The Silver Sphinx

"I will never abandon a companion,

though I will honor sacrifice freely given."

fifth tenet of the paladin code of Iomedae

 

 

Second Guild Day of Decadre, 126 HR

Sarin made his way to the Basilica of Iomedae on foot. Of course, he could have flown there on the back of his faithful griffon Silverfeather, but somehow that seemed inappropriate. He was not coming to the realm of his goddess as one of Iomedae's most respected paladins, as he had done in the past, but as someone who had a confession to make. As someone who was guilty of misconduct. So he had asked Silverfeather to wait for him at the portal that had brought them here from Melodia, and had continued on foot and alone. It was about a two-hour walk to the cathedral where his goddess had her seat and from where she watched over her realm. Of course, she was not to be found there herself. Like all deities, she rarely showed herself to her followers. The basilica was inhabited by numerous priests and paladins, as well as many angels who acted as Iomedae’s representatives and watched over her realm. On the way there, Sarin tried to settle his thoughts and calm his churning emotions. Since it had become clear a few days ago that the shadow on his soul had unexpected consequences, nothing was the same anymore. He had hesitated too long to face the conversation with his church. So now he wandered the plains of Arcadia surrounding Iomedae's Basilica with mixed feelings.

The Arcadian landscape seemed orderly as always, without being rigid. Gentle hills gave way to wide fields, crisscrossed by neatly paved paths that never weathered. Trees grew at regular intervals, their crowns dense and healthy, as if they had quietly agreed on their places. The animals he observed along the way moved without haste: deer with light coats, their antlers looking like polished ivory, birds with clear calls, their feathers shimmering golden in the sun. In the distance, bright streams flowed through the landscape, their banks free of mud, their current steady, as if they knew exactly where they had to flow. Everything here followed a rhythm that seemed completely harmonious and perfect. Everything seemed to be in the right place, not by chance, but not forced either. Along the way stood tall stone steles carved with swords in front of a sun - Iomedae's holy symbol. Sarin walked slowly, now turning his gaze from the heavenly landscape to the paved path he was following. The two scimitars at his side, Aurum and Argentum, felt familiar and yet strange.

If I lose my sword, I have lost a tool. If I betray my heart, I have died. That was what he had been taught. Sarin wondered if his blades weighed heavier than usual or if it was just his own heart that had changed. I will never abandon a companion. That, too, was one of Iomedae's tenets. And he hadn't; he hadn't abandoned those imprisoned in Broken Reach, hadn’t left them to their fate. In many ways, he had followed the code. But Arcadia demanded not only right actions. It also demanded right paths, and in this question, his church often agreed with its home plane. He remembered the meeting in the Great Gymnasium, the knowledge that he was crossing a line and the conscious decision to do it anyway.

I will be temperate in my actions and moderate in my behavior. Thus he had sworn when he had become a paladin of Iomedae. Temperate. Moderate. Emulating Iomedae's perfection. He had told himself that it was a sacrifice he had made to save others. But a nagging voice whispered whether it had been a sacrifice or a transgression when he had made that decision without involving his church. The landscape around him remained quiet. Even the birds fell silent for a moment, as if to make it clear that Arcadia would not answer that question for him.

I will suffer death before dishonor. The thought of this tenet hit him unexpectedly hard. Was it dishonor, the kiss, the shadow that now lay on his soul? Had it been pride to believe he could touch evil without being tainted? He had believed he was strong enough to handle this matter alone. And now he wondered if that had been his mistake. As he approached the Halls of Iomedae, he sensed clearly that today they were not a place of refuge, but a place of trial and judgment. Sarin straightened himself. If he was to be judged, then without excuses. The basilica now rose before him, as large as the halls of Sigil's faction headquarters, built of white stone, every line clear and meaningful. Several towers rose to equal heights, not to conquer the sky, but to meet it. They were adorned with banners in red and white, framed in gold. Above the main portal was not a magnificent relief, but a simple depiction of a downward-pointing sword in front of a sun.

