Cat Fight!

Here we have Marlon (the silver one) and Anne Bonney (the other one) engaged in one of their low-impact donnybrooks.

People Are Stupid: This Actually Happened

A guy buys a rap CD and holds up the piece of paper he gets with it:

Guy: "Hey, what this?"

Me: "That's your receipt."

People are stupid.

In Praise of Chat-Based Gaming

So Cold Blood is a chat-based D&D v.3.5 Planescape campaign, and I've been asked from time to time how that's working out.

Honestly, I'm having more issues with my inexperience with v.3.5, having taken a long break from DMing and RPGs in general, and having added a new player mid-campaign, than I am with the chat-based medium. As for the Planescape setting and its 2nd Edition roots, I'm taking a "rules lite" approach, trying to just use things that other people have already converted, and not sweating the special rules for each plane. I figured that if they were that important, they would have been brought forward in v.3.5.

Our other major break from "traditional" gaming is that we have a three-hour session every week, instead of having a marathon every once in a while. (I was doing a secondary two-hour session for awhile, but I had a hard time keeping up with that.)

It's a little strange - I joined Jennifer's chat game, Brave New World, simply because I couldn't get a table-based game going locally - and now I find myself *preferring* the
chat medium.

My campaign's Obsidian Portal page includes this discussion of chat-based gaming conventions.

Here are the reasons chat-based gaming rules:

• You can send messages directly to a player via IM without the knowledge of the others.
• Players can make out-of-character comments without disrupting the game, even if no one else hears them.
• If somebody moves, it doesn’t have to be the end of the campaign. (One of my players moved cross-country recently, and IIRC we only missed 1 session.)
• The chat medium mutes my own identity somewhat—when I type out what an NPC says, my players hear the NPC’s voice more than mine (especially my player who’s never met me in person).
• Playing dramatic or emotional scenes is much easier when you don’t have to look at other people’s faces, which allows everyone to dig deeper.
• The chat log allows for much more robust adventure summaries, as one of my players provides.
• There’s a lot less table-talk, and everyone seems more “on-task.”
• Play in your pajamas. “Jammies rule!”
• You don’t have to drive home at the end of the session (unless you don’t have internet at your house, I guess), or provide directions.
• You don’t have to clean up after your players, or hassle them to clean up after themselves.
• You have immediate access to your files & websites. (Sure, you can have this at a table, but you’ve got to have a laptop & internet access if you’re not hosting. Also, you’re only an alt-tab away from your players in a chat game, and they don’t have to know you’re looking something up.)
• No arguments about how to pronounce things! Spelling counts though…
• This one’s very specific to my game, but Xaositect babble is much easier to make up on the fly if you’re typing it, rather than saying it.
  

We've also discussed it here and there on Treasure Tables, which was where I "met" Jennifer and found out about OP, but most of what we mentioned there is also covered above.

Naturally, there are disadvantages, and things that must be taken into consideration.

There's something to be said for friends gathered around a table, and I'll just leave it at that.

If you work from published adventures a lot, like I do, you end up scanning a lot of illustrations and maps you could just show people at a table, and you really have to boil boxed text down so you don’t spend all day typing it (and your players don’t have to keep wondering if you’re finished or not)

You really have to trust your players if you let them roll their own dice, instead of using the dice script. There’s also no guarantee that they don’t have GM-only books in front of them – or worse, a copy or PDF of the published adventure you’re running. Fortunately, I really trust my players…

The main thing is that combat takes a LONG time, so I've done away with incidental, random, or minor encounters - pretty much any fight that happens is a "set piece" that serves the story in some fashion, takes up most of a three-hour session, and is intended to provide significant challenge the party. (But, again, I'm still getting used to the 3.5 rules...) Since our group prefers roleplaying to fighting, this has been a good move anyway.

I always roll the DM's end of initiative in advance, so we can get right to it once the players have rolled. And if you can get your players working on rolling their actions in advance, so they're ready when their turn comes up, it speeds things up tremendously.

It's best to state things explicitly. When I call for a saving throw, I announce the DC up front; the enemy's AC is always revealed before the attack. It robs the game of a little mystery, but the time it saves is well worth it.

Another factor is that players may not communicate much amongst themselves. My group's pretty good about it, but you can end up with combats in which everyone's doing their own thing, and the PCs have no tactics. Depending on what you throw at them, this can be very dangerous, as happened in Jennifer's game. (We don't use a map or anything, so the movement / positioning of tactical combat is very abstract, when it's an issue at all.)

