calm of the place, disturbances the Ciphers have to put down. Because of the rules and services here, the Gymnasium serves two purposes. First, it's a place for citizens to relax and forget the cares of the world. Noise, pressure, even social class can be forgotten. Second, the Great Gymnasium serves as a neutral ground for hostile parties. Many a truce, treaty, and pact have been negotiated in the steam rooms and baths. Like every other part of Sigil, the Great Gymnasium is vital to the functioning of the city. If it didn't exist already, it'd have to be created. The streets around the Great Gymnasium are host to a score of smaller competitors, so the whole district is noted for its baths and spas. Some are general while others cater to particular races or planes. With the baths come inns and food shops, many of which offer nothing put healthful exotica. The Flame Pits. This specialized bathhouse is run by Laril Zasskos (Pl/f/gz/W14/RL/CN), a sharp-tongued and sharp-eyed githzerai. Located three streets toward the Great Bazaar, her establishment specializes in exotic conditions. She began by using her magic to build and contain lava pools for elementals and a few lower-planar things. Since then, she's expanded the selection to include scouring whirlwinds, tubs of rank ooze, the purest of pure water, and bubbling ichors the nature of which she doesn't reveal. Laril actually works the place as a safe haven for the Revolutionary League. Several of the pools have false bottoms. Beneath these are entrances to secret catacombs that honeycomb the streets under the city. There, Laril has created apartments for her brethren, and stock piled supplies for the day when the old, corrupt system falls. The Great Bazaar. This plaza's the headquarters of the Free League, and it just fits that their case ain't even a building. The Great Bazaar's a huge square filled with caravan tents and rickety merchant stalls. The air's rich with smells of flowers, meats, fruits, animals, and sewage. Walk through the crowded aisles and a cutter's assaulted by calls to examine, smell, feel, and - most of all - buy the wares of every merchant he passes. Anything on a general equipment list can be bought here, even things too big to actually bring to Sigil. Need a galley for the River Oceanus and a blood'll find a merchant here willing to sell him one. Not that everyone's honest and forthright, though. A basher's got to be a smart shopper to take care he don't get peeled by some dishonest trader. Buy something that's supposedly waiting out on the planes and a sod better have ways of making sure it's really there. The other thing a berk's got to be cautious about is the pickpockets and cutpurses that roam the market. It takes money to shop in the bazaar, and where there's money, there's thieves. But those are the risks every cutter takes. The Free League's headquarters hold a loose affiliation of traders and merchants that come and go as they please. There's always somebody providing each service the faction needs, but one week a cutter might have to go to a rug dealer near the central fountain for information on where to find a portal, and the next week he'll have to visit a passing tinker who's set up on the edge of the ward. It's all a matter of a wink here and a nod there, the business of knowing the right people, and knowing the right questions to ask. 'Course, a cutter's expected to do the same for others, too. The Free League's more like a brotherhood ready to lend a hand to its members than a rigid organization.
It's hard to say exactly where the Great Bazaar ends. The wheeling and dealing spills over
into side streets as peddlers vie for spaces to show their wares. The folks in this
neighborhood are always ready to make a deal or haggle over a price. Taverns hum with
pitches of hucksters, and there are large inns capable of housing and stabling entire
caravans. Open-air cafes serve anybody who comes along, and that's the best place for
creature-watching; everybody, except the most reclusive rich, comes here sooner or later.
