The Silver Sphinx

 

“My path is my own, and one of free choice, not punishment.”

Fall-from-Grace

 

 

Third Clerk's Day of Mortis, 126 HR

When Naghûl entered the Brothel for Slaking Intellectual Lusts, he was greeted by an atmosphere of quiet contemplation. Unlike most brothels, the entrance hall was not decorated with erotic paintings, but with abstract works of art that encouraged reflection. Dim light fell through intricately designed stained glass windows, bathing the room in a kaleidoscopic glow. Compared to the rest of the Festhall District, this place seemed almost reverent. The furniture was simple but comfortable, with upholstered armchairs and sofas inviting guests to linger. A large, open fireplace crackled quietly in a corner, its warm light dancing on the faces of the visitors. There was a gentle scent of old parchment, warm beeswax and a hint of incense in the air - a calming, almost sacred aroma. Instead of loud music, vulgar jokes or even more inappropriate noises, only quiet scraps of conversation drifted out of the various rooms, the rustling of paper, the soft music of a piano from a distant room. Every now and then, a soft laugh or a short exclamation of understanding could be heard. Naghûl saw a small group of githzerai monks engrossed in a profound philosophical conversation. A tiefling and a dwarf sat in a corner discussing the ethical implications of the latest inventions in Sigil, while in an armchair standing apart, a human scholar read a book and sipped herbal tea with relish.

As always when he was here, Naghûl found the mood relaxed, even reverent. There was an atmosphere of respect, intellectual curiosity and open exchange. Grace's brothel was a place where the mind was stimulated and new perspectives could be gained, quite different from the superficial pleasures offered in other establishments in Sigil. This was about more than just satisfying desires - it was about expanding consciousness. But as much as Naghûl would have liked to join the lively conversation about the art of gastronomy between an older half-elf lady and a halfling, he was here for other reasons today. He urgently needed to speak to Fall-from-Grace, the brothel's owner. He found her in the central garden, near the pavilion with the beautiful stained-glass windows. She was a succubus, and her beauty was of course overwhelming. However, unlike the allure of her dark sisters, her appeal never seemed intrusive. Grace's long, honey-blonde hair was loosely pinned up that day, and she wore a light tunic in blue and purple. Her wings were slightly outstretched, and she was cutting one of the rose bushes growing by the fountain.

 

 

“Grace,” Naghûl said cheerfully. “I greet you!”

She turned to him and a warm expression appeared in her azure eyes when she saw him. “Oh, Naghûl. The Lady's Grace.”

The tiefling approached her and bowed politely. “As enchanting as ever,” he said with a smile.

She chuckled. “And you as charming as always.”

He laughed and then offered her both hands in greeting. Grace had been a factor in the Society of Sensation for many years, and they knew each other well, maintaining a warm, friendly relationship. The succubus took his hands, but her eyes examined him intently. Yes, she had already recognized that something serious was on his mind that day.

“Grace, dear colleague,” he said immediately. “I need to talk to you. It's a very sensitive matter.”

“Oh.” She nodded and placed the garden shears on the edge of the fountain. “I understand. Then we should find a place where we can talk undisturbed. Let's go to my quarters.”

Grace always radiated an aura of wisdom and calm that one would not necessarily expect, even from an ascended demon. She was truly a rarity, even in the infinity of the planes. With calm but firm steps, she crossed the beautiful garden in the brothel's courtyard and led Naghûl to a door that opened as if by magic. Behind it was a narrow corridor, at the end of which were Grace's private quarters. For a factor, it was a surprisingly simple room, imbued with an aura of discreet elegance. In one corner was a bed surrounded by lavender curtains, and a large dark wood desk stood against the opposite wall. It was littered with books, scrolls and writing utensils, and an ornate lamp cast a warm light on the desktop. In front of a small fireplace were two comfortable armchairs, between which a teapot steamed on a side table.

The room was decorated with personal items that Naghûl had already examined with interest on his previous visits: a collection of masks from different cultures, a series of books on philosophy, ethics and psychology, and a small aquarium with brightly colored fish. Naghûl knew what the small, carved box filled with dried flowers was all about: each flower was associated with a special memory, and all the blossoms came from different planes and worlds that Grace had visited. In keeping with the theme of the brothel and her personal ascension, her quarters were not a place of sensual seduction, but a retreat for the mind and soul, a reflection of Grace's inner transformation, of her rejection of evil in favor of a life of understanding, wisdom and empathy.

She offered Naghûl one of the armchairs and took a seat in the other herself. “Well, then tell me what's bothering you,” she urged him, pointing questioningly at the teapot.

The tiefling declined with thanks; he was too tense and agitated to enjoy a drink – and that was saying something. “It's a very delicate matter,” he explained. “And it concerns you too. I know it's a very big favor I'm asking of you, but it's necessary. I can imagine that it's not pleasant for you to talk about it.”

Grace frowned. “Well, that's an unusually serious tone from you. Now I'm really curious to know what it's about.”

Naghûl felt as if he had to overcome an inner barrier, but he gave himself the necessary push. “It's about your mother.”

She visibly struggled not to let her facial features slip, but she didn't quite succeed. “Excuse me?”

