SIGIL

Sigil is located above the tall Spire at the center of the Outlands.[21] It has the shape of a torus;[21][22] the city itself is located on the inner surface of the ring. There is no sky, simply an all-pervasive light that waxes and wanes to create day and night. Sigil cannot be entered or exited save via portals; although this makes it quite safe from any would-be invader, it also makes it a prison of sorts for those not possessing a portal key. Thus, sometimes Sigil is called "The Cage".[23] Though Sigil is pseudo-geographically located "at the center of the planes" (where it is positioned atop the infinitely tall Spire), scholars argue that this is impossible since the planes are infinite in all dimensions, and therefore there can never truly be a center to any or all of them; thus, Sigil is of no special importance. Curiously, from the Outlands one can see Sigil atop the supposedly infinite Spire.

Sigil contains innumerable portals that can lead to anywhere in the Dungeons & Dragons cosmology:[24] any bounded opening (a doorway, an arch, a barrel hoop, a picture frame) could possibly be a portal to another plane, or to another point in Sigil itself. Thus, the city is a paradox: it touches all planes at once, yet ultimately belongs to none; from these characteristics it draws its other name: "The City of Doors".[10]

Sigil is ruled by the Lady of Pain.[21][25] Sigil is also highly morphic, allowing its leader to alter the city at her whim.[26]

Theoretically, Sigil is a completely neutral ground: no wars are waged there and no armies pass through. Furthermore, no powers (such as deities) are allowed to enter the city[21][27] (though some have broken this rule).

Powerful & Mighty

And that's just the point: Everybody comes to Sigil — the good and the evil, those warring and those at peace, the just and the cruel - everybody. Nobody forgets their loves or hatreds here, but for a few moments they barely manage to set them aside. A deva really might share a drink with a fiend, even if each is watching the other for signs of treachery. Nobody trusts their enemies, but all are forced to trust the laws of the Lady of Pain.

Maybe it's a lie, though, that everyone comes to Sigil, because there's one important group that can't: the deific powers of the planes. There's something about Sigil that shuts them out, locks the doors, and keeps them away. 'Course, the gods aren't used to having their powers denied, and that frustrates them to no end. Indeed, the mere fact that Sigil refuses their will makes them hunger for it all the more. Any Sensate'll confirm that desire is greatest for that which is denied.

That's why the powers' proxies and priests come to the City of Doors, instructed and eager to subvert Sigil's resistance from the inside. In the Cage's back alleys and shadowed dives, they play out the endless pairings of the kriegstanz, the undeclared war for the soul of Sigil. There's more players in this game than a sod can count, and the sides shift like quicksilver on glass. Today, the priests of Thor may throw in with the factol of the Godsmen to defeat the agents of Primus; tomorrow, those priests might find themselves hunted by the factols of the Godsmen and the Harmonium. The sides flow like slippery beads, one to another, as the balance changes ever so slightly.

The Lady of Pain

The Lady, Her Serenity, the most high-up of all of Sigil’s bloods, is a mystery wrapped in an enigma. She never speaks, yet her will is plain to the dabus without a sound. What is the meaning of Our Lady’s dread silence? No one knows. Her servitors, the dabus, don’t utter a sound either, but their images speak for them. The strange symbiosis between the dabus and the Lady has been commented on by more than one graybeard, but few are willing to go the next step and suggest that perhaps the Lady is one of the dabus, perhaps their queen, or even their (whisper it) goddess. There’s no evidence for it, yet it seems plausible.

The Lady of Pain has been the ruler of Sigil as long as living and written memory tells us. Tales of only a few events of her long life have survived the passing of years, and those events are all tied to the city that cages her. The full details of the secret history and intrigues of the Lady are best left unexplored; her compassion for her chroniclers has never been very profound. Her destruction of her enemies has always been swift and merciless

The Lady has a very long history of defending herself and her city, using the mazes as the ultimate defense. But Our Lady has not always bad access to the mazes, for she once cast pretenders to the Throne of Blades into Agathion, the third layer of Pandemonium. As recounted in the oldest known legend of the Lady, 10,000 years ago Shekelor - then the greatest mage in the city of Sigil - sought to increase his already formidable power. The tale tells that like many others, he wanted to seize the Lady’s throne, but unlike others, he was cautious and wary, for many had failed before him. He sought an almost successful usurper entrapped in Pandemonium, but in the end the plane’s dangers destroyed him, and he died burning from within before a crowd in the City Courts. What’s most interesting about the tale is how it hints that the Lady hasn’t always had the power to create Mazes, which in turn implies that the power could be taken away from her. How that might be done, though, is darker than the bottom of the Abyss.

The most recent troublemakers in Sigil were members of the faction called the Expansionists, who were destroyed when their leader was cast out into one of the Ladv’s Mazes. Vartus Timlin was the facto1 of the Expansioists, and his great influence was made even more so by a powerful sword names Lightbringer. However, when he began speaking openly of seizing power, deposing the Lady of Pain, and making himself the Cage’s center of control, both he and his blade were cast into one of the Mazes.

[Chant also has it that the Lady’s hand is behind the destruction of the Shattered Temple (which now serves as the headquarters of the Athar, also called the Lost), because its worshipers began offering sacrifices to her as an aspect of Aoskar. Since none of those present at the destruction of the Temple survived, the story’s pure conjecture at best, but it matches her present behavior.

[Little else is known about the Lady’s origins or history, but a few of her behaviors follow a pattern. The Lady never speaks. Some say that she just doesn’t waste her time talking to those who aren’t her equals - and any equals would be cast into a Maze.

The statistical indexes and compilations of the Guvners have also established the fact that when the dabus are disturbed, the Lady’s mind is troubled. How the dabus know, however, is a question that brings useful answer from the mute dabus.

THE DABUS

The dabus are both servants and lords of Sigil. They're unique to the Cage, never found anywhere else in the planes. In other words, the dabus never leave Sigil. From this, bloods figure the dabus are actually living manifestations of the city, which makes sense since the beings maintain most of the infrastructure that makes the city work.

Most of the time the dabus are found repairing what's broken in Sigil. They keep the sewers and catacombs beneath the streets from crumbling, they cut back the razorvine when it grows too rampant, they patch the cobblestone streets, and they repair the crumbling facades of the city's buildings. To most, the dabus are nothing more than cryptic workmen.

However, some berks discover another side of their duties, because the dabus also work as agents of the Lady of Pain. Sometimes they appear to punish those knights who've gotten too forward in their plans, and sometimes they arrive in force to put down riots, but they're not concerned with normal crime. It's the factions that are left to deal with the thieves and murderers in Sigil. The dabus only show up when there's a threat to their Lady, and that's usually a sign that another one of the Mazes is about to appear.

The Athar

Depending upon who a body asks, the Lost are either loyal supporters of the Lady or vile spies. They've got no official position in Sigil, but they figure it's their job to watch the doings of the various priests in the city. Anytime some yapping cleric starts to become too powerful, the Athar'U act. Sometimes they spread rumors to bring the priest down a bit, other times they strike more directly. In an odd way, the Athar and Godsmen often work together.

Believers of the Source

Like the Athar, the Godsmen don't have authorized jobs in the government. From the Great Foundry, they take it upon themselves to be the peace keepers of Sigil. After all, everyone could become divine, and it would be a shame to put a potential power in the dead-book before it reaches its destiny. They consider their sacred duty to keep the peace between warring faiths (and they'll use swords to do it if they must). At least until a sod proves to a Godsman that he's no power in the making, he can expect a fair shake from the believers.

