The Silver Sphinx

 

„We are all one – Powers, mortals, even fiends derive from the same Source.“

Factol Ambar Vergrove, Destiny of Being

 

 

Fourth Market Day of Regula, 126 HR

 

The factol of the Godsmen strolled through the courtyard of the Great Foundry, as he often did, but for a reason unprecedented. A dream ... a strange dream of a zebra, confused and not at all fitting in with the image of soot, metal and forging noise that characterized the headquarters. The dream image alone was unusual enough, but there was also a strange certainty that it was connected to an ancient prophecy. He had only recently discovered a part of it, but he had known about a legend connected to it for some time. Carefully he fumbled for the piece of parchment tucked into his sleeve. The words on it might gain meaning today ... or perhaps he was simply imagining it all and had just had a confusing dream. But no ... something told him that there was more to it than that. So he had canceled the appointment with Rowan Darkwood scheduled for that afternoon and sent Ombidias instead. When he had told his deputy the reason, the voadkyn's displeasure had been obvious. He had only frowned and not said much about it, but Ambar knew he owed his friend a good bottle of blackberry liqueur for throwing him to the Duke so unexpectedly and at such short notice. Then he had gone to Zena, a ranger who took care of all the animals she picked up in the Great Foundry area. Whether it was stray dogs, cats or lizards, animals that had accidentally entered the Cage through portals or specimens that had escaped from a zoo, stable or palace garden, Zena was always on hand. She healed injuries, searched for portals to home planes or tracked down owners to whom she returned the animals (provided she thought they were taking good enough care of them). Although Ambar himself was also a ranger and had a strong affinity for animals, a zebra in the courtyard of the Great Foundry was so clearly Zena's responsibility that he had asked the tiefling woman to join him without hesitation. When he discovered the spot from his dream, he leaned against a nearby wall and waited.

Zena looked at him questioningly. "Excuse me, factol, did I understand that correctly? You said you dreamed of seeing a zebra here?"

He nodded gently, a few strands of his red hair falling into his face. "I don't know if it was prophetic or just a dream. But I figured it couldn't hurt to make sure."

The ranger gave a warm smile. "That's true. Because this really isn't the right environment for a zebra. The soot, the noise and ... all the Xaositects running around here at the moment don't exactly make things any better."

Ambar smirked. "Is this a hidden rebuke for accepting this project from Karan?"

"No." She grinned. "That's an entirely open and blatant rebuke, factol."

The half-elf laughed. He had a rather casual relationship with his subordinates, and he was aware that in most factions a factotum would not dare to make such a remark to the factol. But stiffness and exaggerated authority were not in his nature, because of which he was considered one of the friendliest and most approachable of Sigil's factols. And he could permit himself this behavior. Would it have detracted from his authority, he had not been the factol of the Believers of the Source for over twenty years by now. So he merely waved off Zena's remark jokingly. "You must recognize the creativity of the project, my dear."

"I'll remind you of that when factol Sarin knocks on your door to ask what we're up to."

Ambar was about to reply when a noise interrupted him. Clattering hooves? He pushed himself away from the wall and turned his head in the direction of the gently blowing wind. Yes, without a doubt, the soft clattering of hooves on stone could be heard. Zena had obviously heard it too, because she was just as alert as he was. She was about to rush towards the sound, but he held her back.

"Wait," he whispered in response to her questioning look.

