The Silver Sphinx

 

“Arrogant Cagers. Do they really think, they'll get away with breaking my dishes?

Well, obviously … they did.”

Cha‐drik, thri-kreen innkeeper in Bexrey 

 

 

Third Clerk Day of Savorus, 126 HR

After the turbulent hunt for the minotaur Thunderhorn and the unexpected alliance with the blood hunter Síkhara, the group decided to split up: Krystall and Rakalla wanted to ask about a shop where they could buy the spare parts they needed. Blackhoof and Zamakis, on the other hand, helped Síkhara to bring the now-tied-up Thunderhorn to the portal that led to the fire genasi’s client who had commissioned the hunt. Blackhoof was a little smaller than his gray-furred counterpart, but strong enough to support Síkhara should Thunderhorn get any ideas on the way to the portal. And if necessary, Zamakis was ready with another sleep spell. The blood hunter seemed quite pleased with the unexpected help. She revealed that otherwise she would have had little choice but to kill the gray minotaur and hand in his horns with their unmistakable carvings. But even though Thunderhorn was a brutal and dangerous criminal, she apparently still preferred to deliver him alive. In Krystall’s eyes a point that clearly spoke in favor of the fire genasi. 

So she and the medusa said goodbye to the others for the time being and began to ask their way to a merchant of mechanical spare parts. Fortunately, Figaro had prepared precise sketches for them and noted the names of the required parts. Nevertheless, it took them a few tries before they found a shop where a grumpy old tiefling sold them the parts they needed. Krystall was pretty sure that they were being cheated and that the trader was taking far too much from them. But since they were already in a hurry and didn't want to stay in Bexrey any longer than necessary after hunting Thunderhoof, Krystall pushed the coins across the counter and packed the spare parts. Rakalla grumbled something about an outrageous audacity and the option of a brief, furtive medusa gaze, but Krystall was able to calm her down and convince her to return to the barracuda without retaliation. 

When she arrived, she was more than relieved when Krixxi told them that they had gotten the right spare parts and that the list was complete. This meant that the goblin woman and Figaro were able to successfully carry out the last repairs at the engine. A little later, Blackhoof and Zamakis also returned – without Thunderhoof, but with Síkhara, as agreed. The vampire reported that the portal mentioned by the blood hunter had led to Iron Ridge, a city at the foot of the Dwarven Mountains. There, the fire genasi had handed the minotaur over to an elderly dwarf, but interestingly enough had not collected any reward and had then returned to Bexrey with Blackhoof and Zamakis. Krystall breathed a sigh of relief. For once, something went smoothly and according to plan, but she was careful not to say so out loud, so as not to anger any deity of fate. After all, the Norns had their realm in the Outlands, as everyone knew. Krixxi and Figaro worked on the engine until late into the night, while Krystall showed Síkhara a room in the keep that she could occupy during the flight. Then she left the blood hunter alone for a while to think through what she had experienced. She needed time to do the same, and was therefore grateful that Rakalla was spending some time on her elixirs and Zamakis was immersing herself in a book. Blackhoof disappeared into the kitchen, and she only disturbed him briefly there to brew herself a strong coffee. However, she felt the need to exchange a few words with her new passenger, so she made a second cup of coffee and went to Síkhara's room with it. When she knocked, the smoky voice of the fire genasi immediately replied. “Come in.”

“I'm sorry to bother you again so soon,” Krystall said apologetically. ”But we met under rather strange circumstances. So I thought, why don't we repeat this in a calmer setting?”

She offered the coffee to Síkhara, who accepted it gratefully and then pointed to one of the chairs at the small table in her bunk. She pulled up a stool and sat down as well.

“Sure, why not?” the fire genasi nodded. “What do you want to know about me?”

“Hey, slow down.” Krystall laughed. ”The way you say that, it sounds like I'm with the Hardheads.”

Síkhara smiled, but the leader of the Razor Angels noticed that there was something inquiring behind her gaze. The fire genasi would certainly try to find out something about her in this conversation as well. But apart from her faction, Krystall had nothing to hide, so she returned the smile openly.

“That means you're not from the Harmonium,” said Síkhara. ”That's fine with me. I'm only in Sigil from time to time and try not to get in anyone's way. But as a blood hunter, taking the law into my own hands is kind of my thing, and that doesn't go down well with the Hardheads.”

Krystall had to laugh. “Too right! To be honest, taking the law into my own hands is my thing too and ... well, let's just say I'm not so keen on the Triad of Order. Blood hunter ... yes, you mentioned that in the tavern. May I ask which order?”