The Bleak Cabal

For a group with such a miserable outlook on life, the Bleakers are the most charitable faction in Sigil. These cutters have taken it upon themselves to run an almshouse for the sick and insane. Not that it's a great place - the Bleakers have some pretty strange ideas about treatment — but at least a sod can get a hot meal and a bed from them.

The Doomguard

This faction controls the City Armory, and with good reason: As far as they can see, there's no better symbol of decay than weapons of destruction and death. It makes sense, too, because by controlling the Armory they're also keeping the tools of order out of the hands of their rivals in the Harmonium. 'Course, no other faction's going to let these bloods police the city, anyway - a gang devoted to entropy ain't exactly going to promote law and order.

The Dustmen

The Dead have a job that suits them well, and one that nobody else is keen on anyway. In the Mortuary, they're the ones who dispose of Sigil's deceased. The Cage doesn't have space for graveyards or crypts, so the bodies of her citizens get dispatched to other planes. These portals lead directly to mortuaries and other places of death on each plane, and those on the other side are expecting nothing but dead bodies to come through, so those cutters who somehow manage to sneak through any of these doors are in for a nasty bit when they pass through. The Dustmen handle all this work, and for the most part nobody minds. Then again, there's always the suspicion that the faction's keeping a few back and reviving them for its own purposes. . . .

The Fated

The Takers handle the most hated and needed task in the city: They control the Hall of Records — a vital piece of city administration. They record property deeds, births, and deaths (when some sod bothers to notify them). This isn't what makes them hated though. They're also the tax collectors, a job nobody thanks them for. With their "I got it, you don't" attitude, the Takers are perfect for the job. Now, having all this jink could be trouble for the other factions, so they all keep the balance by trying to pay as little as possible. If things get too bad, any faction can always appeal to the Guvners - their control of the courts gives them the means to keep the Fated's greed under control, and the rest paying their taxes.

The Fraternity of Order

The Guvners are a natural to act as judges and advocates. They believe in laws and don't like breaking them. The Guvners run the city courts, from the small ward courts to the High Court of the city. They also make the best advocates for pleading cases, so either way their faction tends to win, which keeps it fair. Their absolute belief in Law makes them chillingly legalistic. Still, the Xaositects and Harmonium are both happy the Guvners don't get the power to create laws, only enforce them.

The Free League

Buying and selling is what keeps Sigil alive, and the Indeps are there to make sure there's always good trade in the city's markets. Their job's not official, but these cutters still make sure that every small merchant's getting a fair chance. They don't like the high-up guilds fixing prices, strangling competition, peeling their partners, or hiring bashers to beat up rivals. Since they don't have an official rank, the Indeps use criers, rumors, and "friendly advice" to keep the markets more-or-less honest. If they must, they'll bring a case to the Guvners, but they don't like relying on others.

The Harmonium

The Hardheads, always sure their's is the only way, have muscled themselves into control of the City Barracks, which means the City Watch is theirs. Members of the faction take it upon themselves to arrest those they think are breaking the laws. Their hard-liner view of order means they're pretty eager to crush crime, but their laws and Sigil's laws don't always match, so they often arrest people who aren't really acting illegally. Fortunately, a sod arrested by the Harmonium's tried by the Guvners, who are strict about what's legal and what's not. With the Doomguard controlling the Armory, the real tools to run Sigil the Hardhead way are kept out of the Harmonium's hands. That suits everybody but them just fine.

The Mercykillers

The Red Death has a job which it performs with relish: punishment. Now, the Mercykillers'd much prefer to hunt down, try, and punish criminals themselves, but that's not something the other factions are too keen on. The faction is too rigid in its views, and telling a Mercykiller to pike it is just not an option. Still, they're well suited to the task of running the Prison and carrying out sentences. After all, what happens to a criminal who's been arrested, tried, and sentenced is only just, and who better to administer justice than the Mercykillers?

The Revolutionary League

The Anarchists don't have an official role and aren't even organized enough to have an unofficial one. Still, their belief in pulling down the system does have a twisted virtue in the works of the city: They're a haven for those who don't — indeed, can't — fit into the plan. Anarchists are proud of the fact their kind can be found anywhere, lurking in the streets as harmless-seeming clerks or wand-wielding wizards lending a hand to loners in trouble. These bloods keep Sigil alive and trying, or at least that's how they see it.

The Sign of One

The Signers' confidence that each berk's the center of his own universe makes them probably the only folks who can actually govern Sigil .. . as much as the Cage can be governed. They run the Hall of Speakers, where the high-ups meet to make the laws of the city, and they settle feuds, handle treaties, and do all the other legislative things that keep Sigil running. 'Course, the Signers aren't the only ones on the Council — every faction and power bloc's got representatives — but the Signers are the only ones who can preside over the sessions. Knowing every cutter's the center of things, the Signers make sure that everyone gets their say, and that's the only way to keep the sessions meeting. Other factions may not like the Signers, but they respect the faction's ability to keep city business on the table.

The Society of Sensation

The Sensates don't have an official role either, but every blood knows the city'd go mad without them. In their endless quest to experience everything, the Sensates make sure that there's plenty entertainments and diversions flowing through Sigil. Here's the dark that makes it important: What basher wants to be around when a lesser baatezu gets bored? Sound bad? Now multiply that disaster by tanar'ri, modron, tiefling, prime, bariaur, djinni, yugoloth, and more. Thanks to the Sensates, there should be something, somewhere in Sigil, that'll suit every taste. Pleasure is the balm that keeps Sigil from fevered rage.

The Transcendent Order

The most universally accepted of all the factions, the Ciphers are natural advisers. They want the perfect union of thought and action, and they embody the qualities that other factions lack. To the Guvners, the Ciphers are the compassion missing from the coldly legalistic courts. To the Harmonium they try to lend tolerance, to the Mercykillers they preach order, for the Xaositects they're the voice of stability, and so on. Their advice usually gets ignored, and some basher'll take a poke at a Cipher for his troubles, but that's the play of things and they're ready to deal with it.

The Xaositects

Chaosmen have no claim, no stake in the city. Too capricious for ruling, too uncontrolled to judge others, too free to follow orders, the Xaositects, from their hole at the center of the Hive, are the voices of the dispossessed. They don't just represent those poor sods who don't have anything - the Chaosmen become them. Security, warmth, sustenance, none of these things matter. The Chaosmen lurk on the edges of order, eager to pull down the case that's just been built. Along with the Anarchists, these wild addle-coves are part of what makes Sigil alive and constantly changing. Perversely, their attempts to tear everything down is part of what keeps the city constantly building.

Creatures & Denizens

Creatures of all kinds can be found in Sigil. Many of these appear as normal versions of commonly encountered animals, though more intelligent and with the ability to speak a form of Celestial. There are some unique creatures as well that travelers can encounter, many of which are hostile as a predator is hostile to prey in the wilderness.

Though most any breed of animal appears in Sigil sooner or later, very few can snatch a living from canny bashers -the animals must compete with the col- lectors, ragmen, and other human scavengers. Cranium rats have their own niche, roaches and the like do well, and the night-stalking, two-headed Aoskian hounds are found nowhere else. Cranium rats still bring a 3-gp bounty from the Office of Vermin Control. Aoskian hounds cost from 20 gp (weaned) to 150 gp (grown and trained). They were first bred by the followers of the god Aoskar. The power’s been destroyed and nearly forgotten, but the hounds are thriving.

Sigil’s only two native birds are a gray-green pigeon and a type of gray- bodied raven with black wings and head. The latter’s called the executioner’s raven because of its fondness for the easy meals found at the block, gallows, and stake. Some say that feasting on the flesh of fiends and the blood of slaadi accounts for these ravens’ enormous size. Certain of the largest birds are said to speak. Rumors of a flock of local wereravens have been neither con- firmed nor denied.

