Sigil: City of Doors

[Stix]

Image: The Clerk's Ward Skyline, Dana Knutson

Describing Sigil

Looking at the map of Sigil, a cutter can see the place isn't shaped like any other, and that can make it hard to describe. (Fact is, it wasn't easy drawing the place, either.) If a body's got to describe the place with words, the closest analogy is an auto tire. Imagine a tire - no hubcap or wheel rim - lying on its side. Sigil would be built on the inside of the tire. All the streets and buildings would fill the curved interior. Meanwhile, on the outside there's nothing, see?

One thing this means for describing the place is that, no matter where a cutter stands, if he looks up he's going to see buildings overhead. Most of the time a basher's looking across the center of the ring, so he'll see a broad panorama of the city in the distance (unless, of course, it's obscured by smoke, smog, fog, or rain, which happens frequently). Locals get used to having the gray arc constantly hovering overhead; in fact, the open sky of a normal world sometimes unnerves them.

Another important thing to remember when describing Sigil is that the city's curved in the opposite direction from most prime-material worlds. On those worlds, there's a horizon because the surface has a convex curve, and a cutter can only see what lies along a straight line of sight. In Sigil, things curve up, not down. Looking down a long avenue, it'll seem like the street's rising in front of a body, kind of like looking up a long hill. Just to make it more confusing, Sigil curves both in front of and behind that sod on the street, so he might feel like he's standing at the bottom of a big hollow nearly all the time. The Cage's a flaming big city, though, and it's crowded tall with people, buildings, and smog. The average line of sight is rarely more than a few hundred feet unless a body's looking straight up, so it's not like a berk's constantly looking at the curve of a bowl all around him. It might be a few hours before the average prime, new in town, realizes that the world ain't flat.

Up and Down

"Down" is always the ground beneath a cutter's feet, no matter where he's standing on the ring. Up is the other direction. It doesn't take much to realize that two bashers on opposite sides of the ring could both look "up" at each other. Flying across the ring's perfectly possible, and so is falling. A berk always falls toward the section of Sigil closest to him, even if he was headed in another direction to start with. Although the shapes are different, the whole business is really no different than falling on any Prime world: A sod falls, he gets hurt. Along with "up and down" is the question of "inside and outside." It's quite a question, too. Nobody's ever seen the outside of Sigil because there may not even be an "outside." The edges of the ring are all solidly lined by buildings with no windows or doors on their backs. 'Course, a cutter could get himself up on the roof to take a look. Those that've tried it'll tell a body, "There's nothing to see," and they really do mean "nothing" - not emptiness, not a vacuum, just nothing. That matches what flying bashers say lies beyond the ring: nothingness.

Humans being a particularly curious type, it's natural that some of the barmies have tried stepping off into the nothingness. Everybody who does so just vanishes. It's said that a few are seen again, too. Apparently, crossing that border hurls a sod into a random plane. Considering the conditions of some of these destinations, it's no surprise that only a few make it back. 'Course, when the horde of Dark Eight assassins is about to make a Sigilian lost, the choice between sure death and a wild gamble don't look so bad....

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.

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.

Razorvine and Street Vermin

Sigil's a far cry from a lush wilderness, but it does have its share of wildlife, all brought in from elsewhere. Plant life's pretty slim, though. There used to be a city park, but it's mostly overrun by squatters. Besides, the landscaping for both devas and fiends just wasn't harmonizing at all. The only lasting contribution to the flora of Sigil is razorvine - not most berks' idea of a blessing. Razorvine's a hazard and a pretty nasty one at that, but since it can't get up and chase a sod around, it's easy for most to avoid. Razorvine's got no special powers or intelligence, it doesn't harbor evil thoughts, and it couldn't lure even the dimmest leatherhead into its leaves. About the only thing it does is grow, but it does that very well. Plain said, razorvine's the kudzu of the Outer Planes. It used to just grow on the Lower Planes, where it fit in, but over time it's spread into all sorts of places, like Sigil.

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 stuff's 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.

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, all 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. 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.

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 agathinon 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 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.

The Lady of Pain

The high-up man in Sigil, the one who ultimately watches over the Cage, is the Lady of Pain. She's not a woman and she's not human - nobody's quite sure what she is. The best guess is she's a power, probably a greater power, but there's also a theory that she's a reformed tanar'ri lord, if such a thing's possible. Whatever else she is, she's the Lady of Pain, and given that, most other facts are extraneous.

For the most part the Lady (as she's called) keeps distant from the squalid hurly-burly of the Cage. She doesn't have a house, a palace, or a temple. Nobody worships her, and with good reason: Those that say prayers to her name get found with their skins flayed off - a big discouragement to others.