“Ghostslayer,” Síkhara replied willingly. ”And yes, I know that didn't exactly make Thunderhorn my usual prey. It was more of a favor for an old friend. A free one, so actually a friendly turn. And how do you know the guy?”

“From Sigil,” Krystall replied. “My group - we call ourselves the Razor Angels - had trouble with him.”

The fire genasi looked at her intently, her turquoise-green eyes piercing. “More than just trouble, huh? I saw your reaction in the tavern. I know that well. That was something deeply personal.”

Krystall’s thoughts wandered back to that day, to the killed comrade, a young man who hadn't even reached the age of twenty. “You're right,” she replied seriously. “It was very personal. And I'm glad it's over. I hope he will regret his actions, wherever you have taken him.”

“You can be sure of that.” Síkhara took a big gulp of coffee and looked at Krystall, obviously with some sympathy. “The Razor Angels, huh? So you're not with a faction?”

“That’s right, no faction.” Krystall shook her head. According to her own definition, that wasn't even a lie. ”And you?”

“Not either,” the blood hunter replied. “From a purely philosophical point of view, I would probably most likely associate myself with the Athar or the Observers of the Doomguard. Although a friend of mine who is a Sinker always says that I'm more of a Preserver because I'm always stopping entropy.” She grinned briefly. “The medusa is a Sinker too, isn't she? I saw her faction symbol.”

“That's right,” Krystall confirmed. “If you have a friend in the faction, you could ask her about him. Maybe you have mutual acquaintances.”

“Who knows?’ Síkhara nodded. ”His name is Haer'Dalis.”

“She mentioned that name once, I'm sure of it.”

“Hm.” The fire genasi emptied her coffee and then looked thoughtfully at the tabletop for a while. “Good to know. Maybe I should pay the City of Doors another visit.”

Krystall smiled. ”You're welcome to join us after we ...”

At that moment, the door was thrown open and an excited goblin woman stuck in her pink tufts. “We're done!” she exclaimed triumphantly, her hands dirty and oil still in her hair. ”The engine is working again. And Blackhoof has finally made my pancakes! Do you want some too?”

Krystall couldn't help but laugh and gave Síkhara a questioning look. When she nodded, they got up to follow Krixxi into the kitchen. The flight would provide plenty of opportunity for further conversation.

 

Síkhara had obviously not promised too much when she said she knew the area well. After saying goodbye to the crew of the Cloudsong , she pointed Krixxi in the right direction, and the goblin woman and Figaro steered the barracuda there. Fortunately, there were few incidents during the flight this time. Once they had to navigate the vessel through some dangerous air currents. And once they encountered a school of aether fish. The barracuda had passed through a cloud bank and suddenly found itself in the middle of a shoal of glowing fish that moved through the air as effortlessly as ordinary fish moved through water. The aether fish were harmless but curious. They circled the ship and their ethereal glow briefly disrupted the navigation instruments. In addition, a few particularly inquisitive specimens entered the interior of the ship and had to be decoyed out by Krystall, Blackhoof and Síkhara. Fortunately, a glowing elixir brewed by Rakalla helped. Apart from these rather harmless incidents, however, the journey went without a hitch.

Towards evening, Síkhara pointed to the horizon, where dense fog was gathering. “There,” she said. “Haze Cliff is located in these mists. We should fly very carefully, because visibility conditions are really poor there.”

Krystall passed this information on to Krixxi and Figaro, and the two immediately slowed down. They carefully steered the flying fish towards the haze, and as the barracuda broke through the last belt of fog, it suddenly lay before them: the floating island of Haze Cliff. It was apparently a large clod of earth a few miles in diameter. A few jagged rocky peaks formed a small mountain range at the spireward edge, but otherwise the island was apparently mostly covered with dense forest. Krixxi carefully steered the vehicle towards a clearing that they could see from aboard the barracuda. They decided not to land, but to leave the fish in hover mode and to tie it to the strong branches of some trees with ropes. Figaro allowed Krystall to carry him down a rope ladder, albeit reluctantly. While the descent was no problem for Rakalla, Krixxi, Zamakis and Síkhara, Blackhoof experienced more difficulties and the minotaur swore several times as he fought to stay on the ladder. But it held and he arrived at the bottom unharmed. When the whirring of the machines above them stopped, an eerie silence fell over the clearing. They were surrounded by ancient, gnarled trees whose branches stretched out like protective arms over the edge of the open space. Soft moss on the ground muffled every step and exuded an earthy scent. Here and there, strangely shaped, smooth rocks protruded from the soil, covered with abstract patterns that someone had apparently carved into them long ago. Tall grasses in various shades of blue grew between them and small flowers with translucent petals that glowed like tiny lanterns. The ever-present fog surrounded the clearing like a wall, dense enough to shroud the world beyond the trees in a mysterious twilight. Occasionally, shadowy forms flitted through the fog, too fleeting to make out clearly.