Aleax

The aleax is a physical manifestation of the vengeance enacted by a power. There is but one aleax for each deity; it is sent forth to punish and redeem those who stray from the dictates of their alignments, who fail to sacrifice sufficient treasure, or who otherwise anger the god. These creatures are created specifically to fulfill that stated purpose, so an aleax will never be met by chance.

The aleax usually appears in human or humanoid form and quite closely resembles its intended victim. In fact, the being is in all respects (except as noted elsewhere) an exact duplicate. The aleax has the same attribute scores, hit points, armor and Armor Class, weapons, magical items, spells, and so on. To the intended recipient of the deity's punishment, the aleax appears to be bathed in shimmering light that varies in color according to the god's specific alignment: golden for lawful-good aleaxi, vibrant green for lawful neutral, deep purple for lawful evil, bright yellow for neutral good, silver for true neutral, royal blue for neutral evil, ever-changing rose-and-blue for chaotic good, kaleidoscopic colors of all shades for chaotic neutral, and shifting scarlet and indigo for chaotic evil.

Bystanders, however, see the aleax as a nondescript individual of the same race as the target. When the aleax attacks, it seems to onlookers that the character has been assaulted by (or has attacked) a complete stranger. Those attempting to help the character quickly discover they cannot aid the object of divine wrath. Companions of the punished character can do little but stand helplessly by and wait for the outcome of the battle (see below).

Astral Searcher

Astral searchers are the bane of planar travelers in the silvery void. They are mindless shells of nebulous humanoid shape, created by concentrated or traumatized thoughts of prime-material characters in the Astral Plane. Violent death, destructive spells cast while on the Astral Plane, and astral combat often result in the creation of astral searchers. More often than not, the creator or source of the astral searcher isn't even aware of the results of his or her actions, and this creature comes into being without malice of forethought or other intent.

Driven by their past connection with material beings, astral searchers obsessively search for material bodies to possess. As they wander the Astral Plane, they seek weak points in the cosmic fabric that connects the Astral to the other planes, and they cluster at those points, waiting for the stress lines to become collinear so that they can pass into other worlds. Such "rips" in the planar tapestry exist naturally, but they also may be created at points where astral travelers enter and leave the Astral Plane, in which case they exist only temporarily (1 d6 rounds). Astral searchers also gather near the color pools that lead to the Prime Material and Outer Planes, but they are incapable of passing through them unless a planar being passes through before them.

Barghest

Of the various monsters that inhabit the rifts of the plane of Gehenna, the barghest is certainly the most common and one of the most fearsome. The barghest's natural shape is very much the same as that of a large goblin, and when dwelling among goblins, it generally retains that form.

While it appears to be a large goblin when it is a whelp, its skin darkens from yellow to a bluish-red as it grows larger and stronger, and eventually its skin turns an even blue at adulthood. The eyes of the monster glow orange when it is excited, but otherwise they are indistinguishable from those of a normal goblin.

A barghest is also able to assume at will the form of a large war dog or a wild dog. Hence, the creature has oftentimes been referred to as a "devil-dog," but this is a misnomer. The precise form taken can vary from creature to creature, but all forms are those of typical wild or war dogs, and it is almost impossible (95% unlikely) to tell one from its natural counterpart. However, natural dogs instantly recognize, fear, and hate a barghest, and they will attack it at any opportunity.

Cranium Rat

The following passage is taken from the dreams of Bilfar the Diviner, who believed that secrets fled their sleeping masters every night:

A small, crawling form itched into the back of my brain, and I dreamed of its words. My dreams had caught the secrets of one called the vishkar, and it said:

Fear me. Fear my coming. What others know of me is a mask that hides my true might. They think I am vermin, those rats whose brains pulsate with bilious light. They do not know I see through the thousand eyes of my body. My body lives among them, and they do not see me.

Upon waking I had the image of the cranium rat, commonly seen in the dark corners of pestilent villages, locked into my mind. But my dream was this creature, and yet it was not. Perhaps I will dream it again.

Indeed he did dream it again, but Bilfar never lived to publish his stolen secrets. A month after he penned these words, he was dead. Perhaps his dreams caught another, darker secret, for his servant found him one morning, bled dry from a hundred tiny wounds.'

Magman

Magmen are creatures of the Paraelemental Plane of Magma. They stand 3 feet tall and are glowing, humanoid creatures, much like fire-cloaked gnomes or goblins. Small puffs of flame constantly burst from their skin, as if they are perspiring kerosene that ignites when enough accumulates. Magmen radiate heat like small bonfires, rendering the area near them quite uncomfortable to most nonfire-loving creatures. Their faces are almost always twisted with malicious glee.

Minion of Set

Minions of Set are proxies of Set (of the Egyptian mythos). In their natural form, the minions appear to be warriors wielding broad swords and dressed in black, scaly plate mail armor. Sometimes they are mistaken for adventurers, since these are people they most closely resemble, yet they are far from human.

The minions of Set are endowed with the power to change into an animal. The second shape is most often that of a giant snake, but a few are able to assume the forms of cave bears, giant crocodiles, giant hyenas, or giant scorpions. The transformation is complete, including clothing and weapons, leaving no traces of their human guises behind.

Modron

What's a mortal to make of the modrons, those strange creatures of absolute order who whir and click on the plane of Mechanus? Theirs are not like other lives - even the infinitely subtle baatezu are more comprehensible than these thronging drones. To an outsider it appears the modrons have no existence other than as a whole. Indeed, there is a saying: "To look at one modron is to look at all of them."

It is only logical, as it is with all things modron, that they are native to the orderly plane of Mechanus. The two, plane and modrons, probably would not exist without each other — modron society defines the plane, just as the plane shapes them. To understand the modrons, a being must stop thinking like a person, like an individual. Only then can anyone hope to comprehend the patterns of modron life.

Nic'Epona

Nic'Epona, also known as Epona's daughters, are among a few creatures with the ability to move between the planes at will. They are, rumor says, direct descendants of the horse-goddess Epona, and they derive their power from her. They are the defenders of her realm, Tir na Og (on the Outlands), and they ride in massive wave s to overwhelm those who would threaten her.

The nic'Epona resemble ordinary horses almost exactly, although there is a sparkle of intelligence behind their eyes that belies the aspect of a common animal. They can appear in any color of the rainbow (stories are told of those whose color is beyond the deepest violet or above the brightest red), and they have an innate ability to change their coloration at will. Usually they adopt one color or color-pattern as their favorite, but they can change their hide to any hue as the mood takes them.

Spirit of the Air

Spirits of the air are minions of powers associated with wind and air - most of these deities are elemental in nature, but any god who can create and control the wind can create and control a spirit of the air. These creatures are fierce in their desires to obey and serve. They may be mere messengers or full-fledged proxies.

Spirits of the air appear to be large batlike creatures with black skin, large wings, clawed feet, and tusked monkey heads. They dress in resplendent, shimmering fabric that would put the finest silk or spider thread to shame. Their clothes are more colorful than the rainbow, in ever-shifting hues that are impossible to name. Their voices are melodiously sweet or gratingly harsh, but never are the same at once.

Spirits of the air are born white as the chills of winter, but each endless day under the sun loads their essences with the colors of the world. At night their colors wash away in the silver of the moon. The cleansing tickles their spirits until their laughter is heard wafting through the night. With the dawn their burdensome colors return like the sighs of the morning breeze.