The tiefling lowered his gaze. The subject was unpleasant, even embarrassing, and he was genuinely sorry to have to burden her with it. “I really hate to confront you with this,” he assured her. “But it's extremely important, because Red Shroud ... is extorting me and others with the lives of innocent friends.”

Grace still looked at him in surprise, serious but also a little sad. “I understand.” She nodded slowly. “How do you know? From Lady Erin herself, huh?”

“She wouldn't have told me if we weren't desperately searching for a glimmer of hope,” Naghûl assured. “We have reached a bitter and sad boundary, and I hope you can tell me something that will overcome that boundary.”

“Oh, by the Lady.” Grace leaned back in her chair and sighed deeply. “That ... everything that has to do with my mother ... is something I have pushed far away. Very far. From that point of view, however, I understand your request. And what ... what do you expect from me?“

Naghûl slumped his shoulders a little. ”I'm not quite sure. Maybe I was hoping you would just give me a letter containing something confidential but clever, and everything would be fine.”

“A letter?” Grace had to laugh briefly. “I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. It won't be that easy.”

He nodded, smiling slightly at his foolish thoughts. “But maybe you can tell me something we can use against her? A weak point? A certain event in her past we can use to get to her?”

“Oh, Naghûl.” Grace sighed. “As you can imagine, I don't have a very close relationship with my mother. On the one hand, I turned my back on her, the Abyss and the tanar'ri a long time ago. On the other hand, it's a great shame for her that one of her full-blooded daughters has risen - regardless of the fact that she sold me into slavery. And as a result, there's naturally very little I know about her now.“

”I was afraid of that.“ Naghûl smiled a little, but it was clearly gallows humor. ”That woman is a mystery to me. There's hardly anyone who can cover their tracks so well. I've been racking my brain trying to figure out where her weak point might be. There has to be one.”

“There's definitely one, but ...” Grace raised her hands apologetically. “I'm sorry, but I don't have any kind of all-powerful secret information that will allow you to checkmate her. However ...” She stood up. “Wait a minute.”

Naghûl watched her hopefully as she gracefully walked over to the chest of drawers next to her bed.

She took something out, then she returned to the fireplace and held a vial containing a blue liquid.

“What's that?” Naghûl asked curiously.

She held the vial up as she sat down again. “As you know, my mother is a true master of poisons. The rarer, the more exotic, and the more deadly, the better.“

The tiefling nodded seriously. ”Yes, I know. A rather ... unconventional hobby.“

”Indeed.“ Grace smiled. ”Of course, I don't know all of her poisons. But I know of one that she likes to use when an attack needs to be quick and absolutely deadly. The poison of the skull orchid, improved according to her own recipe. This poison is so strong that it outmatches even some of the poisons of the Plane of Ooze. The malicious thing about it is that it cannot be cured by clerical power. It overcomes all resistances and affects all known races. It is extremely dangerous.” She pointed to the vial. “But I have the antidote here. Certainly one of the few doses outside Broken Reach that exist at all.”

Naghûl stared at her and suddenly a thought occurred to him that he hadn't considered before. A terrible thought. “Grace, that's it! She doesn't want to corrupt his mind, his soul. She knows he can protect himself from that. I'm such a berk! She wants to get to him so she can kill him! Grace, I love you!“ He jumped to his feet and hugged her tightly.

Grace let him do it, but seemed a little taken aback. ”Aha ...”

Naghûl kissed her on the cheek and shook his head in agitation. “Now I understand - or I've completely lost my mind. Either way: Ha!”

Grace handed him the vial with a frown. “Um, you should still take this - or maybe especially because of your sudden thought. I have no idea what you're talking about. But you must have your reasons.”

Naghûl took the vial very carefully. “Grace, I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped me. Never let it be said that one can’t find muse here.”

“Who would say such a nasty thing?” the succubus asked, laughing.

“Um, I guess no one.” Naghûl suddenly felt light as thistle fluff, despite his terrible suspicion. But the antidote in his hand made the sun rise in his heart. “I'll invite you to dinner as soon as possible, and afterwards we'll go to the theater and then dancing ... I'll bring Morânia and you ... whoever you want.”

Grace smiled and shook her head almost indulgently at his enthusiasm. “Agreed. I'll think about who I'll bring once you've dealt with my mother.”

Naghûl took a deep breath to ground himself. “Thank you so much, Grace. And I'm sure there will be many other people who will be grateful too. But I have to go now, I still have a lot to prepare. Will you forgive me for leaving so quickly?”

She smiled. “Only on condition that you tell me how it turned out.”

“I'd love to,” Naghûl promised. “You'll have to be our guest and listen to Morânia's truthful version and my flowery one.” He grinned and winked playfully at her.

“I accept your invitation,” Grace said with a laugh.

“I'm delighted!” the tiefling replied. “And I'm sure I can speak for Morânia here too. But now please excuse me, I still have to upset an apple cart.”

“I'm afraid so,” said the succubus, now a little more serious again. “I wish you and everyone else involved in this unpleasant story the Lady's Grace.”

Naghûl bowed low to her to express his gratitude once more. “The Lady's Grace and all the best, my friend.”

As he hurried to the exit of the brothel, thoughts raced through his head like a swarm of flies. He had to tell the others about his new suspicion immediately.

 

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played May 5, 2013