Sometimes she's seen drifting through the streets, the edge of her gown just brushing over the cobblestones. She never speaks. Those who try interfering with her erupt in horrid gashes at just the touch of her gaze. Wise bloods find business elsewhere on those rare times she passes down the way. Eventually, her image fades and she vanishes into nothingness. Natives of Sigil view her with fearful awe, as she's the uncaring protector of their home.

The Mazes

The Mazes are the grandest of all Sigil's punishments, and the Lady of Pain saves them for the worst threats to her power. They're a part and yet not a part of the city, and no sane basher wants to go there. The Mazes are the Lady's special birdcages for the would-be power mongers of Sigil.

The Mazes are just that: mazes. There's a difference between them and some of the more confused sections of the Cage, of course, or they'd not be much of a punishment. For starters, they aren't exactly part of Sigil. When the Lady creates a new part of the Mazes, a small piece of the city - an alley or a courtyard, for example - copies itself and becomes a tiny little demiplane. A portal of her making then carries the copy into the heart of the Deep Ethereal. There, it grows into an endless twisting maze that's got no beginning or end. It just doubles back forever on itself. (Actually, the Guvners insist that the Mazes are still part of Sigil, even though they're in the Ethereal, so even their location is a mind-maze.)

A sod sentenced to the Mazes never knows it until it's too late. Sometimes they form around him just as he's passing through some particularly deserted part of the city; he turns a corner and the next intersection's not the way he remembers it, and by that time it's too late. Those that figure the Lady's after them - the ambitious and the cunning - try clever ways to avoid her traps. Some of them never leave their palaces so they never enter a blind alley, and others only travel with groups so they're never caught alone, but it never works. A basher walks down an empty hall in his house, only to discover a maze of rooms that didn't exist before. And sooner or later a berk turns his back to his friends, and when he looks back they're all gone. The Mazes'll always get a sod, no matter how careful he is.

Just spitting her rivals into the Deep Ethereal's not enough for the Lady of Pain, either. Each little chunk of the Mazes that's kicked out is sealed oneway from planar travel - things can get in with a spell, but things can't get back out. For instance, food and water always appear so the prisoner won't starve. But worst of all, those in the Mazes know there's a way out, as the Lady of Pain always leaves a single portal back to Sigil hidden somewhere. Maybe it's so the dabus can check on things if needed, and maybe it's just to torture the sod who's trapped there.

'Course, since that portal's there, it's not impossible to escape the Mazes - hard, yes, but not impossible. Maybe a berk gets lucky and finds the portal. Maybe his friends have got the jink to mount a rescue. After all, they only have to find where the portal opens in Sigil or else track down the demiplane in the Deep Ethereal. How hard can that be?

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.

[Stix]

The Code of Conduct

So what's a blood got to do to avoid the Lady's attention? What are the laws of Sigil?

There aren't many.

Sigil's a place where anyone and anything can happen, and a lot of it does. The Lady of Pain's not interested in the petty squabbles of day-to-day affairs. A murder here, a mugging there - that's not her concern because the Harmonium can take care of it. The Lady of Pain only takes action against threats to the security of Sigil, and that means her security. The things she won't tolerate include a berk trying to break open the portals so a power can enter, finding a way around her astral barrier, slaughtering the dabus, tearing the city down stone by stone, or inciting general rebellion against her rule. These aren't the deeds most bashers are likely to try, so most often the Lady just exists in her peaceful fierceness.

It is possible to get put in her dead-book for less than Sigil-shattering deeds, though. All a berk's got to do is make the folks of Sigil question the Lady's power. Too many killings or crimes'll make the folks of Sigil nervous and fearful, and they'll start wondering if she's got the means to protect them. Given that, it's no surprise that the dabus start looking real hard for the criminal. Lasting power comes from keeping the population happy.

It'd seem natural that the factions would always be threatening the Lady's power, too. After all, each one's got their own idea of just what's proper and right for Sigil, and these are ideas that don't always include the Lady of Pain at the top of things. Fact is, if they go too far she'll crack them like beetles. Now, the factols are wise enough to see that Sigil's a safe haven from their enemies, besides being the best way to get around, and no faction wants to get itself spun out of Sigil. Philosophies who foolishly challenge the Lady's power get Mazes all their own. Given the choice of not holding a given idea or winding up in the Mazes, it's easy to see why some philosophies have died off. The most often told tale's about the Communals, sods who held that everything belonged to everyone, including the Lady's share of the power. One day, everyone in the Communal headquarters (the City Provisioner's) vanished. The best guess is they were all trapped into one Maze in the Ethereal Plane. Pretty quick, no cutter admitted being a Communal, but it's said there's still a small colony of true believers out on the Astral somewhere.