The guards at the gate greeted him respectfully and let him enter without hesitation. There was no reason to act otherwise. He was a regular here, one of Iomedae's most famous and respected paladins, and for several years now, also the factol of the Harmonium. The guards could not have known why he was visiting the home of their goddess today. Inside, the room opened up into a wide nave with a high, vaulted ceiling, supported by slender columns that seemed to bear the weight effortlessly. Light streamed through tall stained-glass windows, the panes artfully painted with the symbol of Iomedae. The light-colored stone floor was smooth from the footsteps of countless worshippers, and alongside a faint scent of incense, there was a metallic aroma, like that of steel armor and freshly polished swords. In the choir of the central aisle stood the altar, solid, unpretentious and adamant, and on either side was a statue of Iomedae, little more than human size, not exaggeratedly elevated. The goddess did not hold her sword aloft, but with the tip pointing down, both hands on the hilt. Her gaze was calm, vigilant, not reproachful, but not soft or gentle either.

As Sarin crossed the cathedral’s threshold, the sound of his footsteps changed. The light fell brightly through the upper windows and seemed to hold him for a heartbeat, as if to check whether he still belonged here. Whether he was still worthy. Sarin stopped and looked around. He was not alone. As always, several priests, paladins and even angels were gathered in the basilica. Some of the holy warriors guarded the entrance, while further back, two priestesses prepared for a mass. In one of the side aisles, three devas stood by a shrine to Lymirin, a proxy of Iomedae, engaged in quiet conversation. None of this was unusual; Iomedae's Basilica was almost never empty. And yet, on this day, the presence of mortals and celestials seemed to Sarin like an audience at a court hearing. He would have given anything to be just a spectator himself. But he knew he was the defendant, and nothing could change that.

So he took a deep breath and approached the altar. There were already two angels standing there whom he knew well: Arakiel and Karasiel, two proxies of the goddess who acted on her direct orders and watched over her realm and the basilica. Arakiel, with black hair, sapphire-blue eyes and red and white feathered wings, stood almost motionless, his hands folded calmly in front of his body. His gaze was fixed on Sarin as he approached, not hostile, but serious and scrutinizing. Next to him stood Karasiel with long, golden hair, silver eyes and white wings whose feathers looked as if dipped in gold dust. Her posture was less stern, her expression more difficult to read. There was something in it that Sarin would have called regret, if he dared to. The last few steps were difficult, but eventually he reached the altar, where the two angels were waiting for him. He bowed low in salutation, but said nothing, waiting to be addressed.

“Sarin, Factol of the Harmonium, paladin of Iomedae.” There was a certain aloofness in Arakiel's voice. “You have asked for an audience.”

Sarin inclined his head. “That is correct.” All the celestials, priests and paladins present now turned their attention to him, and he felt their gazes like a weight on his shoulders.

“You stand here as someone who knows he has to account for his deeds,” Karasiel said calmly.

Sarin took a deep breath. Of course they knew why he had come. “I do.”

The soft rustling of feathered wings filled the room, barely audible. Then there was complete silence.

“So speak,” Arakiel said. “Explain yourself and your actions before your goddess.”

Sarin looked up at one of the statues of Iomedae behind the angels. There she stood, sword in hand, her marble eyes not unfriendly, but serious. Perhaps it was only at that moment that he finally understood that there was no other option but to report everything that had happened and to await and accept the verdict. So he recounted, without embellishment or glossing over, the capture of Lereia, Garush and Yelmalis by Red Shroud, the succubus’ threat to kill the three of them, and her demand for the kiss. He described his decision to comply with this demand as a conscious one of his own free will. He told of the security measures he and Terrance had taken, of the journey to the Opal Tears Palace and finally of the kiss itself and the ensuing battle. It was not easy to say all this out loud in front of all the faithful, the angels and his goddess. But he managed to keep his voice reasonably firm and calm until the end. Only when he described the moment of the kiss did he have to pause briefly and start over. He was also unable to look Arakiel and Karasiel in the eye at this point. Since he had to mention the sword Hope in connection with the Chosen’s mission in the Abyss, Sarin also reported on the Prophecy, the Three Swords, the prevented assassination attempt on Juliana and his time jump with Yelmalis. As secret as he kept the matter in Sigil, he could not withhold it from the proxies of his goddess.

When he finally finished, a heavy silence fell over the spacious halls of the basilica. Arakiel's expression remained impassive, but his sapphire-blue eyes grew colder and his wings stretched slightly, almost imperceptibly, like a hand ready to draw a sword. Karasiel lowered her gaze briefly, as if she needed to process what she had heard, not in terms of its content, but in terms of its significance.