Síkhara paused for a moment and looked around, her flaming hair like a beacon in the gray surroundings. “Be careful,” she murmured. “This place ... it feels strange.”

As they crossed the clearing, it became obvious what the blood hunter had meant. The mist seemed to react to their presence. It retreated before their steps, only to close behind them again, as if to cut off their way back.

Then Krixxi suddenly stopped, her eyes wide. “Do you see that?” she whispered. “The mist ... it's moving. Not like it's being pushed by the wind, but ... as if it were alive.”

Krystall frowned, looked more closely ... and sure enough, shapes seemed to be forming in the fog – fleeting faces, grasping hands that dissolved as soon as they tried to touch them. “Fascinating,” Figaro murmured. “I've never seen anything like this.”

A sudden rustling in the undergrowth made everyone jump. Blackhoof snorted nervously, while Krystall and Síkhara instinctively drew their weapons. But nothing appeared.

“Stay calm,” the fire genasi whispered, although her voice also sounded tense. ”We have to stay together and keep a clear head.”

Krixxi and Figaro exchanged worried glances. “Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to leave the barracuda,” the goblin woman squeaked, keeping very close to Blackhoof.

But Krystall shook her head. “No, we have to keep going. We're in the right place. But whatever we hope to find here won't show itself.”

So they continued on their way, and with every step they took, they moved further away from the safety of the barracuda and deeper into the heart of Haze Cliff.

After a while, it was Zamakis who stopped. “Look,” she whispered, pointing to a spot in the fog.

Where there had been dense mist a moment ago, a kind of window had now opened. It was as if one had wiped a fogged windowpane with the sleeve and could now look into the illuminated interior of a house. In amazement, they watched a group of ghostly figures in strange robes pass through this window in the mist.

“Milani's thorn,“ Krystall whispered. “What is that?”

Síkhara eyed the apparition warily, sparks flying from her flaming hair. “This must be why Haze Cliff is so famous - and feared,” she said. “The island is a reality anchor.”

“A what?” Rakalla asked, while she watched with fascination how the ghostly figures began to lay the foundation stone of a massive building.

“A reality anchor,” Síkhara repeated. ”Legend says that in places like this, events have become so deeply embedded in the fabric of reality that they keep reappearing as echoes. We are witnessing the construction of a temple that was built hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago.”

No sooner had she spoken than the scene dissolved, only to be replaced by a new window. This time they saw a group of people exploring the floating island with astonished eyes.

“Perhaps the first inhabitants,” Krystall murmured. ”Incredible.”

They continued their journey warily, passing ever-new windows. They saw magnificent ceremonies, fierce battles, peaceful gatherings – a kaleidoscope of the history of Haze Cliff. But now the island seemed gloomy and deserted – those days seemed long gone.

Blackhoof stopped again at one of the windows. “You see?” He pointed to a scene in which several people were entering ... no, fleeing into the temple they had seen earlier. “This temple seems to have been important to the former inhabitants.”

Figaro nodded thoughtfully. ”Possibly a place of refuge. These people seem to be seeking protection there.”

They passed a few more of the mysterious windows, then the fog lifted, like a heavy curtain being pulled aside, and before them loomed the temple they had seen in some of the visions – massive, ancient, partially in ruins. In that moment, past, present and future overlapped for a single breath. They saw the temple as it had been when it was built, as it was now, and as it would be if it continued to fall into disrepair – all in a single, overwhelming moment. But the awe inspired by this experience was quickly replaced by a feeling of discouragement. Between them and their goal lay a deep chasm, the bottom of which was hidden in impenetrable fog ...

“Oh, by the depths of the Abyss,” Rakalla cursed. ”How are we going to cross that?”

But no sooner had she spoken the words than tiny points of light began to dance in the fog. Like fireflies on a summer night, they floated around, aimlessly at first, then with increasing certainty.

“Look!” Krixxi exclaimed excitedly, pointing at the spectacle with her small green fingers.

Before their astonished eyes, the sparks gathered and began to take shape. A narrow path grew over the ravine like a bridge of pure light.

Síkhara cautiously approached the edge of the chasm. “I have heard of such apparitions,” she whispered. “But I thought they were legends.”