Given that example, it's no surprise the factions police their own.

The Roles of the factions in Sigil

For the factions, the best way to stay in the Lady's good graces is to run part of the city. This is something most factions try to do, though some are more successful than others. A Guvner believes in laws, so it's a lot easier for him to work the courts than, say, an Anarchist, who doesn't believe in the system at all.

Now, no faction fully trusts another, no matter how noble or trustworthy their goals might seem, and everybody wants a play in the game. That's why the city offices are so divided. The Doomguard doesn't want the Harmonium to have the final say, and the Guvners and the Xaositects both have different ideas about what's good for Sigil. The solution, then, is for every faction to have a role. Some are official, like the Guvners' control of the courts. Others, like the Anarchists' refuge for the unfit, fill a needed but unrecognized role in the city's life. Each of these parts is defined below. Only the Outsiders are left out; the poor Clueless have no real role in Sigil's life.

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'll 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 reason we're all here? It's because we're dead - every last, living one of us."
- Factol Skall Of 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 theirs 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
"Pike it, berk! I'm Thor's proxy, and your laws don't apply to me!"
- Last words of Franok Heiden, to a Mercykiller

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
"First we get rid of the old order. Then we'll worry about the truth."
- Beringe of the Anarchists

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.

Making and Spending Money

A city can't survive unless it has things a body wants. Some places, like Ironridge, have gold, gems, and ore. Others, like Xaos, are homes to famous artists. Curst draws mercenaries and Ribcage 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 stall-keepers 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. About the only other place 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 gold pieces for minorly-enchanted weapons and armor (and those won't even work outside Sigil). That cutter best not hope to find anything really amazing either; anything that worthwhile just doesn'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 Limbo's not much different from gold pieces from the Abyss. Sure, it may be minted in the likeness of hideous Juiblex, but gold is gold.

[Stix]

The Two Most Important People in Sigil

...and how they got to that status. The second part's easy: These cutters bought their ways into power. Folks in Sigil almost respect that, and besides, nobody can argue with them because it's worked.

Anyway, the highest of the high-ups in Sigil - not counting the Lady of Pain, of course - are Priestess Erin Darkflame Montgomery, Factol of the Sensates, and Duke Rowan Darkwood, Factol of the Fated. The priestess is the head of the largest voting bloc in the Hall of Speakers, and Duke Darkwood is coming on as the fastest and most powerful opposition she's likely to face. The two of them, their personalities, and their conflicts shape a lot of Sigil's everyday life.

Erin Darkflame Montgomery

Statuesque, smart, and sensual, Erin Darkflame Montgomery is no cutter's helpless doxy. She's a complete person, and being a woman (maybe a hindrance in some places) hasn't made her any less capable of dealing with the seductions, intrigues, intellectualism, and dangers of Sigil. Though she's no more than average height, the combination of inner fire, lively green eyes, and short auburn hair make her more than unforgettable. Yet for one so striking, she shows little of the vanity folks associate with good looks.

Erin Darkflame Montgomery was born and raised on the Outlands, in the realm of Tir na Og. There, her philosophical bent and good heart led her to become of a priestess of Diancecht, the Celtic god of healing. For many years of her youth she served the god well, curing all who came to her. She didn't choose friend or foe, being only concerned with the hurt and suffering of others. That view suited well the plane's view of balancing good and evil, order and chaos.

It was in the aftermath of a Blood War raid that her peaceful life began to unravel. It started when a tanar'ri high-up figured a feint through the Outlands was a good idea. Well, the leatherhead was wrong. The folks of the Outlands managed to take the fiend's plan and pike it, but the problem wasn't over. Renegade tanar'ri escaped into the plane and some of these raiders hit Erin's burg. Although the locals won the battle, the injured taxed Erin's healing powers so much that when the wounded fiends were finally brought to her, she could do no more. Several of them died, including Za'rafas, a favorite of one of the Abyssal Lords. Those fiends who returned to the Abyss blamed her for Za'rafas's death, and she became their scapegoat. Now she had a sworn enemy in the layers of the Abyss, one who in fits of melancholy occasionally sent assassins in Za'rafas's memory.

Fearing for the safety of her village, Erin took to adventuring far from home. Gods only know where she wandered, since the woman's pretty close-mouthed about it, but somewhere she earned the right to use the title, Lady Montgomery of the Skylarian Knights. She's also hinted at her hatred of the Pax Imperica - probably some empire she encountered on the Prime Material.