After absorbing all this planescape material, the DM should be raring to start playing, but the question remains, "What's he or she going to do first?" The following sections are suggestions for beginning adventures that get the player characters into and set up in the hub of the multiverse, Sigil. For the Price of A Rose Preparation. This adventure is meant to get low-level player characters from a prime-material campaign world to Sigil, where they can then begin their careers on the planes. Characters should be at the 1st-3rd levels of experience and should have a variety of classes among them. The Setup. On the prime-material world where the adventurers live, Lady Kindernis has a puzzle. It's not a desperate or impossible puzzle, just curious. Her husband, a knight, is off on his own adventure, so she'll prevail upon the player characters to get to the bottom of the mystery. Someone or something's been stealing her rose blossoms every night, one by one, and leaving strange flowers behind. At first she thought it was the work of her servants, but a search of their quarters and accounting for their actions proved that wrong. Then she posted the gardener to watch during the night, but he fell asleep. The guards she posted the next night swear they stayed awake, but a rose still vanished. Now, Lady Kindernis doesn't want to accuse them of sleeping (she's too good-hearted), but she thinks it's time to get some better help. She's asked one of her servants to inquire in town for a suitable group of investigators. There's not much pay in it, but a group could earn a little gratitude from the lady for their work... The Real Chant. Unbeknown to everyone, a shifting portal to Sigil has opened just outside the Lady Kindernis's garden, and its gate key is a freshly cut flower. On the Sigil side, the only folks who know about it are a gang of thieves, the Plunderers. This group specializes in hitting worlds of the Prime Material Plane and stealing treasures to sell back in Sigil. They've been sending scouts through the portal (which skips from prime-material world to prime-material world while its other end remains anchored in Sigil) to size up the opportunities on the other side. Each night a thief and a wizard have slipped through the portal (using a sleep spell on the guards the lady posted), then discarded the flower-key among the rest of the Lady's blooms. To get back to Sigil requires a freshly cut flower, hence the missing roses. Their mission has been to establish that the portal is relatively stable and that the shifting end is grounded in a nonhostile environment before sending anyone "important" through. Now the scouting is done. The Plunderers are sending one of their top agents, a githzerai named Yangol, through to set up an assault base in Castle Kindernis. Once he's compiled a full listing of what there is to take, the gang'll sweep in and strip the place clean. The first night the characters are on watch is when Yangol arrives. Yangol (githzerai mage/thief) (W2/T3): THAC0 19; Dmg 1d8 (sword); AC 8; hp 13; MV 12; SA sleep, change self, backstab x2 dmg, move silently 35%, hide in shadows 25%; SZ M; INT avg; AL CE; ML 9; XP 420As soon as Yangol steps through the portal, he notices any player characters who aren't hidden. He expected guards, though, so he's not surprised by them. He'll attempt to use his sleep spell against them and then hide in the castle, using change self to get around. Small things will start disappearing, like food, clothes, and the like, which should be enough to build a trail that the characters can follow back to him. If the sleep fails or some characters are hidden, Yangol's not going to stay and fight. Knowing he's been spotted, he'll try to grab a rose and make for the portal, a window to the main house. If he's captured, he'll talk; he's not so loyal as to get himself killed or hurt. Be sure to use lots of planar slang in his speech to confuse the player characters (see Knowing the Cant). If the characters chase him, they'll need a rose to follow, or they'll have to be within 5 feet of Yangol as he steps through, in which case up to five player characters can go along for the ride. Doing so transports them into Sigil, not far from the Great Foundry. In Sigil. When the characters arrive, hit the players with descriptions of everything. The player characters should feel lost. The characters appear in the doorway to a crowded street. There's no flowers in sight for a quick return home, assuming they even know that a flower's the key. Nonplayer characters elbow them out of the way and jabber in strange tongues. Before they can chase Yangol, one of the group bumps a spinagon (see the Baatezu pages in the "Outer Planes" monstrous compendium Appendix). The fiend turns on the group with its best snarl. Have it threaten them, demand apologies, and generally rage. Before a fight breaks out, the group can be rescued by a bariaur named Stronghoof (Pl/m/b/F4/TO/NG). At this point, good-natured Stronghoof becomes their guide to Sigil. Future Complications. First, there's the issue of getting back home. The DM can leave the prime-material end of the portal stable until the player characters are ready to return home, or it could be one that moves around. If the latter is the case, then the player characters have to learn its pattern of movement before they can get back. If the campaign is to permanently move on to the planes, then the portal can disappear forever. ("Course, there's always another door home... somewhere.")