Since my group's PCs have well-defined motivations, it's not hard for me to steer them in the "right" direction without railroading... I usually have a pretty good idea of how much prep to do, and stopping every three hours gives me a LOT more leeway for midstream adjustments.

The other major problem is technical difficulties. People's internet connections flake out, sometimes AIM or Yahoo doesn't work right... resolving that stuff *during your session* is a major pain!

But it's also very immersive. I have three hardcore roleplayers with 4 PCs between them, and when those characters are talking, I hear the PCs, not the players. Not having to look at their faces (or having them look at mine) allows for some very emotional scenes that'd just be awkward at a table. People stay on-task. And you don't have to drive anywhere, give directions, or clean up after anyone. Having -immediate- access to Obsidian Portal during the session is also a godsend.

Our hiatus ends next week, beginning our drive to the end of the campaign, and I couldn't be more excited. I've had Cold Blood as a campaign waiting to happen since the Planescape setting debuted back in 1994, so finally getting to run it, especially with the group I've got, is like a dream come true.

Interlude: The Eternal Boundary

Gyderic found Lord Cerellis in the study, standing next to the map of Sigil. The half-celestial moved his gaze to him, and Gyderic found himself transfixed... time had eroded Cerellis's face like a rocky shoreline, but his eyes still held the blue innocence of an infant's. Gyderic felt like Cerellis was looking at his soul - this was not the old fool he'd seen in Haden's mind.

"Do I know you?" asked the lord, in a tone which suggested he already knew the answer.

Still, if he's more conscious than I expected, thought Gyderic, that might make my mission easier. Let us begin simply. "Where is Haden?"

"Don't know," Cerellis replied. "How did you get in here?"

"Your githzerai is useless."

"Too true." Cerellis moved from the map toward the desk to sit on its edge; Gyderic noted the greatsword resting against the wall behind the chair, its point lost in the lush carpet. "I hated to let Suinjes do his Unbroken Circle routine, but it was so important to him..."

"Where is your son?" Gyderic said, louder this time.

"I just told you I don't know. Is something wrong with you?"

"No," he replied through clenched teeth. Best not to agitate him - who knows what he's capable of? "But I know that he and his friends were here yesterday. I know they've checked out of the inn where they've been staying."

"Did you try at the Hands of Time? His elan acquaintance works there." The inflection Cerellis placed on 'acquaintance' was unreadable. Was there something between Sheen and Haden? What did the old man know about it?

"No," Gyderic snarled. "They weren't there, either." That, he thought, and the good Doctor has that place defended like a fortress.

"Or at the Circle? Their cleric stays there, redeeming the succubus that my father--"

"I tried there, as well. I'm afraid that I've lost my patience, milord."

"Do you remember where you had it last?"

"WHERE IS HADEN!"

"I'm not deaf, friend. Perhaps you should look to your own ears, though, as this is the third time I've told you that I don't know."

"We'll soon see about that," Gyderic sneered, and his power surged forth to rake through Cerellis's mind. To the psion's surprise, the old man made no effort to resist - and Gyderic found no sign of the information he sought. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Perhaps I've forgotten," the half-celestial said with a slight ruffle of his feathered wings. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

"You forgot - on purpose?! How is that possible?"

Cerellis turned the power of his gaze upon Gyderic again. "Because I will do whatever I must to protect what I hold dear. I wouldn't expect a man like yourself to understand."

"A man like myself," Gyderic said, feeling strangely uncomfortable.

"Yes. You feel powerful, and you think you're important, but there is no power or importance in harming others to get what you want."

"Shut your bone-box, old man."

"Why should I? I don't fear you. You're nothing but a weak little man."

"Strong enough to kill you with just a thought!"

"So? I've lived a better life than any man has a right to ask for. Two hundred years worth... and I've seen beyond the Eternal Boundary. I've been to the place I'm going. I've fought to defend it. Have you seen the Nine Hells, sirrah? I promise you, you'd think twice about your life if you had."

"I don't plan on dying - ever. That's why I'm looking for Haden."

"Is this about the Eye of the Dawn?"

"What do you know about that?" asked the psion, thunderstruck.