He couldn't have explained what for. But something would happen ... should happen. He could almost feel it. Then they caught sight of the animal. It didn't come galloping, but still relatively quick around the corner of a house - not too far behind it a dark-clad man with a quiver and bow. On closer inspection, he was recognizable as a half-elf, lean, beardless, with longer black hair shaved off to the sides. He seemed to have mastered animal language: When he stretched out his hand and focused on the zebra, it stopped and looked in his direction. Then two more people approached. The first one was an attractive tiefling in elegant, downright flashy clothing. He had two large, curved horns and his dark red hair made for an aesthetically pleasing contrast to his pale blue skin. The other person was an exceptionally pretty, petite woman in her early twenties. He would have taken her for a human, but her long hair was snow-white. So there had to be something special about her. The half-elf now approached the zebra and placed a hand on its neck reassuringly. The woman and the tiefling exchanged a few words, but then she grabbed her forehead and swayed slightly. Her companion immediately supported her, and the archer turned to the two of them with a questioning look. Then something happened that Ambar had not expected and for which his dream had not prepared him. There was a flash of light, then suddenly bright sand started raining down around the zebra. Fine and dusty, it fell to the ground, where it remained in small drifts, the golden yellow color a sharp contrast to the dark pavement of the Foundry yard. The three visitors seemed just as surprised as Ambar and Zena, and the zebra let out a shrill whicker. Both, the factol and the tiefling woman, recognized it as a cry of pain. Now, nothing could stop Zena anymore. She ran off in the direction of the zebra, Ambar following at her heels. When they reached the small group, the ranger immediately approached the animal and spoke to it softly and soothingly. Ambar let her do what she did best and instead eyed the half-elf, the tiefling, and the white-haired woman. The tiefling seemed to be from Sigil, for he recognized him immediately and greeted him with a deep bow.

"Factol Ambar," he said in surprise. "Um ... what an honor."

He nodded to him and then looked at the young woman, who seemed clearly confused. She followed the tiefling's example and bowed, but he was sure she had no idea who stood before her. She had to be new to Sigil, but that certainly wasn't the only reason for her obvious overwhelm.

"Lady's Grace," he thus greeted her kindly. "My name is Ambar Vergrove, I am factol of the Believers of the Source. And you are ...?"

"My name is Lereia," she replied carefully.

Although her reticence could be part of her nature and also due to the situation, Ambar was almost certain that there was another reason for it. What he had just observed at least matched the lines on the parchment. And since a dream of strange certainty had led him here ... He looked to the half-elf, who - now together with Zena - was still standing by the zebra. "Is he also ... one of you?" he asked.

The young woman nodded. "Yes, this is Sgillin. He is my consort."

Though of a certain interest, this information was not quite what the bard had been aiming for. But his gut feeling told him that not only was he right in his assumption, but that the three of them already knew about it. He smiled. "I see. But I meant, does he also belong to you in ... another way?"

"I don't quite understand," Lereia replied, but the look on her face revealed that she had a good idea what he meant. "You can speak openly," she continued. "The three of us have recently been struggling with new knowledge, if that's what you mean."

There it was. Ambar now scrutinized all three more closely, but did not interrupt Lereia so as not to disturb this sensitive moment, not to keep her from revealing to him what he already suspected.

"We don't quite know yet what all of this is about," she continued. "Naghûl here belongs to the faction of the Sensates, their factol knows about it ..."

The way she expressed herself confirmed his suspicion that she was still new to Sigil, possibly even new to the planes at all. A prime? His eyes wandered to the tiefling she pointed at, and he smiled innocently, almost as if he wanted nothing to do with any of this right now. He was certainly no clueless, his demeanor, his gestures, his entire behavior here in the courtyard of the Great Foundry had been too confident from the very beginning. He had recognized him too surely as the factol of the Believers of the Source. When Lereia mentioned the Sensates' factol, Ambar had to laugh. "Good Erin," he remarked. "Yes, why am I not surprised?"

Insecurely, Lereia looked at the tiefling and back to Ambar. "I don't know anything about the politics of the factions," she explained cautiously. "I just know that a lot is happening at the moment and we can't really put our finger on it ..."

Before the Sensate could say anything back, the third of the small group, the half-elf, drew attention to himself as a surprised "Oh..." escaped him and he looked to Ambar in alarm. "Something is happening," he said.

The tiefling introduced by the name of Naghûl wheeled around to face him. "What? Sgillin?"

But the half-elf remained silent and stared at Ambar as if frozen. The factol looked at him questioningly, but the archer did not answer and instead began to sway a little. Ambar glanced sideways at Zena, who looked equally puzzled and raised her shoulders in confusion. Naghûl went to Sgillin to support him, but at that moment the half-elf’s gaze became clear again.

"I ... I am ..." He interrupted himself and pointed at Ambar. "I was almost ... him."