Vortex

Is it alive? The answer is: who knows? It has no eyes, no mouth, no features that reveal a spirit. It shows few signs of intelligence or consciousness. The vortex only spins, bobbles, and weaves like a sublime dervish. Perhaps it dreams only of the endless gyrations of the worlds. Or perhaps it is only mindless energy.

Yugoloth, Lesser-

The marracnoloths are a special type of yugoloth. The thin, gray, pale-eyed humanoids are easily identified by their skeletal faces, somber hooded robes, and eyes that glow red when they are angry. They are a cold species, mercenary at heart, like all yugoloths. They are telepathic and, in addition to speaking all languages, maintain mental contact with others of their race at all times.

Making and Spending Money

A city can't survive unless it has things a body wants. Some places, like Ironridge (see page 37), have gold, gems, and ore. Others, like Xaos (page 50), are homes to famous artists. Curst (page 35) draws mercenaries and Ribcage (page 46) only creates pain, but every burg has something to offer.

Sigil's no different in that respect. The Cage has got its specialties, along with its secrets. 'Course, Sigil's not like every other town out there, either. For one thing, it's got no natural resources, unless a sod counts razorvine. Nobody comes to Sigil for its minerals, lumber, or produce. All these things come from elsewhere. The city's constantly importing even the most basic commodities: meat, grain, vegetables, fruit, wood, iron, and stone. To do that, Sigil's got to have something to sell.

Not surprisingly, it's the portals that keep the Cage from starvation. Sure, a cutter's free to travel through them without the slightest bit of garnish, but those portals go everywhere, and that means everywhere passes through the City of Doors sooner or later. Sigil's the one place that reaches the entire multiverse. Not only do bodies of all stripes pass through the streets - chasing business, pleasure, and adventure - but goods from everywhere go along for the ride. Looking for a job or a good time, or both? Looking for bronzewood from Oerth? Need fire wine from Toril? Want the feathers of a phoenix? Sure a cutter could wander out on the Great Ring and beyond, but it's a lot easier to pass through Sigil first.

So, the first business in Sigil is putting up the travelers. In another world and time it might be called tourism, but here it's just accommodating the travelers — and what an assortment they are! It's not just a matter of having the best inn — a landlord's got to specialize. Is he going to run a kip that caters to humans or Fiends? There's stable-inns for bariaur, fire-pits for efreet, the boisterous taverns favored by Arborean einheriar, and more. Everybody coming here expects to find the comforts of home, and smart landlords in Sigil ain't about to disappoint them.

All these folks lead to the second order of business in the Cage: trade. Everything from anywhere's got the potential to pass through Sigil, so it makes sense that there's merchants buying and selling it all right here. There's the Great Bazaar, where stallkeepers from a hundred worlds set up shop. There's backstreet merchants who'll get a blood anything - for the right jink. There's respectable and shady, too, and a cutter's got to be careful of what he buys. After all, there's a lot of cross-trading knights out there, waiting to bob and peel with false goods any basher they can.

With all the merchants to serve the travelers, other folks have set up shop here, too. Wizards in particular find Sigil's a good place to practice their trade. A lot of swag that's interesting to them, magical and nonmagical, passes through the Cage. Then there's mercenaries of all stripes, who come because the merchants need bodyguards, bill collectors, and damn fools willing to risk their necks bringing back a hordling's tusk. These folks breed more needs and services in turn, until the whole thing starts feeding on itself.

Sigil's got another unique property to offer folks from other planes besides its portals, and that's its location for making magic. Swords, armor, and the like that're made in Sigil lose fewer of their magical bonuses than things made on most other planes. A sword made here loses only one plus out on the Great Ring. Compare that to a perfect blade from Mechanus — on most other planes it'll lose at least two pluses. About the only other plane that's any better for making magic is the Astral, but that's overrun by githyanki. . . .

Sigil does a fair trade in the forging and selling of magical items, but that doesn't mean there's magic shops on every corner, hawking rows of potions, scrolls, and blades. Instead, there's a fair number of "collectors" who'll have a small shelf of minor magic made by craftsmen in the city. A cutter should be warned, though, that prices are high - he'll usually spend no less than 5,000 gp for each basic plus of a weapon. That cutter best not hope to find anything really amazing either; weapons that good just don't get put up for sale.

When it comes to currency, Sigil's got a real "go for it" attitude. The merchants have worked hard to make it easy to spend jink. They'll accept standard coinage from most any place, so long as it's gold and silver. A gold coin from Toril's not much different from one of Oerth's gold pieces. 'Course, the DM can use differences in size, weight, and rarity as excuses to haggle ("It'll cost double. That jink's tiny, not a proper size at all."). A PLANESCAPE campaign's not about exact money-changing — any player who wants that might as well go be a banker - so the type of coin folks use can just be treated as normal gold, silver, and copper pieces. Sure it may be minted in the likeness of hideous Juiblex, but gold is gold.

Plants

Razorvine.

Razorvine got its name because that's what it is: a twining climber whose lush, glossy black leaves conceal blade-sharp stems. A cutter can't touch it with his bare hands without getting slashed. Once more, the razor edges are so fine, they'll slice through cloth and cheap leather, too. Properly cured leather or something like a chain mail mitt's the only safe way to pick the cursed weed. Anybody really wanting to grow the stuffs going to suffer for their folly at the least.

In practical terms, razorvine's harmless unless a berk's daft enough to step into it. Most folks aren't, so most of the time a sod gets cut because he falls or gets pushed into the weed. Just reaching in with an unprotected hand or arm causes 2d3 points of damage. Falling into it full-body can inflict up to 3d6 points of damage. Quilted armor reduces the damage by 1 die. Leather armor reduces it by 2 dice and metal armor negates the damage altogether, but shields don't do a bit of good. 'Course, all this has got to be applied with some common sense. A cutter can't claim he'll be unhurt when he grabs the vine bare-handed, just because he's wearing plate mail.

Razorvine wouldn't be more than an oddity except for the fact that the cursed stuff grows so fast. It can easily spread a foot per day, and some bloods claim they've measured its spread at up to six feet in a single day! Furthermore, it seems to grow all over everything. It'll climb walls, encrust statues, choke other plants, even run along a clothesline that's been left up too long (usually slashing it in the process). About the only places it doesn't seem to grow are frozen wastes, burning deserts, and open water. Then again, it wouldn't surprise most bashers if there were versions for all those places, too — razor-seaweed, maybe.

The folks of Sigil, always able to turn misery into a virtue, have found some uses for the weed. If a cutter can plant and control the vines carefully — and many high-up men pay others to do this — razorvine makes for fine protection. Not many thieves are willing to climb a wall covered with razorvine. A lot of the faction headquarters are covered with the stuff, al! to keep unwanted visitors out. Some of the folks hailing from the lower reaches grow a patch for its persuasive properties — a sort of talk-or-we'11-throw-you-into-the-vine-patch approach - and the threat's very effective. It's even rumored there's a few back-door gladiator games in the Hive, where combatants are pitted against in each other in a ring grown from razorvine. Two naked bodies fighting in a ring of that stuff guarantees that blood'll be drawn.

The main reason the weed hasn't overrun the city is the dabus (see the Monstrous Supplement included in this boxed set). One of the main tasks of these creatures is cutting back the previous day's growth, which is then sold off in bundles to fuel the city's fires. This seems impractical given razorvine's nature, but another quirk of the vine is that it goes dull and brittle when it's cut. Dead razorvine's good for nothing but kindling. A sod can't carve it, weave it, or build with it. 'Course, the Cilenei Brothers make heartwine from the weed in Curst, but that's a recipe no one else knows the dark of (see page 36).