"I know that Alocer, among others, has been looking for it, and that he thinks it'll complete his City. But it can't do any of that - and it won't make you immortal."

"That's where you're wrong." Gyderic explained his plan, though he had no idea why he felt compelled to do so. Was it because the old man wasn't long for this world? Or was he just desperate to tell someone? Surely Cerellis would recognize his genius - the inevitability of his triumph.

Cerellis listened carefully; when Gyderic finished, the half-celestial said "You'll never succeed."

Gyderic gave a forced laugh which the old man saw right through. "It won't be you that stops me."

"You've decided to kill me, then."

"After a fashion."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to lie down for it."

What? Gyderic stole a glance at the greatsword, but Cerellis didn't seem to notice. "I thought you were the sort who'd want to go out fighting," the psion said.

"Maybe once. Not any more."

Resigned to this strange scenario, Gyderic followed the half-celestial up the staircase, and even helped him into bed. "Your son doesn't know you at all," the elan admitted.

"Alas." Cerellis blinked a golden tear from his eyes. "I've had to maintain that facade for so long... the toll it's taken on Haden is my sole regret."

"I don't know why you broke it with me."

The old man shrugged, saying "I suppose I wanted someone to see the real me before it's gone." He leaned toward the nightstand, which supported an elaborate vase of exotic flowers, and inhaled their fragrance, motioning for Gyderic to do the same.

"It's intoxicating," Gyderic said. "Almost like spicy food."

"Stygian lotus. It only grows in the Fifth Hell. Takes no end of effort to cultivate, but it's just so... unique. I had never believed that such beauty could be found in dark places before encountering it. Much like my wife, of course." A wistful expression crossed the old man's face. "I must confess a second regret - that I never brought her into the light - but that, at least, will fall to hands other than mine. What is your name, sirrah?"

"Gyderic, my lord."

"Ah. As for you, Gyderic, I fear my father was wrong."

"Your father."

"Yes. He believed that anyone - everyone - could be swayed to the cause of virtue."

"Then your father was a fool."

"That was my fear as well... though, were he here, he might have seen something within you that I cannot." Sampling the flower's bouquet one last time, Cerellis lay down and announced "I'm ready."

- – - – -

Gyderic destroyed Lord Cerellis's mind, but could find no pleasure in it.

- – - – -

Afterward, he called his minions to his side, and waited for the Gatekeepers to arrive.

Interlude: Under the Shadow

Eliath stared at the ceiling and begged the powers for sleep. Every night had been like this for the old wizard, ever since he'd encountered that woman. What the Hells were you thinking?!, she had demanded of him. What little he could remember of the answer terrified him, to the extent that he hadn't asked Thea for any help with his memory.

Now, in the grip of another sleepless night, Eliath wondered if he'd made the right decision. Again he promised to seek her out, doubting that he ever would. His work with the Doomguard kept him so busy during Sigil's daylight hours... still, how much more of this could he take?

What was that? Eliath's eyes drifted to the door of his small room - had he heard a noise in the hall? Straining to see in the darkness, he invoked a spell of light, catching the glint of shining metal - a silver blade, drawing closer.

Eliath rose from his bed and beheld the weapon's wielder, a flat shadow with a humanoid shape. "Death has come for you, Eliath Morard," it breathed, and raised the sword to strike.

Eliath flung his hands out and shouted words of power, reducing the shadow demon to a smoldering pile of ashes.

The old wizard watched the silver sword clatter to the floor. He hadn't expected that spell to work on the creature. Moreover, he hadn't known that he'd known that spell - that he could cast it. How had he done that?

The sight of the demon had stirred something in his memory, in the hinterlands of his consciousness. He focused his will, struggling to recall -

- and in an eye's blink, Eliath's entire life came crashing down upon him, and he remembered everything.... all the spells and powers at his disposal. The location of the portal to the Isle of Black Trees, and its key. The reason he'd been seeking it to begin with. And the entity who'd started him down that path in the first place.

"Betzalel," Eliath sighed.

Without another word, Eliath Morard gathered the sword and his possessions, then left the Armory, having decided that there was much work to do before he slept.

Interlude: The Devil You Know

Baltazo looked up from his work to see Gyderic approaching, a stormy look on the elan's face. "So, how did it go?" the changeling asked, keeping his tone disinterested.

"The Bleaker didn't have the Eye," the elan said.

"He never had it? Or he didn't have it any more?"