"Pardon?" Zena's question sounded as energetic as it was irritated, she frowned unwillingly.

Ambar could see that she hadn't really liked the whole scene from the start. The Sensate didn't seem thrilled about it either, although he hid it better. But he gave the half-elf a meaningful look.

"But you shouldn't, my good friend," he remarked seriously and in a way that made it clear that he knew very well what was going on here.

Lereia shook her head. "This is getting crazier and crazier," she muttered.

Zena wanted to say something, but Ambar stopped her with a subtle gesture and looked inquiringly at Sgillin. Obviously, he needed to sort himself out before answering.

"My mind ..." he then tried to explain. "It went out of my body ... to you. But it couldn't. Just before I could swap bodies with you, something held me back."

Yes, his feeling had not deceived him. Ambar was now even more certain than before. "Most fascinating," he said, and he felt a certain enthusiasm begin to take hold of him.

Sgillin looked at him inquiringly. "You already know, don't you?"

"Yes," Ambar replied seriously. "And I think we should talk.”

"Yes, please," Lereia replied, and it was obvious that the whole situation was exhausting her.

"But what do we do with the zebra?" Sgillin interjected. "I would love to bring it back."

It spoke for him that he thought of the lost animal in this agitated situation. Ambar nodded. "Zena should take care of the zebra. She's very experienced with this sort of thing. She's a capable ranger and can handle it."

The tiefling woman nodded. "Do you know where it comes from?"

"From the Beastlands," Sgillin replied. "Can you take it back there?"

The ranger gently placed a hand on the animal's neck. "I will do that," she promised.

Sgillin exchanged a few more words with the zebra in animal language and then nodded with a smile. Before Zena took care of the zebra, she turned around once more.

"Good luck with ... whatever," she said. Then she looked directly at Ambar. "Factol?"

"Yes, Zena?”

She seemed a bit worried, as if she suspected something. "Take care of yourself, yes?"

He laughed, albeit partly to reassure her. "Don't I always?"

"Unfortunately not," she replied seriously. "Otherwise I wouldn't point it out."

He felt a little caught. "Your concern is lovely, Zena. I promise I'll take care. No matter what."

The ranger nodded, measured the three unexpected visitors with one last scrutinizing glance and then turned to the zebra. "Come on then, my sweet," she said gently, and the animal followed her trustingly.

Sgillin looked after the zebra for a while, and Lereia put a hand on his arm to reassure him. "It will be better soon," she assured him.

Their concern for the animal warmed Ambar's heart. This point definitely spoke in favor of the mysterious guests, he now led into the interior of the Great Foundry. They crossed the entrance hall with its high windows, through which a relatively large amount of light streamed into the room even on gloomy days. The faction members present greeted Ambar in a friendly manner and he greeted them back. He then led the visitors up a flight of stairs directly to the chapel above the entrance hall. Well, they called it a chapel and there was an altar, but no services were held here in the usual sense. Although many faction members were devoted to specific deities, they went to the various temples in Sigil to worship them. Here in the chapel, the focus was on the Source of All, the mysterious power that the faction believed gave even the gods their powers. It also granted every sentient being the spark through which all of them could theoretically become a divine being themselves. However, the Source was not worshipped in the same way as a deity. In the Foundry’s chapel, the Believers met to discuss the philosophy of the faction, exchange ideas or get advice on how to better cope with the trials of life. Sometimes someone would talk about how they had overcome a challenge or what they wanted to do next. All of this was often led by a factotum or factor, who would answer questions from new members. Today that factor was Keldor, an older human man and longtime friend of Ambar. As the factol entered the chapel, he paused his lecture.

"Keldor," the half-elf greeted him kindly.

The factor smiled when he saw him coming. "Ambar! Back already? How pleasant! What can I do for you?"

Right, he had announced that he wouldn't be back until evening, the factol reminded himself. "I really don't like interrupting you here," he replied to his factor. "But I need the chapel for a private conversation."