The vine's not the only wild creature to be found in Sigil, but the rest of the lot are much more unpleasant. Rats thrive in the dark alleys, garbage heaps, and the sewers of Sigil. Most of these are the common rat, found everywhere that humans go, but a few are of a perverted species known as the cranium rat (see the Monstrous Supplement included in this boxed set). These miscegenations are cunning enough to strike back at the ratcatchers who work Sigil's streets.

There's wererats, too, with the audacity to believe that someday they'll control the Cage from beneath the streets. Their miserable squeaking existences are a testament to hope for the dimmest of creatures. Most of the other "natural" life in Sigil's just vermin. Roaches and rot grubs burrow through the garbage heaps, mice scuttle through storehouses, and bats roost beneath the eaves. There's not much in the way of pigeons or birds, and although there's a few packs of wild dogs in the Hive, that's not to say they're native creatures. Most of the beasts a cutter's going to find here were brought in from somewhere else.

Building Materials

Being an impossible place, Sigil's got no natural resources for all the things that're needed to build a city. There's no stone pit just outside of town, no logging camp up the river. There ain't even sod to build the most primitive earthen hut. Everything to build anything comes from outside. 'Course, that's not as hard as it sounds, since all it takes is a portal to import raw materials through. The result is that Sigil's built of everything. It's not like some towns that're noted for their black-green marble or the brilliant blond of their ash-wood lumber. Sigil's got every kind of building material imaginable and in no particular order, and it's all made worse because scavenging's really important; to keep down costs, most folks go out and use what's already here. Most cases in the Cage get built with whatever a cutter can get, and if that means mixing cracked marble from Carceri with Elysium glory pine and pumice stone from the Elemental Plane of Fire, then that's the way it's got to be.

Add to this the fact that Sigil's completely unplanned, like a good city always is, and the result is chaos-construction. Folks build more or less how they please on tracts that are too small and hinky. In places like the Hive there's even less control; there, a berk builds wherever he can with whatever he's got, which ain't much. For some this means building out and into the street. For others, it's building ramshackle shanties on the roofs of other houses. Space is more important than beauty, berk.

Keeping the Peace

In a place where almost anything and everything can mingle, tempers can run high. It's a tough bit for a lesser baatezu to stand aside, just to let the procession of a greater tanar'ri pass down the street - a fiend don't forget the way of the Blood War so easily. 'Course, it's no easier for good creatures, either. There's lots of times an agathion can't see past the fact that a berk just ain't good-aligned. Then there's the factions. Each one's got its own plans, and most times those plans don't include any rivals. Add to all this the good old-fashioned cross-trade and the Cage's got all the potential to be total anarchy. That'd suit the Revolutionary League and probably the Xaositects well, but it don't do other sods much good."

Sigil isn't anarchy, though, and there's a number of things that keep it from the brink. The DM should sketch these out to the players, along with the do's and don'ts of Sigil, but only if their characters are planars. The dark of things in Sigil's pretty common knowledge to the natives, but the Clueless are just going to have to learn by keeping their eyes and ears open.

Here's what keeps the order in the City of Doors: the Lady of Pain, her Mazes, and the dabus.

Weather

Rain and smog — that pretty much says everything about Sigil's weather. The city's sky is mostly a greasy-looking haze from the smoke and fumes that belch from a thousand chimneys. When it rains — which it does a lot — the rainwater's got a brownish tinge from all the crud that's scrubbed from the sky. When it's not raining, there's an equally good chance that a thick, foglike smog has settled over the city. Visibility can be as bad as only 5 feet in the worst of these, but most times a cutter can see about 10 yards through the haze.

When it isn't drizzling brown water or swaddled in fog, Sigil can be a pretty pleasant place. The temperature tends to be cool (chilly when it's raining), and light breezes blow away the stagnant odor that normally hangs in the air. Still, no cutter ever comes to Sigil for the climate.

Day and Night

There's day and night in Sigil, but it's not caused by a sun. Instead, the sky gradually fills with luminescence until it reaches a peak and then immediately begins to fade. There's both bright daylight and deep darkness, but most of Sigil's day is a half-light, the gloom of twilight, rich with shadows and haze. Things sensitive to sunlight can get around without problem for all but the brightest six hours of every day (the three before and after peak).

Sigil doesn't have a moon or stars, so things dependent on the moon, like some types of shapechanging, don't happen in Sigil. The Cage's without stars, of course, but there's still lights in the sky. Remember, the city's always overhead, so even in the darkest hours there'll be the sharp lights of far distant lanterns.

Hazards & Phenomena

Sigil is a dangerous place, when you consider all the different types of beings that coexist in the same space. It's like a match next to a powderkeg.

The Dark: Thin Air

Sure, the spire that Sigil’s perched on is infinitely tall, but the air at the top of it ain’t infinitely thin; hidden, well-defended portals to the Elemental Plane of Air (many of them below ground in the domain of the dabus) keep the atmosphere breathable, if barely. Tough cutters with Constitutions of 11 or better aren’t affected by the thin air for long; they lose 1 point of Constitution for a week, New visitors with Constitutions of 10 or less lose 2 points of Constitution for 2 weeks.

Sites & Treasures

Sigil holds many wonderous sites within its torus, from the lairs of its most potent factions to naturally occurring places of strange beauty and unknown power.

The Prison - The Lady's Ward

The Mercykillers' headquarters looks like everything a berk fears: It's a mass of grim stone and spikes, surrounded by broad avenues. Sometimes a cutter'll hear a faint wail from within, and when he does he doesn't stop walking. There's things a sod just don't want to know about.

If there's one up-side to the area, it's that the street-crime rate here is virtually nonexistent. There's not a cross-trading body around who's going to ply his skills under the very noses of the Mercykillers. There's too many rumors of them deciding they can arrest, try, and punish a berk themselves, especially if their headquarters is close and convenient. Rigidly honest folk who've got the money and no vices at all set their cases in the blocks around the prison.

The businesses around the Prison seem as gray and humorless as the cage, itself. The taverns are quiet, well-ordered places where nobody makes trouble, as only a barmy'd attract the attention of the Mercykiller squad drinking at the next table. The inns are spartan, with no hint of the temptations that some of the other establishments in Sigil offer. The markets are scrupulously honest, so the prices are higher here than just about anywhere else.

Traban's Forge - The Lady's Ward

Located in a side street behind the day market, just across from the Prison, this smoke-spewing smithy produces fine nonmagical armor. The ancient Traban (Pr/cJd/Fl/LG) specializes in highly ornamental plate mail, suitable for triumphs, parades, and battle. All work is done to order and costs five-to-one thousand times the normal price, depending on the workmanship.

Traban's assisted in his work by his son Trabanson (312 years old), grandson Tarholt (205), greatgrandson Tarholtson (138), and an adopted ogre,Coal-chewer. The latter, with the family since he was orphaned at two, is an experiment of Tarholt's, who's curious to see if an ogre raised in proper dwarf fashion can be reformed. So far, Coal-chewer hasn't killed anyone. The family came to Sigil from Krynn about 120 years ago, as part of a small exodus of dwarves to the Outer Planes. Traban's got no plans to ever go back, although his children are all curious to see the homeland again.

The City Court - The Lady's Ward

Of all the places in The Lady's Ward, this area's got the most life. Everybody, it seems, comes here sooner or later. Because it's got a public function, the Guvner's headquarters is divided into public and private halls. In the public halls, a cutter's going to find criminals, citizens, witnesses, advocates, clerks, accusers, and Mercykiller and Harmonium guards. It seems like disorganized chaos, but the Guv ners have everything scheduled and timed out. In the private parts of the Court, a body doesn't find anyone but Guvners and their guests. There, the judges meet to discuss cases and reach their decisions, often referring to the immense library of laws the faction's assembled.