Finally, her wanderings brought her to the Cage. She became a Sensate there, as their views matched her wild wanderlust and passionate beauty (and she is beautiful). She wasn't an addle-coved hedonist, though, which is something that's destroyed more than one over-eager Sensate. She understood that experience meant more than pleasure, that sensing was the way to knowing. Erin learned quickly, progressing through a series of scholars, lovers, and chefs among other things. Her grace, beauty, and diplomatic skill didn't hurt in a quick rise to power, either.

Now Erin's the factol of the Sensates. Some say it's simply because she looks good for the part, but those who dismiss her like that are most likely bitter from dealings they've had with her, not to their liking. The woman's secure in her position, secure enough that she doesn't even bother with magical armor or other protections. She figures Sigil and her own reputation are protection enough. Reputation she's got, too: kind and loving one minute, a cold-willed blood the next. She's got the love of most of the Sensates to boot, so only a leatherhead'd ever try to pike her in a foul fight.

In part because she's charming and more because she's hard, Erin's got a lot of sway in the Hall of Speakers. The Signers naturally tend to agree with her positions, as do the Guvners, but Erin's even been able to pull in the support of the Bleakers and the Xaositects when the need really demanded it.

Currently, Erin's watching the rise of Duke Darkwood, calculating the threat and the moves she's going to have to take if he ever becomes too dangerous. 'Course, not all her time is spent in plotting, and she's sometimes seen in the company of her longtime half-elf paramour Cuatha, an Outsider she met during her travels on the Prime Material Plane.

Duke Rowan Darkwood

Duke Darkwood's certainly an imposing figure, tall and whipcord lean, his tanned skin a mesh of scars even magical healing couldn't hide. His hair is long, bound back with a leather thong, and almost silver to match his eyes. He might have been handsome, but years of hard living - too many broken noses and too many cares - have left his features furrowed and craggy. Except during the most formal occasions of state, he dresses in the plain, homespun, workmanlike clothes of a commoner. Yet even in the most ordinary garb, the duke is nothing if not striking.

Where Erin Montgomery is charming, persuasive, and well settled into the how of things in Sigil, Rowan comes across as a hard-headed basher. He's shooting up like a skyrocket and isn't too concerned about who he ruffles on the way. Thinking about it - that alone gives him all the qualities to be the factol of the Fated. The reason he can get away with it is just because he does - there ain't many berks out there willing to challenge him straight up.

Rowan's every inch the self-made man, and there's parts of his life that he'll boastfully tell a cutter about. Darkwood was born on the Prime world of Toril, as he tells it, the third son of a nobleman. There weren't any prospects for him there, so his first act in creating himself was to go out and learn the woodsman's trade - hardly the calling for nobility of any rank. Still, he did good by it and eventually set himself up a small fief, thus living up to his family's name.

All that ended in a magical mishap with a deck of cards. For reasons he won't say, it earned him the hatred of a lieutenant of Baator's Dark Nine, who eventually caught him and did something to him. Rowan never talks about what happened to him, but a few planar bashers remember seeing him in the lower reaches of the Great Ring. When Rowan finally returned, he found that his home had changed, and his old life was long gone.

That would've done in most sods, but Rowan wasn't the type to stay still. He'd seen the planes and they fascinated him, so he learned the ways of getting around and set out to adventure in the multiverse. To hear him tell it (in his most convincing bluster), he drank from Mimir's well, was Heimdall's right hand, and single-handedly saved Ysgard from total destruction. Whether it's true or not, somewhere along the way he became a cleric of the Norse powers and rose quickly through the ranks. Certainly his exploits were enough to literally remake himself until he was stronger, fitter, indeed better in almost every way than those around him.

Primes from a distant region of Toril pick up his trail from there, for someone matching his type was supposed to have helped crush the witch-king of Vaasa in the Bloodstone wars. The Duke never said it was true, but he never denied it, either. It's quite possible he rebuilt himself again, this time as a High Priest and noble lord in that northern region.

Now it seems that Duke Darkwood's found Sigil. He's only been in the Cage for a few years, but already he's staked his claim to the leadership of the Fated. Passionate about the pursuit of his goals, Rowan seems determined to carve himself a new fief in the very heart of Sigil. Given what he's already done, who's to tell him it's impossible?

The Duke's a driven man, both to his credit and his harm. He can't accept obstacles, rules, or limits, so he's always trying to push further than anyone else. For all his wit and wisdom, he's not the negotiating type - action suits him more than words. He'll gladly break those he thinks deserve it, and he has few qualms about steam-rolling any opposition. In Sigil he's made almost as many enemies as friends, and it doesn't seem to matter.