He asked himself why he needed the chapel for this. He could just as easily have taken his guests to the Green Room. Or in the meeting room next door. Why did he shoo Keldor and the assembled Godsmen out of the chapel? He couldn't really explain it to himself. But something about it seemed important to him, and as a ranger he had learned to trust his instincts. If the chapel seemed to be the right place for the upcoming conversation, then there might be a good reason for it. He noticed that Lereia was looking around with interest, while Keldor nodded. If he was surprised at his factol's request, at least he didn't let on.

"Oh, but of course. We'll find somewhere else." He laughed briefly. "Where there aren't any Xaositects buzzing around. My goodness, did we really agree to take on a job for them?"

Ambar smirked, not without a slight sigh. "We did. I know I must have been drunk that night. Karan had some weird wine ..."

He saw Naghûl raise a brow out of the corner of his eye and Keldor grinned before addressing the assembled faction members.

"All right, folks, let's make room for our factol, yes?"

A quiet laugh went round the room, then the members left the hall. The atmosphere was, as usual, carefree and cheerful, which Sgillin seemed to enjoy. "They're quite relaxed here," he remarked.

"Almost like us," Naghûl said.

Sgillin winked at him. "But only almost."

"Exactly," the tiefling replied with a broad grin, and Ambar had to smile to himself. Sensates.

Lereia nodded as well. "A pleasant atmosphere, yes.”

"Then good luck, Ambar," Keldor called from the doorway before he left the room.

"Thank you, Keldor," Ambar replied with a smile and then turned to his guests. "Please take a seat.”

He pointed to the wooden benches, which stood in a wide semicircle, leaning against the altar himself. He was well aware of the nonchalance of the gesture. But since no particular deity was worshipped here in the chapel, but the Source of All, and thus a rather abstract idea of divine power, he did not worry about perhaps angering a powerful being. He eyed his guests, first Lereia, then Sgillin and finally Naghûl, inquiringly but kindly, before he began. "So ... the sand ..." He looked at Lereia. "You brought it here, didn't you?"

Naghûl tilted his head and frowned questioningly, while the young woman looked genuinely confused. "I ... I really don't know," she replied helplessly. "To be completely honest, I've recently started to notice a kind of … trace on certain people that points to their origin or home plane. We found that out. But the feeling in the courtyard was completely new. It was like a golden veil and a swirl of warm light that became more and more intense until it finally exploded. I felt dizzy and when I opened my eyes, it was raining sand. It was probably connected to the zebra somehow, as I perceived its signature as warm sand.”

That was it. Ambar was sure of it, it couldn't be any other way. He nodded enthusiastically. "She who weaves matter from scent and from matter future and destiny," he noted.

Sgillin raised his brows and Lereia looked at the others, startled. "What? I thought who knows the scent of the planes."

"That's what is written here." Ambar now pulled from his sleeve the parchment he had been carrying with him since morning.

Lereia's eyes widened. "You know more about this prophecy?"

Almost at the same time Naghûl exclaimed. "Oh! Another writing?"

Now it was Ambar's turn to be astonished. "Another one? There are several?"

The tiefling coughed, and Ambar realized that he'd gotten muddled in his excitement. "Oh, my factol mentioned something about a prophecy and I just assumed it was some kind of writing," the Sensate tried to mitigate retroactively.

"I see," the factol of the Godsmen remarked with a knowing smirk.

Surprisingly quickly, Naghûl had his facial expressions under control again. "Excuse me," he said. "I have a question."

Ambar nodded. "Just ask."

"What's that strange sign on the pillar over there?"

He had expected many things, but not this question. Astonished, Ambar turned and looked at the pillar behind the altar that Naghûl was pointing to. There was nothing there. "What kind of sign?"

"Naghûl ..." Lereia remarked gently. "We don't see that."

"Well, there." The tiefling pointed again. "Between the flag holders."

Sgillin clapped his hands. "Excellent!"

"I don't see anything ..." Ambar repeated in confusion, but then he realized. "Aha!”

"It continues ..." Lereia murmured, while Naghûl exclaimed enthusiastically: "Ha! I see something again!”

"Finally." Sgillin nodded with satisfaction.

Ambar glanced at the parchment. "He who sees what the gods want to hide. There it is!"