Outside the Court there's a number of taverns and inns to serve those attending trials. In compari son to other places in The Lady's Ward, they're pretty lively. In comparison to places elsewhere in the city, they're damned quiet. The taverns serve anybody, from thief to Hardhead, and there can't help but be a little life there. Most of the alehouses do extra busi ness selling meals to prisoners or running wine and beer to the back rooms of the Court.

The Armory - The Lady's Ward

Home to the Doomguard, this head quarters is in the seediest part of the ward. In fact, some folks argue it's really part of the grimy Lower Ward. Like most of the other buildings in The Lady's Ward, it's huge and dominating. All the windows are covered with stone grates, and razorvine covers the lower walls. The heavy iron gates make it clear that the Doomguard's got the weapons and intends to keep them. However, some of the shops in the neigh borhood specialize in custom-made weaponry that a blood can drop a lot of jink on, if she knows the right words to get her into the back room.

The streets around the Armory are quiet, but that stillness hides a lot of sinister activity. So close to the Lower Ward, this area's the toehold of thieves and rogues seeking entrance to The Lady's Ward. It's also a popular area for the wealthy to mingle with the lower classes, and for mercenaries and assassins to meet their employers.

The City Barracks - The Lady's Ward

At the opposite end of the ward from the Armory is the headquarters of the Harmo nium, the City Barracks. It's a long, low two-story struc ture that forms a quadrangle around an immense parade ground. Unlike many other faction headquarters, the Barracks were built to look strong without inspiring terror. The Harmonium re ally wants people to like them and believe in their cause (and they'll use force to get that result if they have to). Given their attitude, it's no surprise the streets around there are the most deserted of all the ward. There's very few busi nesses in the Harmonium district, mainly because any merchant who doesn't conform to Harmonium standards gets himself ar rested. Sure, he's usually released by the Guvners, but who wants to go through that all the time? The taverns and inns in the area all closely follow the Harmonium official line.

The Great Foundry - The Lower Ward

This is the headquarters of the Godsmen. The foundry's a dirty sprawling complex of workshops, warehouses, storage yards, and furnaces. The Gods men work it non stop. By day it belches smoke and steam, and by night the district's lit by its fires. The products of the foundry, petty metal goods needed by everyone throughout Sigil and beyond, are the Godsmen's major source of jink. They make tools, hinges, pots, nails, and anything else that can be fashioned out of iron. Their skills are not great; very little of their wares are fancy work, but it's all strong and serviceable.

The streets around the foundry are a jumbled weave of workshops and worker's taverns. They're not luxurious or particularly clean; when a cutter's been at the forge all day, he tracks in a lot of grime. Drinking and dealing are both serious business. There's always somebody haggling over the price of goods. Other deals get cut there, too, for that's the neighborhood where men and fiends meet Their dark talk doesn't get whispered outside these doors.

The Styx Oarsman - The Lower Ward

If the name doesn't give a cut ter a clue about this kip's ambiance, the tiefling guard ing the door will. Nobody gets inside without knowing the password, which tends to change from day to day. ('Course, the one password that never changes is "jink," as in grease the bouncer's palm, berk.) Once inside, a body knows for sure he's in a fiendish watering hole. The common room's dark — not just romantically dim, but outright dark. A single candle glimmers by the taps. Voices whisper to each other in the blackness. A cutter may feel the touch of cold, snakelike skin against his side. Eyes flash with their own light.

The tavern's run by Zegonz Vlaric (Pl/c?gz/F4/ W6/BC/CE), an emaciated and scarred githzerai with one arm frozen into a clawlike pose. He was perma nently maimed beyond the means of even magic to repair during a run-in with a band of good-aligned adventurers. This tavern is now his revenge on all those he blames for his sorrows. Zegonz openly courts tanar'ri clientele, giving them a place to dis cretely meet and do their business. The fiends know it, too, and they protect him from the wrath of the Harmonium or any band of self-styled do-gooders who might try to close his place down.

The Shattered Temple - The Lower Ward

The faction headquarters of the Athar stand at the heart of a zone of destruc tion several blocks across. They've only repaired what little they had to in order to make the temple useable, preferring the broken look of the place. (They are the Lost, after all.) The area's been a ruin for a long time, as anyone who knows anything about Sigil can tes tify, but there's no clear hint as to what caused it. The best guess is that it involved the Lady of Pain and a conflict with a rival power. That would explain the broken temple, once belonging to the power Aoskar, which is now the Athars' home. Whatever the cause, the area's considered ill-omened by most, and nobody has ever built there since. Only a bunch like the Lost would ignore these superstitions.

Still, even they can't overcome other folks' fears. The few Athar merchants who've tried rebuilding in the blasted zone have all gone out of business for lack of customers — only other Athar'd even consider deal ing with the berks. Wagoners stop at the very edge of the ruins, porters with sedan chairs won't enter, and moneylenders refuse to give out loans to those foolish enough to ignore the tradition. While all this makes good security for the Athar, it's lousy for business.

Yet there's always a way to turn trouble into profit, folks figure. Packed at the outer edges of the ruin are a whole host of shops and inns catering to the Lost and their visitors. These form a ring of gaudy nightlife around the ruin. Over the years, the reputation of the area's grown enough to attract even wealthy lords looking for a little low-life fun.

The Mortuary - The Hive Ward

The Dustmen's headquarters is a collection of windowless vaults that rise like a giant's mausoleum above the surrounding shacks. They're all dark, catacombed, vaulted, and chambered halls filled with sods living on the lives of others. Grim traffic trundles down the silent lanes to its doors creaking wagons of the dead, driven by the skull faced, their eyes hollow, their cheeks sunken from the years of their ashen work. The bodies pass through the doors and then beyond. Behind the doors of the Mortuary is one of the largest concentrations of portals in Sigil. There's doorways to everywhere, or at least one to every plane, including the Prime Material and most of its worlds. There, the Dustmen and their undead assistants send the city's corpses to other worlds where they belong. As mentioned, the other sides of these portals open into places made es pecially for the dead, so any cutter who decides to use one of them might end up stepping right into a crematorium or some other place where he'll be lost for certain. Long story made short: These portals are not for getting around the multiverse, berk.

The streets around the Mortuary are the province of the unclean, those in Sigil who'll do the jobs no body else will touch: collecting the dead, butchering meat, nursing the diseased, anything objectionable to others. Some are proud of their victory over supersti tion, while others have been broken by the scorn of those they work for. They lead desperate lives in their shanties and shacks, isolated from each other as much as the rest of the world.

There are few taverns, inns, or shops around the Mortuary. It's not a place for thriving businesses, but that doesn't mean there aren't any services an adven turer needs here. The outcasts'll almost always open their cases to strangers, for both jink and company. It won't be warm and there's precious few smiles, but a cutter can get what he needs.

The Gatehouse - The Hive Ward

At the very edge of the Hive, the most desperate and wretched part of the whole ward is the Gatehouse, home of the Bleak Cabal. It's like the boundary between sanity and despair, and who better to man that than the faction that's given up all hope. In common folklore it's said to sit on the bor der to the Mazes, but the real chant is the Mazes can appear anywhere. Still, the Gatehouse sits at the edge of the Hive Headquarters, which is close enough to the Mazes for most honest souls.

The Gatehouse is an arched tower with sprawl ing wings, where the Bleakers minister to the mad and lost. They're kind to their charges, but their treatments are unorthodox. "Give up the illusion of meanings," they advise their patients. "Accept that which doesn't make sense and then peace'll come." Some folks say the Bleakers do more sinister things in there, in the parts of their headquarters where other folks aren't allowed. 'Course, that gets said about every faction, by enemies hoping to put fear into others. Still, haunting, unnatural moans and screams echo throughout the ward, and there's no saying whether they come from the hospital wings or from somewhere deeper within.