Gyderic slammed his fists down on the desk. "He gave it to the adventurers. Those Gatekeepers!"

"So you don't have it, then," Baltazo said in the same half-bored tone.

"No. And I've been wondering why that might be. There's no way the Gatekeepers could have known about the Eye unless someone told them!"

Baltazo steepled his fingers, then arched an eyebrow.

Pointing a finger, Gyderic said "You never explained how you got away from them in Plague-Mort."

"Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind, Gyderic?"

"You told them where to find me."

"Of course." Gyderic seemed taken aback by the confession. "What was I supposed to do? They made wreckage of my lions, and I couldn't teleport away."

A violet halo burst into view around Gyderic's shoulder, and the elan growled "You treacherous bastard."

"Pike it, Gyderic." Baltazo stood and backed away from the desk. "If you'd killed Starwing, like I ordered you to, you'd already have the Eye. Everything they've done to thwart us comes from your sloppy work. I knew I should have sent Fade."

"He never would have learned what I have," Gyderic replied, circling around the desk. "And now, neither will you."

"Do your worst," replied the changeling, beginning a defensive spell.

"ENOUGH!" came a bellow from the hall, freezing both men in place.

A hairless human-like creature with great ram's horns floated into the room. Apart from the hooks, chains, and barbs that decorated its flesh, he was nude. Baltazo dropped to his knees at once; Gyderic followed mere seconds later.

"The City needs me," the devil began, regarding the two men with lifeless eyes of solid black. "Do you know how it ANGERS our lord that I must leave it to 'check up' on you? SILENCE!" he thundered before Gyderic had even opened his mouth to protest. "Already you have failed to gain us the Tear of the Night. Now the Eye has also slipped from your grasp!"

The devil glided between them, stooping to peer at Baltazo's tightly shut eyes. "Our lord believes that you have both outlived your usefulness, and I'm inclined to agree. What do you say to that, Baltazo?"

"If that is his will." The changeling's voice shook with the words.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," the devil said, returning to his full height. "However, the lord recognizes your past service - and appreciates your aid with our latest recruit. Furthermore, you seem to know more about these meddlers than I, so we have agreed to give you one more chance."

"Praise you, Betzalel," said Gyderic.

Betzalel drifted toward the elan. "My offer still stands. I will reward you most handsomely for the Eye of the Dawn. And if you kill these Gatekeepers in the process, so much the better."

"What about the Tear of the Night?"

"It's no longer your concern. Another agent has been sent to retrieve it." As the devil floated toward the hall, he paused to state, "I return to the City of Mirrors. If you don't have the Eye the next time you see me, I shall be the last thing you ever see."

Gyderic turned his gaze back to Baltazo once Betzalel was gone. "If I get the Eye before you," the elan said, "the duke won't need you any more."

"I was thinking the same thing about you," the changeling replied.

"Then we are agreed." Gyderic stood and left the room, leaving Baltazo to work his way back into his chair. The changeling drew a fancy sheet of parchment from the desk and began to write.

Let Gyderic try, he thought. The adventurers would make short work of him, and it would draw attention from his own plan.

He sealed the letter with the symbol of the Great Eye, stood, and crossed the room to a mirror. His face had changed to resemble the ranger's. Talan, his name was.

"I'm Talan," said Baltazo, repeating it until it sounded close enough. It would have to do; he only had to fool Hexla long enough to subdue her.

With a stolen smile, Baltazo left to begin his work...

Kira Selnic: A Love Story

When I was working on my homebrew RPG, Abenteuer, about a hundred years ago, I needed a illustration for my Magic chapter. I knew my subject had to be the NPC witch, Kira Selnic. It's true what they say; you never forget your first romantic subplot.

Back in 1987 or so, I was taking a break from DMing and playing through G1-3 Against the Giants with my brother; since it was just the two of us, we each played two characters. The DM also set us up with an ogre tagging along, who was helpful in spite of his aggressive stupidity.

Still, this was 1st Edition days, which meant that we were getting pounded - a lot. The adventure's author, the late, lamented E. Gary Gygax, recommended a party of NINE PCs with an average level of 9th, although he claimed that "a party of 3 or 4 highly experienced 9th level characters can expect a reasonable change of survival if they use their knowledge and cunning to best advantage."

