The Silver Sphinx

 

"The nicest thing a body can say about the Hive is

that the decaying bodies don't lay about the streets too long."

Retholien, githzerai

 

 

Fourth Void Day of Nihilum, 126 HR

Above Síkhara, the multi-story houses leaned against each other as if they wanted to rob the street below of even the last bit of light. Only at a few entrances did small lanterns flicker like pitiful fireflies. The alleys of the Hive had always been a maze of poverty, violence and hopelessness, and that hadn't changed in the few years of Síkhara’s absence. Since her return, she had regularly been out and about here again, on the one hand because of her assignments as a blood hunter and on the other hand because, during her flight with the Barracuda, she had befriended people who lived in the Hive. Since basically nothing had changed, the fire genasi moved through this labyrinth with experienced proficiency. Her leather armor crunched softly with every step and the smell of rotting garbage, cheap booze and unwashed bodies hung heavily in the air. However, Síkhara hardly noticed it - she was used to worse. She was on her way to meet with Krystall, hoping that the Anarchist's connections would help her solve her latest case. A man named Zramag was her client, a githzerai from the Sign of One. She had discovered the eccentric artist through a notice he had written and had visited him in his chaotic atelier in the Clerk’s Ward. Parchments, brushes and sketches had been scattered everywhere and Zramag had paced nervously up and down while he had told her about his stolen shadow in a trembling voice. He had explained how he had woken up one morning with the feeling of having lost something crucial. Later he had realized that his shadow had disappeared. He had described a cold breeze and a feeling of emptiness that had haunted him ever since. Then he had offered Síkhara a large sum of jink if she would bring back his shadow. He had insisted that it was a part of his soul, without which he could no longer work properly. She had accepted the case. Not only because of the coins, but also because Zramag was a desperate man and the idea that someone had stolen part of his soul along with his shadow deeply worried Síkhara. A shadow was, in a sense, proof of one's own existence. Síkhara wouldn't have wanted to live without hers, especially if something else was connected to it.

Finally, the fire genasi saw the sign of the Rusty Blade . It was a serrated broadsword that had seen better days long ago – hence the name of the tavern, which was clumsily painted on the blade in crude letters. The weapon hung above a dirty door that looked as if it were a portal to one of the hells, as if dozens of fiendish hordes had already passed through it without much consideration. But if it was a portal, at least nothing was known about it and the state of the door could simply be attributed to age, neglect, and rowdy and drunken guests. The occasional game of knife-throwing might have contributed as well. The inn was known as a meeting place for scoundrels, fences and others on the fringes of Sigil’s society. It was perfect for gathering information - or disappearing if one asked the wrong questions. When Síkhara pushed open the squeaky door and entered the tavern, the air was so thick one could have cut it with a knife and the stench hit her like a fist – a mixture of stale beer, rancid fat, tobacco smoke and the sweet smell of cheap perfume. The light was dim, little more than a flickering from a few soot-blackened candles on the walls. Síkhara heard the creaking of rickety chairs, the jingling of an out-of-tune lute, rough laughter and curses in various languages. She searched the room for Krystall and quickly spotted her at a table in a dark corner. The leader of the Razor Angels was hard to miss, even in such a seedy dive. Her feathered hat, red vest and the rapier at her side made her an unmistakable figure.

Krystall greeted the blood hunter with a smile that seemed like an unexpected ray of sunshine in this environment. “Síkhara! Good to see you. Sit down, I saved a chair for you.”

The fire genasi returned the smile and took a seat. “Thank you, Krystall. Do you have a recommended drink? Something strong would be best.”

The leader of the Razor Angels laughed and waved at the waitress. “I see. Then a Dragon's Breath for each of us. Burns the throat and numbs the senses.”