Then Arakiel raised his voice. “So you stand before us to explain that you - a paladin of Iomedae - kissed a succubus? And we're not talking about just any demoness, no. We are talking about Red Shroud, Mistress of Broken Reach, who probably already holds the rank of demon princess!“

The angel's words hurt in their clarity, and Sarin closed his eyes briefly before answering. ”Yes. That’s true.“

”Furthermore you accepted the assistance of a notorious heretic in this matter.“ Surprisingly, the fact that Arakiel did not even mention Terrance by name gave Sarin another pang. ”You trusted him when you should have turned to your church. And all this without first asking our permission or even our advice? How do you dare to take such liberties? Because you feared we would forbid you this madness?”

It hurt that Arakiel summed up Sarin's reasons so clearly. But there was no room for excuses or even untruths here, so the paladin nodded slowly.

“And for good reason we would have interfered!” Arakiel replied harshly. “What you have done was a violation of your oath and Iomedae’s tenets!”

“As I already explained ...” Sarin began, but the angel cut him short.

“As you already explained, this is about a dubious prophecy, an even more dubious machine and also about Archbishop Juliana, for whose life you have given a kind of pledge in the future with the help of a wizard and chronomancer you didn’t even know until then! Do you actually hear yourself talking, Sarin? You sound as if you have forgotten all your principles. Sigil may distort many things, but no one is forcing you to do the same.“

”Nothing could be further from my mind than distorting my principles,“ Sarin assured. ”But the Prophecy is a matter of the utmost importance!”

Arakiel narrowed his sapphire-blue eyes and his voice grew sharper. “No office, no title and no obligation exempts you from obedience to the Church of Iomedae. No matter what, you have no right to such defiance! You are factol in Sigil - but here, you are only one thing: responsible to your goddess.”

Sarin felt the faithful and angels’ gazes on him like weights of lead and he closed his eyes. “I know ...” he answered in a low voice.

“You say you know, but your actions say otherwise,” Arakiel replied ungraciously. “I was not enthusiastic about you becoming factol back then. I said this office would corrupt you. And I was right.“

Sarin looked up again. ”With all due respect, but ...“

”But you want to say I'm wrong?“

”I want to say ...“ Sarin took a deep breath before answering. He knew his next words were presumptuous, but he simply couldn't let Arakiel's remark pass without comment. ”Arcadia is a paradise. Being a saint in paradise isn't that difficult. In the streets of Sigil, on the other hand, it is much more challenging. If I may humbly interject.“

Karasiel had been watching the proceedings in silence and smiled now a little.

Of course, Arakiel noticed. ”Your leniency does not attenuate the severeness of the incident,” he stated coolly.

“I am not excusing his transgression,” Karasiel replied seriously. “But there is truth in his words. A factol acts under different constraints than a paladin here in Arcadia. And five years ago, we considered it beneficial that a paladin of Iomedae leads the Harmonium.”

“I didn't,” Arakiel disagreed.

Karasiel sighed. “With few exceptions ...”

The dark-haired angel now turned back to Sarin. “Back to you. The incident with the kiss was not the only one. There's also the matter with Nemausus. We lost an entire layer!”

Sarin had expected many things, but not this accusation. Taken aback, he looked at the angel. “But … you can't blame me for that. I wasn't factol back then, Delazar was. I lost almost everything because I dared to interfere.”

“I'm not saying you're to blame for the drift. But I do blame you for not yet bringing the layer back.“

”What? But ...“ Sarin was at a loss for words and fell silent.

”That's a bit far-fetched, in my opinion,” Karasiel interjected. “Not every fault one inherits is a personal failure. But I agree that this does not absolve Sarin of responsibility for the future.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” replied Arakiel, his icy gaze still fixed on Sarin. “I think we've had trouble with you ever since you came here from Ortho. It started with you taking Faith, one of the most promising young priestesses in our realm, away from here to that den of iniquity you now call home. And then you took her to that spectacle with Red Shroud. The fact that she, a high priestess of Iomedae, did not stop you is no sign of your church's approval!“

Arakiel's mention of Faith's presence during the kiss gave Sarin a pang of conscience. ”Faith was there as my wife, and only as my wife!” he replied, more vehemently than was appropriate in his situation. “Not as a high priestess or in the name of our church!” He was aware of his tone, but he wanted to make it unmistakably clear that he was on trial here, and he alone.

“We are sure of that,” Karasiel replied soothingly. “Don't worry: this is only about you. Faith is not being accused of anything, although we may still ask her a few questions about this matter.”