"Oha." The Sensate immediately sounded considerably less enthusiastic, but Sgillin gave him an approving nod. "Not bad, my friend, not bad."

"Whatever they're trying to hide, I can't even interpret it when I see it," the tiefling explained with a slight sigh.

Ambar did not let this interjection dampen his mood and looked over his shoulder at the pillar Naghûl had pointed out. "And that here, in the Foundry? Brilliant!" He interrupted himself and frowned. "Well, I hope so ..."

"Unbelievable," Lereia said, rather quietly and almost to herself. "And what's the deal with Sgillin's ability?"

Ambar looked at the archer. "Please explain in more detail what you can do."

"Well, it started a few days ago," the half-elf replied. "Apparently I briefly swapped bodies with a scorpion with one eye on its back ... and a short time later, for another brief moment, with Lereia."

"But I didn't notice anything," the young woman interjected.

Sgillin nodded and then continued. "Furthermore, factol, I almost swapped bodies with you earlier ... but something stopped me. I can't influence this swap purposefully, though."

Ambar frowned thoughtfully. "A scorpion with one eye on its back? Bizarre ... Wait a minute ..." He looked at the parchment. "Ah yes, that should be it: He who sees through other eyes and wears a thousand masks."

"Hmm, that sounds kind of nasty," Sgillin remarked.

"Factol," Lereia asked. "How many Chosen are mentioned in your scripture?"

"Five. And in yours?"

"Six," she replied. "However, we also saw strange things … seven graves and we heard a voice listing nine titles or names."

Ambar listened up. "Nine? That's getting better and better. Except for the graves, of course" he quickly qualified at Lereia's look. "That sounds rather ominous. What abilities do the six Chosen in your script have?"

Lereia took out a booklet and flipped through it. She seemed to be quite organized and so it decreasingly surprised Ambar that, of the three of them, she was obviously the most worried about the whole thing. Or maybe it was just most obvious with her.

"The child who sees the invisible signs ...", she now read aloud. " ... the child who knows the scent of the planes ... who knows the Old Tongue ... who walks through dreams ... whose blood makes the razorvine bloom and who sees into the past and future. We were able to connect Naghûl and me to the first two abilities, but none fit Sgillin."

"Yes, that makes sense." Ambar nodded. "The paragraph about the eyes and the masks in my piece probably applies to him."

"Right," Lereia agreed. "That would make at least seven."

Sgillin seemed to have been preoccupied with a certain thought the whole time. Now he couldn't hold on any longer and interrupted the conversation. "I also have a question, factol."

"Please, go ahead."

"Did you fight me off earlier?" the half-elf asked. "When I wanted to swap bodies or minds with you?”

"No," Ambar replied seriously. "Because I didn't notice."

Sgillin sighed. "I can't control it. I've tried it several times on different beings."

"Maybe you have to learn it first," the factol speculated.

"But ... then you could also belong to ... well, us," Sgillin considered.

At Ambar's questioning look, Lereia intervened again. "I couldn't sense anything in Naghûl and Sgillin. Not this ... signature, I mean. That's why we assumed that I couldn't use my ability on other Chosen."

"You think you can recognize each other like that?" Ambar asked.

The young woman looked at him and seemed to hesitate for a moment, then apparently pulled herself together. "Shall I give it a try? With you?"

The bard felt a certain excitement rising within him ... combined with a kind of unease. As exciting as this might be, he was anything but sure he wanted to be part of that prophecy. Nevertheless, he nodded slowly. "Try it."

Lereia nodded and took a deep breath, obviously concentrating on him. Then the rather tense expression on her face gave way to a smile. "I perceive pure gold, warmed by the sun. And fresh birch leaves, lightly spread over it. ... It is very calming."

Ambar exhaled with relief. Both, reassured at apparently not being one of the Chosen and pleasantly surprised by Lereia's description. "That sounds nice," he replied.

"May I ask what your home is?" she wanted to know.

"I'm from Fayrill," he replied. "That is an elven realm in the Outlands."

She nodded thoughtfully. "And does my description match it?"

"You mean, does it properly describe my home? I grew up in the woods, yes."

She sighed. "I still have so many questions."