Where The Lady's Ward is order and calm, the streets around the Bleakers' headquarters are thriving chaos. Lined outside the Gatehouse there's sad par ents lined up to commit their children, sad children with their old parents, and many-a poor sod needing to be committed for his strange visions — manic dreams of fortune, crazed appetites for power, and lunatic promises of cosmic destiny. There's also rogues from the heart of the Hive, selling the fruits of their trade, and dives where information flows for the price of a drink. Hawkers offer "true and authen tic maps" to all the portals of Sigil. Just remember, a cutter gets what he pays for. . . .

The Gatehouse Night Market - The Hive Ward

Located only a few innocent blocks into the Hive Ward, the Gate house Night Market is a plunge into another world for most folks. Here, thieves sell their take to fences, who sell it in turn to other fences, who then sell everything to speculators for shipment out of Sigil. Was something stolen yesterday? A sod can probably buy it back during the night, as long as she doesn't ask questions. There's more for sale here than just stolen property, too. The dark that cutters keep away from all others can also can be bought in this market. All a buyer's got to do is find the right seller and be able to pay. Just remember, the price may not be jink; it might cost a whole lot more.

The Hive - The Hive Ward

This is it: faction headquarters, ward name, and slum all bundled up in one simple name. The Hive's the heart and headquarters of the Xaosi tects, the harbingers of chaos. The headquarters of the Chaosmen is like no other. There's no one build ing that holds all the faction's secrets and powers. It's broken up, scattered, sprawled through the tangled alleys of the slum. Hive (Headquarters) and Hive (Ward) are one, but Hive and Hive are also many. A cutter goes to one shack for healing, to * another for food, and gg! to still a third to meet with his factol.

The shanties aren't all what they seem on the outside, either. There's genuine wonders to be found inside some of them, wild col lections of things that make no sense to one sod and shed light on the meaning of life to another. What else's a berk to expect from the Xaositects?

Unlike other places, folks in the slum of the Hive are far from despairing. They're too busy fight ing and struggling for life. Maybe they're the greatest capitalists in all of Sigil. They see all around them what happens to those who get ahead and what hap pens to those who slip behind in the game, which only makes them all the more determined to stay in the race. Treat him well and a Hiver can be a loyal ally. Turn stag on him and a berk will regret it for ever.

The Hive's got every service a cutter's likely to need. Most of it's not the best quality — the bub's cheap, the weapons are plain but usable, and the ser vants are insolent - but it's all there. Exotic goods from other worlds may be rare, but there's always a hand willing to go get them for a fee. There's plenty of entertainment, too. There's bodies who'll do any thing for jink: perform gladiator fights, magic duels, death-defying stunts, and more. A lot of folks from the Lower Planes mingle here, like tanar'ri, yugoloths, and baatezu to name a few. It's no surprise that the Blood War's secretly fought in these very alleys.

The Hall of Records - The Clerk's Ward

This is the headquarters of the Fated. The building once was a college, but the Fated foreclosed on a slightly overdue debt and made it their home. After selling off the library (they didn't need it), the Fated settled into the broken campus and made it theirs. It wasn't long before they con vinced the Speakers that the city needed to keep proper books, and who better to do it than the Fated, with all that shelf space? Now the Hall of Records is the center of Sigil's financial world. Foreign mer chants file their bills of credit here, moneylenders set the official exchange rates, landlords register their property deeds, tax rolls are revised, and debtors' de faults are posted for the public to see. In another part of the Hall, records of the Court are filed in huge, dusty stacks, while elsewhere the proclamations of the Speakers are carefully copied for posting. The Fated run the City Mint, too, although almost every other faction closely supervises their work. In the private sections of the headquarters, the factol super vises the work on The Secret History of Sigil, a col lection of all the Fated's doings and all the secrets their followers have learned.

The businesses that cluster around the Hall mir ror life behind those walls. The great merchant houses of Sigil maintain well-appointed townhouses in the district, where the ground floors hum with in dustry and the families live upstairs. The few re spectable counting houses in Sigil do their business here as well. There are even fledgling "assurance companies," willing to protect a merchant's invest ment for a fee.

All this money attracts other business, too. Fancy inns cater to the merchant princes who some times come to town, while slightly less sumptuous places tend to the needs of their followers. Ser vices are clean and efficient, though not spec- > tacular. Food and lodging prices are both costly. Bodyguards, wizards, and mer cenaries can be hired in most tav erns, as can thieves. There's often a merchant looking for guards to accompany him to some far off plane, and some times there's special high paying jobs for those willing to take the risk. Nothing is done without haggling or loud complaints over the cost of everything. The wealthy intend to stay that way, even if it means misery and hardship for others.

The Civic Festhall - The Clerk's Ward

The Civic Festhall is a combination concert hall, opera house, museum, art gallery, tavern, wine shop, and faction headquarters, mixed in with a few other services that are best left undescribed. This mash of services makes sense, given that the place is run by the Sen sates. Their desire to experi ence everything includes the arts, but also much, much more. There's tall tales to be told about what hap pens in the back halls of the Sensate headquarters. . .

But all that's just whispers to the folks who come here for the shows and excitement. They're here to have a good time — a safe, cultured good time with just enough daring to make them/ee/ dan gerous. Not that the folks who come here are at any particular risk. Aside from the cutpurses and peelers, there's no real danger in the streets around the Sen sate headquarters. In fact, true Sensates make for other parts of town for the "true" experiences.

With the Civic Festhall as an anchor, the district around it has attracted a number of artistic busi nesses. There's dealers in artistic curiosities from all the worlds of the multiverse. There's taverns noted for the bards that play there. Other businesses have the finest wines, the best food, or the best of many other comforts. Jongleurs wander down the streets, portable puppet theaters are set up at the intersec tions, fire eaters belch their talents from the alleys, and wizards craft beautiful illusions for the crowds. Even stranger beings from the hinterlands get into the show, acting for coins or using their strange powers to dazzle the multitudes.

Those that live and work in this district - the showmen, the actors, the musicians, and the mounte banks - are all just a hair's breath above disreputable, or at least that's what other folks say. The good folk of the district'll point out their entertainments are honest products of training and skill. 'Course, the idea that a strolling singer or comedic actor has to work hard just sits foreign with most other berks.

The Greengage - The Clerk's Ward

Located just across the street from the Sensate headquarters is a tiny little cider shop known as the Greengage. This is the establishment of Marda Farambler (Pr/ 9 ha/O/CG). Marda followed her adventurous husband out to the planes, and after he got himself killed, she de cided to stay. Scraping up what little jink she had, she bought this place. Over the years it's earned a fine reputation, although it's not popular with big folks. Marda, it seems, refused to bow to common sense and built the place to a proper scale. The commons are both immense and cozy to short folk, but the seating is cramped for anyone over four feet in height. A cutter might think that small drawback'd be the end of the business, but the Greengage is popular with the communities of gnomes and halflings found in Sigil. Marda special izes in cider, both unfermented and hard, from the orchards of the goddess Sheela Peryroyl. The latter cider is such a potent brew that Marda normally al lows only two tankards per customer — it's sure sign of her trust in a basher when he gets more than this in a single night. Nobody knows how she manages to get this rare brew, but most guess it's a repayment for a debt owed to her late husband.