Sarin knew that Faith had made her own decisions. She always had. She had consciously chosen to enter this gray area together with him. And yet he felt guilty. But Karasiel's words relieved him. Amidst all the allegations levelled against him and all the guilt and despair he felt, this was a small ray of hope.

Arakiel's voice, however, quickly brought him back to the harsh reality of the accusations he faced. “But as for you, Sarin: your deviations did not begin with that kiss. They began when you made Sigil your home. In light of all this, the way you are approaching us is not only inappropriate, but also disrespectful.”

Sarin closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. The angel was right. He was a paladin of Iomedae and had deliberately crossed sacred boundaries without asking his church for permission or even advice. In that regard, he had failed, and there was no way to sugarcoat it. Slowly, he got down on his knees before the altar. “I ask for forgiveness.”

 

 

Arakiel crossed his arms. “Your kneeling is appropriate. But do not think that I mistake it for humility. Your knees may touch the ground, but your spirit should be bowed even lower. Less pride would suit you well. You are not a factol of Sigil here, but a paladin in the presence of his goddess. And while we're on the subject, I wonder whom you serve more, the Lady of Pain or Iomedae. I don't even want to know what you are doing once a year during this ritual on the Day of Pain. No, to be honest, I do want to know. Tell us! Here and now.”

Arakiel's demand was so extreme, so beyond anything imaginable, that it took Sarin's breath away. What was this? A trap? A test? But it didn't matter, because above all else, it was impossible. “I ... I can't,” he finally managed to answer. “You know I can't do that! The Lady forbids it!”

“I don't care what the Lady forbids,” Arakiel replied harshly. “As Iomedae's direct representative, I command it in the name of your goddess!”

Sarin remembered the oath he had sworn as a factol. Not before an altar, but in the Great Auditorium of the Barracks. Unpretentious, but binding and irrevocable. Not a divine oath, but a secular one. He had sworn to serve Sigil. Not to rule it, that was the Lady's privilege. To protect and preserve it. And part of that oath was obedience to the Lady of Pain, not as a form of worship, but in recognition of Her role. If he broke that oath, he would no longer be a factol. Not in name, but above all, not in spirit. And he knew that nothing, absolutely nothing, stood above his oath to Sigil and the Lady. Not even the one to his goddess. He had accepted that at the time, hoping that this line would never become so thin that he would have to choose sides. But now he had to – and Sarin had chosen. Within seconds. It stung when he realized how quickly and clearly the decision had been made. The second twinge, somewhat delayed, was caused by a harsh and bitter awareness: he knew full well that no understanding or mercy could be expected from the Lady. From Iomedae, on the other hand, he had hoped for it. And yet he had been confronted with this decision.

Sarin's voice grew lower; he knew he was passing judgement on himself. “I ... cannot.”

Arakiel's gaze darkened. “You are a paladin. Your oath is first and foremost to your goddess. Speak!”

“Yes, I am a paladin of Iomedae. But I am also a factol of Sigil.” Sarin looked up and held the angel’s gaze. “I cannot break my oath to the Lady in order to fulfill my oath to my goddess.”

“You are placing a secular oath on a par with a divine one,” Arakiel replied harshly. “You are putting the word of the Lady before Iomedae’s. That tells me all I need to know.”

Sarin made one last attempt. “But it's not ...”

“Silence!” Arakiel commanded. “You are standing here before your goddess, and you are guilty of more than a single transgression. The faction you are leading for years now is responsible for the loss of our third layer, and you have not brought it back to Arcadia. You kissed a demoness and thus tainted your soul with chaos and evil without asking your church for permission. And last but not least, you have just publicly demonstrated that you are more obedient to a highly suspicious, god-murdering entity from a sin-laden city than to your own goddess. This is not a misstep, Sarin. This is a pattern.” His voice did not grow louder, but his tone became sharper. “You are not worthy of being a paladin. You are not worthy of entering these halls. You are not even worth spitting on.”

His words hit Sarin like a blow. Every single sentence was like a stab, but the last one pierced him right to the heart. He lowered his gaze and stared at the light-colored stone floor on which he was kneeling. You are not even worth spitting on. Words so devastating that they sounded almost unreal in his ears. The blood rushed to his cheeks as shame and humiliation spread through him like fire. After the angel's last sentence, a deep silence fell over the hall for a moment. Then Sarin heard Karasiel slowly unfolding her wings. He couldn't see it because he was still staring at the floor, but he heard the rustling of her feathers.