Zamakis knelt down next to the glowing path and cautiously extended a hand. ”It's solid ... I suppose we could cross the crevice this way.”

Krystall nodded and placed one boot on the magical bridge to test the vampire's hunch. She was able to put her foot on it as if it were solid ground. “Seems safe,” she said.

Blackhoof snorted nervously. “Safe? The thing is floating in the air!”

But the leader of the Razor Angels took a deep breath and sent a short prayer to her goddess Milani. Then she took a courageous step forward ... She felt her heart skip a beat, her stomach contracted in fear that she might fall after all ... She heard Krixxi scream behind her ... But she stood securely on the bridge, the path of magical light or whatever it was.

She looked around at the others, in equal parts relieved and thrilled. “See? It works! We can just walk across!”

Síkhara gave her an appreciative look. “One thing's for sure,” she said. ”You've got guts.”

Krystall felt a little blush of pride at this praise and smiled briefly before quickly turning her gaze back ahead. Determined, she walked onto the bridge and with every step she took, the path of light glowed gently under her feet.

“Incredible,” Rakalla murmured, following carefully behind.

Síkhara, Zamakis and Krixxi now ventured onto the bridge as well, while Figaro hesitated a little longer, but then scuttled after the goblin mechanic. Blackhoof was the last to enter the bridge and looked anything but happy about it. But to their amazement, they noticed that the path adjusted and became slightly wider when the minotaur stepped on it. Despite the bridge's obvious stability, crossing it was a surreal experience. Beneath their feet, they could see the chasm's depths shrouded in mist through the shimmering light. The gentle pulsation accompanied their every step. But they all reached the other end safely. After Blackhoof was the last to set foot – or hoof - on the soft moss, the bridge dissolved behind them, disintegrating into countless points of light that disappeared in the mist. Silent, still overwhelmed by what they had just experienced, they now approached the temple that rose majestically before them, an imposing structure that had survived the ages. Its walls were made of massive stone blocks that shimmered gently in the island's diffused light. The surface of the stones was covered with fine, winding lines that resembled maps. Tall, slender towers flanked the main building, their tops lost in the fog. 

 

They slowly climbed the wide staircase to the main entrance. The massive door consisted of two enormous wooden wings, which were not locked, but only ajar. Krystall took a deep breath, then pushed one of them open a little further and entered. The entrance hall of the temple was very large, the ceiling so high that it was almost lost in the darkness. Columns that looked like grown crystals supported the vault and reflected the light that Rakalla created with one of her elixirs. In the middle of the hall was a circular mosaic showing the entirety of the Outer Planes. Statues were located in wall niches, but Krystall couldn't determine their origin or significance.

“This temple must be very old,” Rakalla whispered, her voice hushed.

The others nodded, but no one dared to break the heavy silence, as if the temple were still a place of worship and devotion. Krystall led the group carefully deeper into the sanctuary. Their footsteps echoed softly on the stone floor, and a faint scent of incense still hung in the air, timeless and constant.

Then Zamakis stopped and raised a hand in warning. “Someone's over there.”

And indeed, they could now make out two humanoid figures at the far end of the hall. As they approached cautiously, almost hesitantly, they recognized a female lupinal and a human man in full armor. She had light gray fur and was wearing a turquoise-green dress, while he had about chin-long blond hair and a chest plate decorated with golden lions.

“Is that them?” Krixxi whispered excitedly. “The Keeper and the Proclaimer?”

Síkhara gave her an irritated look. “Who, please?”

Krystall bit her lip. This was supposed to be a secret mission, and the temple was probably their goal. They hadn't planned on someone coming along who didn't know about the Prophecy and the God Machine. Like so much of what they had done ... But she couldn't just send the blood hunter away now – and she didn't really want to, either.

So the leader of the Razor Angels stepped forward, her voice firm despite the anxiety she felt. “We came to find you. A ... a deceased person spoke to us and showed us the way here.”

The lupinal took a step towards her and smiled warmly. ”I am Lady Elyria, the Keeper. Welcome, Chosen One.”

The paladin at her side bowed slightly. “And I am Sir Lorias, the Proclaimer. We have been expecting your arrival.”

They approached and bowed to greet them: Krystall and Figaro politely and respectfully, Zamakis and Rakalla rather cautiously and warily, Blackhoof a little awkwardly and Krixxi full of childlike enthusiasm. Síkhara seemed confused and irritated, but greeted nonetheless.

Elyria let her gaze wander over the group in surprise. “There are seven of you,” she stated. “Something ... is not right here.”

“Yes, that ...” Krystall sighed and pushed her hat back a little. “Maybe we should explain something ...”