Second, there's still Yangol and the Plunderers. The githzerai's not happy that the player
characters ruined his gang's plans, and to save face he'll try to get revenge. This can
draw the characters further into Sigil, until they finally gain enough experience to face
the whole gang. Even if that doesn't work, the Plunderers aren't about to leave Lady
Kindernis's castle alone, something that should be stressed to loyal and true player
characters.
Misplaced Spirit Preparation. This problem can be used to start new player characters directly in Sigil, or it can be used for characters who are a mix of primes and planars. The party should be between the 1st and 4th levels of experience, and there should be a variety of classes among them. At least one character should be a priest, and a wizard would be very useful in this scenario. Most or all of them should have a good alignment. The Setup. Once every year, Yen-Wang-Yeh, the Judge of the Dead (see LL), is called away by the Celestial Emperor. During the week that the master is away, his proxies continue to handle the business of sorting out the dead. Now, they're well-trained and well-meaning, but things do go wrong, and that's just what's happened now. Faithful Servant Li, a minor clerk in the Palace of the Dead's bureaucracy, has discovered a terrible error: One of the petitioners has been mislaid! Worse still, it looks like she was able to make her way to Sigil! Although Faithful Servant Li didn't make the error, it's clear he'll be blamed when Yen-Wang-Yeh returns. In desperation, Faithful Servant Li has abandoned his duties and come to Sigil to find the missing petitioner. The petitioner, Golden Morning Radiance, has discovered she likes Sigil. She has no desire to go back to the Palace of the Dead or to the plane she is due to be assigned to (Arcadia in this case). Suspecting there will be pursuit (Golden Morning Radiance was a sorceress in her previous life), the erstwhile petitioner is determined to disappear within the jungle that is Sigil. The Real Chant. The characters can discover Faithful Servant Li shortly after he steps through the portal from the Palace of the Dead. It's real obvious he's not a local, and he's wandering around, helplessly accosting everybody and asking if they've seen this woman. Why, it's only time before the poor sod gets himself peeled or maybe even lost for good. Player characters of good conscience just can't let him go wandering around. If that doesn't work, Faithful Servant Li hits on the player characters. He describes Golden Morning Radiance - about 5'1", long black hair, etc. - and also explains she's a petitioner who really, really belongs in the Palace of the Dead. He's already so bewildered by Sigil (it's his first time in the big city) that he hardly knows what to do. If the group looks capable, he'll offer to pay them for help. Unfortunately, other folks have overheard Faithful Servant Li. One of the first folks he told his tale to was a Dustman, who instantly realized the news might be interesting to his factol. Another was a Mercy-killer. In that basher's mind, Golden Morning Radiance is mocking justice by trying to escape her fate.His factol, too, might be interested. Before the characters have a chance to get far along the trail, both the Dustmen and the Mercykillers are also hunting the woman. Since she's a free petitioner, the Dustmen would love to recruit her. Since she's an escapee, the Mercykillers want to bring her to justice. Player characters belonging to either group must decide where their loyalties lie - with their friends or with their faction. (The DM could also have the player characters hunting for Golden Morning Radiance for one of these factions.) In the meantime, Golden Morning Radiance hasn't made herself easy to find. Knowing others'll look for her, she's moved into the Hive. She's still befuddled about who she is and where she is, so she's been taken in by the Bleak Cabal. For them, she works simple magic. They've figured out what she really is and hope to hang on to her. After all, her beliefs are a blank slate on which they can write their own ideas. Faithful Servant Li (human bard) (F1): THAC0 20; Dmg 1d4 (dagger); AC 10; hp 3; MV 12; SZ M; INT avg; AL N; ML 11; XP 50Future Complications. First off, Faithful Servant Li is under time pressure. The longer things take, the more panicky he gets, until he's little more than a nervous wreck. Second, the characters need a trail to follow. Have them get reports of a woman matching the description from several different places. This is a chance to make the characters explore the different wards of the city and learn more about Sigil. Some people will try to cheat them, demanding payment and then giving useless information. Along the course of their hunt, they should have several run-ins with the other factions hunting Golden Morning Radiance.