Her voice remained calm, but there was tension in it. “Arakiel,” she said seriously. “We allow Sarin to speak here, not to break him, but to judge him. Under no circumstances should we take away his dignity.”

“Don’t worry, I am done,” Arakiel stated. “I have said what I had to say. I now give you the floor, so that you may perhaps pass a more lenient judgement.”

Karasiel stepped forward a little, took Sarin by the chin and lifted his bowed head. It took a while for his gaze to follow, to look her in the eye, as Arakiel's words still burned like fire on his soul. Karasiel examined him for a moment, then released his chin and he immediately lowered his head again.

“What brings you before us,” she stated seriously, “is not the kiss itself. It is the assumption that you had the right to choose it. You knew it was wrong to make that decision all by yourself. And you did it anyway. Not out of weakness, but out of conviction. You chose to touch evil because you believed you were strong enough to bear the consequences.”

There it was. She was expressing the very thoughts that had crossed his mind when he had entered the basilica. And that hurt even more than Arakiel's words. That, and the fact that she did not portray him as a victim of circumstance, not as someone who had been seduced or misled, but as a man with free will who had made a conscious decision, acted intentionally and now had to bear the consequences.

She stepped back next to Arakiel. “I understand your motives. But purity of intention does not make an act pure. Iomedae's tenets do not exist for times when it is easy to follow them.“ A brief, thoughtful silence ensued before she continued. ”Part of you still believes that you did the right thing.“

”I ...” He began, but then paused, not confirming it, but not denying it either. Because that would have been a lie.

“You deliberately crossed a line,” Arakiel explained. “A sacred line, never to be crossed. You can guess what the verdict will be ...”

Sarin nodded, still kneeling, still silent. On the way to the basilica, he had pushed the thought aside, simply hoping that it would not come to that. But it would ...

“Sarin, we hereby revoke the grace of your goddess,” Arakiel announced. His voice was now less forceful, but even colder and more unforgiving, which hurt all the more. “From this day forward, you are no longer a paladin, and none of the abilities and blessings that come with it are yours anymore. Because of your actions, you are now outcast and fallen.”

Sarin lowered his head even deeper at these words. He felt something break inside him, and yet it happened without pain. It was like a wound that didn't hurt during battle, but he knew that the pain would be all the more intense later.

But Arakiel was not finished. “Some paladins fall out of weakness. A paladin who touches evil in order to use it falls out of conviction. You believed you could allow closeness without risking attachment. You believed you could take a tool of chaos and wield it by your own power. That was not seduction from without. That was your own high-handedness. You did not believe you would be tainted. You believed you were untouchable. And you have revealed that this conviction extends beyond a single act. You put an oath sworn to a nameless power in a sin-soaked city before your oath to your goddess. You refuse obedience to Iomedae - not out of weakness, not because you were deceived, but as a matter of principle. And that is where your fall begins. Be well aware of this. For those who do not understand when they have fallen will not rise again. And those who declare their disobedience to be a duty have long since lost their footing.”

There was truth in at least part of these words, and Sarin could not deny it. Yes, his actions themselves had been right, he was sure of that. But not the way he had carried them out.

When Karasiel spoke, her voice was calm, not comforting, but earnestly caring. “You believed you were sacrificing yourself. But you made yourself a tool. And those who become tools no longer decide what they are used for. You wanted to save lives. But you allowed yourself to become part of a game whose rules were not your own. And as Arakiel said: It did not happen because you were weak, but because you believed you were strong enough to remain untarnished. That is the point where your faith turned into pride. And you defend another decision to disobey by invoking a second oath. Not because you think little of your goddess. But because you believe loyalty can be shared without being betrayed.”

Sarin remained on his knees, lowering his head a little more. He did not answer immediately. Thoughts that had been looming for some time now took shape in his mind: He had known that closeness creates bonds, even in hatred. He had known that a kiss was more than the price of a bargain. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual, but firm. “Yes, I believed that I could protect myself sufficiently against the consequences of my actions. And I believed that my goal justified my transgression.“ He did not look up, but his shoulders slumped slightly as he acknowledged the weight of his responsibility. ”Part of me knew it was wrong to make this decision alone. I would like to say I had no choice. But I had. I just didn't make it.”