Her confusion and helplessness in the face of the situation were touching him in an unexpected way. Despite the company of the half-elf and the tiefling, who were obviously her friends and confidants, she suddenly seemed fragile and a little lost to him ... in the chapel, in the huge city, in the turmoil that the mysterious prophecy might still bring with it.

"And you can ask all your questions," he replied warmly. "But whether I have any answers, I don't know."

She actually returned his smile. "To one for sure. How are the other two Chosen described in your scripture?"

Ambar laughed. "Yes, I can help you with that. Just a moment ...” He unrolled the parchment and Lereia picked up the booklet and charcoal pencil. “She who sees what is past and what is to come and who gives answers from beyond time."

"That would be our child who looks into the past and future ..." the young woman said, making a note of it. "That sounds very powerful." Then she looked back at Ambar, who was now reading the last line of the parchment.

"She who speaks with the departed and has power over death."

He rolled up the parchment again and Lereia raised her brows. "Oh ... But that doesn't really fit any of us."

Naghûl's lips tightened a little. "You can interpret that in many different ways ... Or so I hope."

"I hope so, too..." Ambar agreed. "But it's true, that doesn't fit your mentioned Chosen. So we have a total of eight abilities that we know of."

They pondered for a while, then Sgillin spoke up again. "Factol, do you know anyone else who has demonstrated any of these abilities ... other than us?"

"No." Ambar shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it. I mean, there are people with certain divination abilities, but ... there seems to be more to this gift than that."

"And I don't understand what has kept me from your mind," Sgillin said.

"Me neither," replied Ambar. "But I'm quite relieved about it."

He was indeed. He could only imagine what someone able to swap bodies with a factol of Sigil might do. He didn't want to accuse Sgillin of anything, but he didn't know him either, and the possibility alone would have been a terrifying thought. Of course, just about every factol had a magical tattoo that protected him from mental influence. But Ambar had a strong suspicion that this ability was something different, something more powerful. Lereia snapped him out of this brief musing.

"I don't understand your description of my ability," she said. "Weaving matter from scent ... That was apparently what happened earlier with the zebra. But from matter future and destiny?"

"I'm not sure about that either," Ambar admitted. "I have no idea what it means."

She nodded and then turned to the tiefling. "Naghûl, what sign do you see up there?"

The Sensate again fixed the spot on the pillar. "It's strange. It's a vertical line, then a horizontal line, a whorl, then a horizontal line and a vertical line again. Should I write it down?"

Lereia nodded and handed him the booklet. Ambar pushed himself away from the altar and stepped a little closer to see what Naghûl was writing down. |-o-| the tiefling drew on the next blank page.

"What the gods want to hide," Lereia mused. "3-5-3 and |-o-|."

"Maybe it's coordinates," Sgillin supposed.

"What are these strange numbers called again?" Naghûl suddenly interjected.

Ambar looked at him questioningly and Lereia raised her shoulders. "I don't know much about numbers."

The tiefling frowned thoughtfully. "They have something to do with Primus, I think."

"The Lady preserve us," the factol said. If there was anything he didn't need in this matter, it was the modrons. He'd rather have the job for the Xaositects then.

"Who is Primus?" Sgillin wanted to know.

Naghûl waved it off, obviously not in the mood to make a statement. "I don't know anything about numbers either," he simply remarked.

But Lereia did not let up. "Is that anything from Mechanus?"

"In a manner of speaking," the Sensate confirmed. "He is the supreme of all modrons. A god, so to speak."

"And what does he do with numbers?" the young woman asked, confused.

"No idea," the tiefling replied sourly. "Building modrons?”

Ambar had to laugh, but Sgillin raised his brows. "Aha! Maybe he's trying to hide something."

With a smirk, the factol of the Believers leaned back against the altar. "My friend Terrance would probably say that all gods want to hide something.”

Naghûl grinned. "He must never know what I can do." Ambar laughed again, and the Sensate's grin widened a little more. “You can laugh about it."

Despite the cheerful turn of the conversation, they remained thoughtfully silent for a while.

"Factol," Sgillin then asked. "Do you have any idea who else we could turn to in this matter?"