Once they do find her, the player characters have to decide what to do. Should she be
given over to Li, handed over to one of the factions, or let alone to manage her own life?
Encourage the player characters to role-play this problem, perhaps by offering them
different rewards for each course of action.
![]() Surelock (Abjuration)
4th-level priest spell Surelock is a spell specifically designed to protect against unwanted plane-spanning portals. For as long as it is in effect, the spell seals all gates and portals that reach into other planes. The spell does not effect movement abilities within a single plane, so a teleportation spell is not affected by this spell. However, permanent, temporary, and moving portals cannot open within the area affected by the spell. A gate spell cannot pull a creature into or out of the affected area. Any attempt to use any of these powers results in automatic failure - a spell to that effect would be wasted and a charge from a magical weapon would be lost. When cast, surelock spreads out in a radius from the caster to the full extent of its area of effect. It is not possible to exclude portals within this area; everything is affected equally. Nor can the effect be lowered, even by the caster, without the use of dispel magic. Once cast, the area does not move - although originally centered on the priest, it does not follow him around thereafter.
The material component for this spell is a crystal key that must be shattered when the
spell is cast.
2nd-level wizard spell In order for some characters, particularly primes, to use the gates that dot the planes they've got to be able to find them. Hence, an unknown wizard created warp sense, a spell that finds and analyzes the gates and portals of the planes. When cast, the spell allows the person empowered to sense any gate or portal, active or not, along a 60-foot path, dead ahead. Scanning in a single direction (out of four in a complete circle) takes one full round, so the person can shift directions while scanning. However, they cannot move in any other way without disrupting the spell; full concentration is required.
Once a portal is detected, the affected person can try to deduce where the other end
discharges and the key required to use the portal, if any. Each piece of information
requires a separate saving throw and if either is failed, nothing further can be learned
about that portal. The player can state which question will be asked first. If the player
character has actually seen the portal in operation, a +2 bonus is applied to the check.
By now, a poor sod might have gone barmy from all the cant he's tumbled into, and maybe he's wondering if he's just a leatherhead as he tries to read it. Well, there's a dark to it that any cutter can master, and pretty soon he'll be rattling his bone-box like a proper blood. Why, he'll be able to give the chant to a high-up man and tell a cross-trading knight to pike it. Huh? Readers who've made it this far have undoubtedly noticed the slang that's used throughout the planescape material. It may be fun to read, but sometimes it sure can get confusing. What's given below is a glossary of all those odd expressions and terms that pop up throughout the text. There's more to it than that, though. The "Voice" of the planescape setting is unique, and it's part of what sets the tone for adventures. To get the most from the planescape campaign setting, the DM should really use these expressions on his players. It'll make the world come alive for the players. After all, having the angry factol say, "There's this barking thief I want scragged or put in the dead-book," is a lot more colorful than just, "I want you to get this thief, dead or alive." To help DMs get used to using this color, the glossary also tries to show when and how to use these terms to best effect. First, though, a note. Too much colorful slang in a single sentence is going to sound silly - like the first paragraph of this section. The DM doesn't have to use all these terms at every possible opportunity. He doesn't have to use any of them if he thinks they're stupid. Use what sounds natural, and don't force the rest. Feel free to add new terms and expand on old ones. For those who want to expand the planescape vocabulary, here's a tip to help keep the tone focused. A lot of the terms here came from the extremely colorful slang of thieves, swindlers, and beggars in the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. 'Course, not every possible term was used. Most are just too cryptic to modern ears and modern times - words like jarkman, bridle-cull, figging law, and worse. Choose terms that sound slightly odd and antiquated but still have an edge to them. If it's a historical phrase, don't be afraid to twist the meaning or the way it's used.
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