Post by exile on Apr 21, 2007 15:17:52 GMT -5
H130, day 187, 10 AP (Hadrian)
The night ruled the Cage almost as surely as the Lady Herself. All the canny folk with the sense to do so had long since found their beds or the bottom of a bottle to while away the hours before first light. Of course in some parts of the city a body could still walk the streets without fear, and it was a good bet that the party in the Civic Festhall was in no danger of abating.
Overhead the stars of Sigil’s impossible night sky danced and flickered like flawless Arcadian gemstones; here the constellation corresponding to the fires of the Great Gymnasium at its zenith, there the Hall of Speakers burned with disingenuous tranquility. All across the great Torus, life went on and left its improbable mark on the eye. It was a breathtaking sight to even the most seasoned of veteran planewalkers, but down amongst the acrid vapors and menacing shadows that plagued the Lower Ward Hadrian could only spare it a cursory glance.
He walked quickly through the darkness with an air of focus more keen than any earthly blade. The flame that had previously leapt from his faction’s insignia had been allowed to die, for the eyes of an aasimar did not want for such aids. Better not to draw attention to the fact that Hadrian was one man, alone. But neither was he a fool. The weave of arcane armor that ensorcelled him might be invisible to all eyes, even his own, but the protection it afforded was very real.
The comfortable weight of his spear back within his grasp, Hadrian ghosted through the shadows like a foreboding apparition. Every sinew taught, every muscle ready, he watched, and he listened and he walked inexorably on.
(Resumes in The Lost Keep Inn: H130, day 187, 10 AP)
The night ruled the Cage almost as surely as the Lady Herself. All the canny folk with the sense to do so had long since found their beds or the bottom of a bottle to while away the hours before first light. Of course in some parts of the city a body could still walk the streets without fear, and it was a good bet that the party in the Civic Festhall was in no danger of abating.
Overhead the stars of Sigil’s impossible night sky danced and flickered like flawless Arcadian gemstones; here the constellation corresponding to the fires of the Great Gymnasium at its zenith, there the Hall of Speakers burned with disingenuous tranquility. All across the great Torus, life went on and left its improbable mark on the eye. It was a breathtaking sight to even the most seasoned of veteran planewalkers, but down amongst the acrid vapors and menacing shadows that plagued the Lower Ward Hadrian could only spare it a cursory glance.
He walked quickly through the darkness with an air of focus more keen than any earthly blade. The flame that had previously leapt from his faction’s insignia had been allowed to die, for the eyes of an aasimar did not want for such aids. Better not to draw attention to the fact that Hadrian was one man, alone. But neither was he a fool. The weave of arcane armor that ensorcelled him might be invisible to all eyes, even his own, but the protection it afforded was very real.
The comfortable weight of his spear back within his grasp, Hadrian ghosted through the shadows like a foreboding apparition. Every sinew taught, every muscle ready, he watched, and he listened and he walked inexorably on.
(Resumes in The Lost Keep Inn: H130, day 187, 10 AP)