"Spontaneously, I would have to say no," Ambar replied. "And I would also recommend being very cautious. Because if you already know about the Ring Prophecy, you certainly also know about the Legend of the God Machine."

Naghûl nodded gently.

"Only a little," Lereia toned down. "We don't know what role we shall play in it.”

"I'm afraid I don't know much either," Ambar replied regretfully. "But it seems to be a pretty big deal. And a dangerous one. You can imagine how many forces would be interested in such a machine."

Naghûl nodded seriously. "Far too many."

"Forgive my perpetual questions," Sgillin said. "But what exactly does this machine do?"

"We don't know exactly." Ambar raised his shoulders. "But according to legend it can change time and space, reshape reality and give shape to the multiverse."

"You do wonder who would build something like this," Sgillin muttered.

"Yes, that's a really good question."

Naghûl shook his head. "By Sharess, if this machine falls into the hands of the Doomguard ... I don't even want to imagine it."

"Exactly," agreed the factol. "Or the baatezu. Or the tanar'ri. Or the Xaositects. Or ... well, I can think of a lot more."

"And why does She tolerate this?" Lereia asked cautiously.

That was an important question. Perhaps the most important one, and at the same time the answer to this was even more uncertain than to many other questions.

"Who knows?" Ambar replied thoughtfully. "Maybe She favored it. Maybe She wants the machine to be used. Or maybe She doesn't care. Who can know?"

"Or the machine is part of Her," Sgillin continued the speculation. "Or She is a part of the machine ..."

"We shouldn't speculate too much about Her," Naghûl interjected admonishingly.

"That's right." Ambar nodded. "And I'm afraid no theory is too wild to be true ... Not in this matter."

Sgillin leaned back. "The question is, what do we do next? Train our skills? Look for hidden signs?"

"Practice and maybe look for the others," Lereia suggested.

"Yes." Ambar sighed. "A good point. I'll get in touch with Lady Erin. Maybe she knows more by now. Or maybe we know something she doesn't."

"And above all, don't talk about it to anyone," Naghûl added.

Sgillin and Lereia nodded in agreement. Ambar was relieved that the three of them seemed to agree on how to proceed. Then a thought occurred to him. Perhaps too hasty, perhaps self-serving, but perhaps an all too justified and necessary thought ...

"Yes," he said. "Please keep it quiet. You could be in danger right now." He hesitated, but only for a blink, then turned his thought into a question. "Do you all belong to the Sensates?"

"No," replied Sgillin. "Only Naghûl."

Ambar nodded. Just as he had suspected. He decided to take the next step. "I understand. And you?" He looked at Sgillin and Lereia.

"We come from the Prime Material Plane," the young woman explained.

There was a certain naivety in her answer, but also an innocence that he found charming. He had to laugh a little. "Well, that doesn't necessarily mean anything."

Lereia smiled. "No, we don't belong to any faction. We've only ever been to Sigil very sporadically."

"I see." Ambar looked back and forth between the two. He made up his mind in a very short moment, in which his thoughts and actions were as good as one, in which there was basically no doubt. Almost a unity of thought and action. Rhys would certainly have been proud, he thought to himself with a grin. Then he turned to Lereia. "I think I would like to speak to you again in private."

She looked a little surprised, but nodded with a smile. "I'd love to, factol."

Click. At this moment, it was as if he could almost feel how one tiny cog fitted into another, how a piece of the mosaic had been put into the right place.

"Good," he replied kindly. "How can I reach you once I've talked to Lady Erin? Just in case I need to contact you before she sets something up."

"I think Sgillin and I will stay in Sigil for the time being and keep in touch with Naghûl," Lereia explained. "But we haven't found a permanent accommodation or a temporary place to stay here yet."

"I have my quarters in the Festhall and I'm in regular contact with Sgillin and Lereia," the Sensate added.

Ambar nodded. "Good, then a messenger will surely find you there. I will try to find out something and hope to know more next week."

"We won't be idle either, of course," Naghûl assured. "Thank you for your help."

The three bowed and left the chapel, while Ambar looked after them for quite a while. It had begun ...

 

(played February 4, 2012)