The Hall of Speakers - The Clerk's Ward

The Sign of One's head quarters is a marked contrast to the normally dour, heavy and dark buildings chosen by many other fac tions, especially the Harmonium. The Hall of Speakers is a soaring, almost graceful structure that rises like a spire over the neighborhood. This is the seat of every day government in Sigil. Here the factols and ple beians meet to debate the few laws and ordinances of the city. More often than not, the Speaker's Podium is a forefront of the war between the factions. On a reg ular day, the factol of the Xaositects is likely to pro pose getting rid of the Harmonium guard, which in stantly gains the support of the Doomguard, since the move is sure to promote chaos and decay. The Har monium counters by demanding the arrest of the Xaositect factol, promising the Mercykillers that they can administer the punishment. On and on it goes, as factions attempt to recruit political allies, until some body — usually the Guvners - manages to kill the whole issue on a point of order. The chant is, real lawmaking in Sigil's a rare event.

It makes sense that this place is the Signers' headquarters. Where can a berk be any more at the center of his own multiverse than on the Speaker's Podium? Unlike the other factions, where all the speaking's left to the factol, the Signers like to rotate their followers through the Speaker's chores, giving each a chance to address all of Sigil. 'Course, the fac tol always makes sure he's the one speaking anytime there's an important vote (this is his multiverse more than anybody else's, after all).

Most of the Hall of Speakers is open to the public for a fee. The Hall's got council chambers, meeting rooms, private apartments, and more; these can be leased for official uses. The heart of the Hall is private faction territory, however. Here, the Signer's hold their own sessions and plot their many-branching courses, but how they agree on anything is anybody's guess. It can be pretty tough for so many centers of the multiverse to agree on even the smallest issue.

The streets around the Hall are noteworthy in that the lodgings are expensive and the drink strong. There's little in the way of entertainments, and the choice of adventurer services - armorers, weapon smiths, map dealers, etc. - is limited. There are a fair number of street-corner criers and scribes for hire.

Grundlethum's Automatic Scribe - The Clerk's Ward

In a tawdry shop on a back street behind the Hall of Speakers is the city's first and only "Automatic Scribe," a creation of Grundlethum Blackdagger (Pl/cJh/Wl5/FL/LN). Old Grundle thum's been considered barmy for years, obsessed with the idea of mag icking up an invisible scribe that a cutter could just speak to and have the writing ap pear. The idea didn't seem that hard to start with, but the wizard pur posely made it difficult by adding all sorts of "re finements."

At any rate, it looks like the addle-cove's finally suc ceeded, because elegantly writ ten announce ments have been appearing around the city, announc ing his Auto matic Scribing service.

This has got the local scribes heated up. They see the loss of their liveli hood if Grundle thum's fool thing works. A few of the hot heads, en couraged by some berks from the Revolutionary League, have been talking about smashing up the shop and teaching the wizard not to meddle with a basher's career, but their fear of Grun dlethum's kept them still so far. He may be old and he may be a leatherhead, but the man's a wizard after all.

If they knew, the angry scribes might take heart in the fact that Grundlethum's invention isn't perfect. It seems the wizard didn't bind some over-educated elemental into the machine, like he planned, but acci dently magicked a flaw into The Lady's defenses around Sigil, instead. Now, a lesser power of the Abyss has managed to leak a little bit of its power in side by pretending to be the Automatic Scribe. Whether it can stay hid long enough to gather its strength is a question, because it's malicious and mischievous by nature. Already unpleasant things have been hap pening in and around the shop. It's only a matter of time before something serious happens.

The Great Gymnasium - The Guidhall and Market Wards

This is a gymnasium in the grand old sense: It's got baths, steam rooms, massage tables, an exercise field, pools, lounges, and even a portico where the teachers of the Transcen dent Order instruct their students. All of this is en closed in a great compound of gold-veined black marble. The Gymnasium is open to all, but only on the Ciphers' terms.

Compared to other parts of Sigil, life here is de liberately unhurried. The Transcendent Order (whose faction headquarters these are) believes understand ing can only come with a calm mind, so they do their best to keep the pressures and concerns of the out side world at bay. Those who enter must leave weap ons and magic behind. No spells can be cast there, nor are beings with innate powers allowed to exer cise their talents. 'Course, none of these rules apply to the Ciphers, although these edicts are generally followed by most of them, too. Nor are the rules per fectly obeyed by visitors. There are always little inci dents to disturb the perfect calm of the place, distur bances the Ciphers have to put down.

Because of the rules and services here, the Gym nasium serves two purposes. First, it's a place for cit izens to relax and forget the cares of the world. Noise, pressure, even so cial class can be forgotten. Sec ond, the Great Gymnasium serves as a neutral ground for hostile parties. Many a truce, treaty, and pact have been negotiated in the steam rooms and baths. Like every other part of Sigil, the Great Gymnasium is vital to the functioning of the city. If it didn't exist already, it'd have to be created.

The streets around the Great Gymnasium are host to a score of smaller competitors, so the whole district is noted for its baths and spas. Some are gen eral while others cater to particular races or planes. With the baths come inns and food shops, many of which offer nothing put healthful exotica.

The Flame Pits - The Guidhall and Market Wards

This specialized bathhouse is run by Laril Zasskos (Pl/9gz/W14/RL/CN), a sharp tongued and sharp-eyed githzerai. Located three streets toward the Great Bazaar, her establishment specializes in exotic conditions. She began by using her magic to build and contain lava pools for ele mentals and a few lower-planar things. Since then, she's expanded the selection to include scouring whirlwinds, tubs of rank ooze, the purest of pure water, and bubbling ichors the nature of which she doesn't reveal.

Laril actually works the place as a safe haven for the Revolutionary League. Several of the pools have false bottoms. Beneath these are entrances to secret catacombs that honeycomb the streets under the city. There, Laril has created apartments for her brethren, and stock piled supplies for the day when the old, corrupt system falls.

The Great Bazaar - The Guidhall and Market Wards

This plaza's the headquarters of the Free League, and it just fits that their case ain't even a build ing. The Great Bazaar's a huge square filled with car avan tents and rickety merchant stalls. The air's rich with smells of flowers, meats, fruits, animals, and sewage. Walk through the crowded aisles and a cut ter's assaulted by calls to examine, smell, feel, and — most of all — buy the wares of every merchant he passes. Anything on a general equipment list can be bought here, even things too big to actually bring to Sigil. Need a galley for the River Oceanus and a blood'll find a merchant here willing to sell him one.

Not that everyone's honest and forthright, though. A basher's got to be a smart shopper to take care he don't get peeled by some dishonest trader. Buy some thing that's supposedly waiting out on the planes and a sod better have ways of making sure it's really there. The other thing a berk's got to be cautious about is the pickpockets and cutpurses that roam the market. It takes money to shop in the bazaar, and where there's money, there's thieves. But those are the risks every cutter takes.

The Free League's headquarters hold a loose af filiation of traders and merchants that come and go as they please. There's always somebody providing each service the faction needs, but one week a cutter might have to go to a rug dealer near the central fountain for information on where to find a portal, and the next week he'll have to visit a passing tinker who's set up on the edge of the ward. It's all a matter of a wink here and a nod there, the business of knowing the right people, and knowing the right questions to ask. 'Course, a cutter's expected to do the same for others, too. The Free League's more like a brotherhood ready to lend a hand to its members than a rigid organization.

It's hard to say exactly where the Great Bazaar ends. The wheeling and dealing spills over into side streets as peddlers vie for spaces to show their wares. The folks in this neighborhood are always ready to make a deal or haggle over a price. Taverns hum with pitches of hucksters, and there are large inns capable of housing and stabling entire caravans. Open-air cafes serve anybody who comes along, and that's the best place for creature-watching; everybody, except the most reclusive rich, comes here sooner or later.