Arakiel let a moment pass. When he replied, his voice was devoid of emotion. “Then it was not a mistake, Sarin. Then it was conscious disobedience.”

It happened without warning. Arakiel's last syllable had barely faded away when Sarin sensed it. Not as pain, not as a message of anger. It felt like the coldness that arises when something familiar is suddenly missing. Something that had always been there. For decades, Iomedae's presence had accompanied him, lifting him up whenever doubt had tried to bring him down. Now there was silence within him. It was as if someone had locked a room that Sarin had not even been aware he had been constantly entering. The air in the basilica was as pure and clear as ever, but for the first time it felt strange as he inhaled it. He looked down at his hands. To his surprise, they were not trembling. But slowly and relentlessly, the certainty spread within him that he now stood alone. Cast out. And in this quiet emptiness, he understood that the price of his transgressions was not anger, but silence.

Then Karasiel spoke again, more gently this time. “We see the circumstances that were responsible for your actions. We understand that you acted under constraints that were difficult for you to escape. Although we cannot let your transgressions go unpunished, we would be doing you injustice if we abandoned you without a chance for redemption. And that injustice would outweigh your mistakes. Therefore, we give you the opportunity to redeem yourself in the eyes of your goddess and regain her favor. Complete three tasks, and you will be readmitted into the ranks of Iomedae’s chosen warriors: Find a way to erase Red Shroud's defilement from your soul. Unite the Regalia of Good in the realm of your goddess, in her honor. Let the gate town of Fortitude ascend to Arcadia, as at least some compensation for the loss of Nemausus.”

Sarin could hardly believe his ears. Karasiel’s words seemed as unreal as the loss of Iomedae’s grace. He looked up, his eyes filled with disbelief and bewilderment. “You are asking ...”

Karasiel smiled. “The impossible? Only if you don't do it. You are not leaving as a paladin. You are leaving as someone who knows what he has lost. But I will not send you away completely empty-handed.” She leaned forward and placed a hand on his forehead. It was not a ritual, just a brief gesture, and yet there was something comforting about it. “Receive my blessing. It is not the grace of our goddess, but better than nothing.”

Sarin felt a brief warmth, and something inside him seemed to tighten to keep him upright. The blessing was not a substitute for the presence of his goddess, but rather a reminder of it. It would give him any of the abilities Iomedae had granted him, he knew that much. But it would suffice to hide from fleeting glances that he was no longer in the grace of his goddess. And with every step he took, it would remind him of what he was missing ... So there was pain in this gift, but pain was all too familiar to him by now. He understood what Karasiel had given him: not comfort, nor absolution, but a reprieve. Time to prove himself or fail. Sarin rose slowly and bowed low. No further words were spoken, no one stopped him as he turned away and left the Basilica. As he left it, not knowing if he would ever return.

 

Sarin walked away from the huge cathedral, looking back not even once. Only when he turned the corner of a hill that blocked his view of the Basilica did he stop. Slowly, he sat down between the roots of a tall golden beech tree and let his gaze wander over the vast landscape of Arcadia. He tried to settle his thoughts, to realize what had happened. The way back to Melodia was the same, but he, Sarin, was not. He felt Iomedae's absence more keenly than before. He had long forgotten what it felt like to be without this blessing. It was punishment and pain, and both were just beginning to sink in. Karasiel's blessing, on the other hand, was there. He knew it, even if he couldn't name it. But it felt like a frame without a picture in it. An empty frame on a wall was a clearer reminder of a picture’s absence than a bare wall would be. He could not yet fathom what this might mean for his future, but he would certainly find out soon enough. At that moment, he simply felt numb and empty. What had happened was still too unreal to comprehend. He knew that real feelings would surface later. From dismay to anger and grief to guilt. But at the moment, he felt nothing. He thought of Sigil, a city that knew no gods and yet endured. Sigil had its own order, and while it was far from perfect, it worked, and he was still part of it. He was no longer a paladin. But he was still a factol. He was still the guardian of a city that stood between all the poles of the multiverse. After a while, he got up to return to Melodia and from there to Sigil. Right now, Arcadia had nothing more to say or give to him. The City of Doors was louder, dirtier, more contradictory. But it was the place where his oath endured.

 

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This is the last chapter of “The Fall”, the fourth adventure that I played with my group as part of our “Shadows over Sigil” campaign, from January 4 to May 28, 2013.

The fifth part is “Doors to the Unknown”.