The waitress, a gaunt woman with a suspicious look, nodded and disappeared behind the counter. While they waited, Síkhara let her gaze wander around the room. At one table, a human and two tieflings were playing dice, two gnomes were haggling over the price of a mechanical device, and a lone bard was plucking a lyre and singing a sad song about lost love. The dive was a place of hopelessness, but also of resilience. A place where many bubbers tried to make the best of their miserable circumstances. When the waitress returned, she placed two steaming jugs in front of them. The smell implied rum, cinnamon and chili.

Krystall raised her jug and drank a toast to Síkhara. “Well then ... Here’s to your hunt for the shadows.”

“To the shadows,” the blood hunter replied. ”And to those who hide in them.” Then she took a careful sip. The Dragon's Breath burned in her throat like liquid fire – a thoroughly pleasant feeling for Síkhara.

Krystall now scrutinized her curiously. “So, if I got that right, your client is a man who says that his shadow has been stolen. That's unusual, even for Sigil.”

“Exactly.” Síkhara put down her jug. “He's a githzerai named Zramag. An artist and member of the Sign of One.”

The leader of the Razor Angels frowned. ”And he lives here in the Hive?”

“No, no,” said Síkhara. “He lives in the Clerk’s Ward. He put up a private notice that I happened to discover on my way to the Grand Bazaar.”

Krystall leaned back and put her feet up on the chair next to her. ”And may I ask why he didn't go to the Hardheads, being a guy from one of the upper wards?”

“He seems to have a natural aversion to the philosophy and beliefs of the Harmonium,” Síkhara explained. ”He sees them as a repressive force that suppresses individuality and he doesn't think that the Harmonium is really interested in solving the problem. He fears that they would only question him half-heartedly and waste his time.”

“Hm.“ Krystall smirked. “And you’re sure he's a Signer? Maybe you should send him over to us.”

“I only just managed to refrain from saying that,” the blood hunter replied with a grin.

The leader of the Razor Angels took another gulp of Dragon's Breath and then grew more serious again. “But he's not the only one, right? I've heard of similar incidents, mostly in the Clerk’s Ward.”

Síkhara nodded. “Right, and that's the point I don't quite understand. This is the ward of scholars, scribes and bureaucrats, and many places are well guarded. Why would the shadow thieves operate there when they could find much easier prey here in the Hive? It's no coincidence, I'm telling you. And it's more than just theft. There's something bigger going on.”

The leader of the Razor Angels nodded in agreement. “You're probably right. I'll tell my people to keep their eyes open. Maybe we'll learn something that will help you.”

“Thanks, Krystall,” Síkhara replied. ”That's what I was hoping for.” They clinked glasses again, and the blood hunter took a long drink before setting down her mug. “So, tell me what the rest of the Barracuda crew has been up to. I haven't seen them in a while.”

“Well, Krixxi and Figaro are tinkering with something I have no idea what it is going to become. Zamakis is currently teaching courses in embalming corpses, Blackhoof is organizing the setting up of a new soup kitchen and Rakalla has visited her hometown of Pelateia for a while. But she's back again. Oh yes, and ...” Krystall now lowered her voice. ”... and she has told Haer'Dalis about the Prophecy.”

Síkhara nodded. “Yes, that I actually knew. Since she mentioned that I also know, he and I recently talked a little about it.”

Krystall scrutinized the blood hunter when she mentioned the tiefling bard. “You only said that you know one another. Was there something between you?”

The leader of the Razor Angels was a keen observer, Síkhara had to give her that. “Well ...” She smiled. “You're right. But it was a while ago. Now we're just good friends. Mostly.” She winked at Krystall as she said it, and was sure that the other woman understood.

The leader of the Razor Angels nodded with a grin. “Not too bad either. And as for the Prophecy, a few allies wouldn't hurt. But for now, let's focus on the shadow thieves.”

“Yes.” Síkhara nodded firmly. ”Let's hope we can get to the bottom of this.”

 

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This is the last chapter of “Dark Omens”, the third adventure that I played with my group as part of our “Shadows over Sigil” campaign, from September 7 to December 28, 2012.

The fourth part is “The Fall”.