What the EGG of Coot isn't telling you there is that this adventure still features a lot of ridiculously hard fights. The big set-piece encounter in G1 Steading of the Hill Giant Chief is the modern equivalent of an EL 18 encounter. Now, sure, giants are a lot more deadly today than they were back then, but DAMN. (Also, our ogre was taken out in the first round. Our party's survival came down to ONE roll, by the way, made by myself, which I talked about here.)

So by the time we got to G2 Glacial Rift of the Frost Giant Jarl, we were sick of getting smacked around. There's a hidden cave which parties can use to rest, and we got back there one night to find a woman hiding in it - the aforementioned witch, Kira Selnic - and her quasit familiar. Kira joined our quest, and things got easier... for a while.

As I mentioned, I was playing two PCs - Ilona Lorien, the elf cleric who began her career as an NPC (and the love interest for one of my brother's PCs), and Nicholas Sharpe, whom I'd recently created to replace the PC of someone we weren't playing with anymore. Kira took an interest in Nick, and over the course of the adventure, she seduced him, married him, and bore his daughter, Madeleine. (Yeah, it was a long adventure.)

This was cool because Nick, being a new character, wasn't very defined outside of his stats. In pursuing the romance with Kira, I was able to suss out his personality and his background - and, when the other PCs began to mistrust Kira, his relationships with them.

The other PCs were right to doubt her, though. Around the time we moved on to G3 Hall of the Fire Giant King, Kira tried to murder Nick, claiming that doing so would fulfill a prophecy issued by whatever dark powers she served. The rest of the party drove her off, leaving Nick with the baby and a lot of unanswered questions.

Unfortunately, we stopped playing with that DM after that. This was my first experience with an unfinished campaign plot - at least, one I wanted to finish. I ran the rest of Hall of the Fire Giant King myself, but I didn't get back to tying off those loose plot threads until the campaign was over. Though Kira finally paid the price for her treachery, the ultimate nature of the prophecy is still a mystery, since I still may play Madeleine myself someday.

The end result was that I became strung out on romantic subplots, even when - all right, especially when - my character was being played like a chump. I started considering this aspect of my PCs while creating them; fortunately, I'd created enough love interests as a GM that it wasn't too weird to do that with my ever-increasing number of female PCs. Still, a number of those women had been hurt, or were fleeing an arranged marriage, or were otherwise "not in the market" for love. (Jazra was a notably sleazy exception, but she never saw play as a PC.) As I began to figure out what women in the real world wanted in their men, though, that began to trickle down to the characters.

During my time away from roleplaying, BioWare started providing this sort of content in their games, which was one of the elements I'd always found lacking in CRPGs. Still, the absence of a human DM was pretty limiting. If I'm playing a cleric in NwN2, for instance, and I can only have 3 NPCs in the party, and my only romantic prospect is a druid (Elanee) or another cleric (Kaelyn, in Mask of the Betrayer), [EDIT: Safiya, not Kaelyn, is the male love interest, but I didn't see that coming] then those romances aren't likely to go anywhere, unless I grab an exhaustive walkthrough and drag them around to the places where I can increase my Influence with them, then dump them back at the home base so I can travel with someone who complements my group better. "Do you trust me now, Elanee? You do? Cool, head back to the inn and send Neeshka back up here, will you?" (If only that were so simple, too, BTW.)

Even so, Elanee's kind of a twit, while Qara's Got It Going On, and Neeshka grew on me once I got used to her annoying-ness. But no, with NwN2 it's Elanee or nothing. I haven't replayed with a female PC, but I have it on good authority that Casavir isn't the most appealing distaff option, either.

At least they had the common decency to have the only choices in KotOR and the first NwN be the best choices. Jennifer Hale brings "Teh Irresistible Hawt" to Bastila Shan and Aribeth de Tylmarande (and to Fall-from-Grace, and Sedusa, and well, pretty much anything she does).

Also, shouldn't I be allowed to hit on these females with a female PC? You've already got my money! Let me mack on whoever I want, with whatever I want!

I know that modders are adding new romantic options to these games, but it's not like the game is telling you up front, "You can romance Elanee, but you can't chase Qara without a mod." By the time the player figures that out, it's usually Too Late. And I'm sorry, I don't have the time to play through the game again to see what the fans think a romance with Qara would be like. I can do that on my own... mmm, Qara...

... whoops. That was out loud there, wasn't it?

Once we get the big fight out of the way, tomorrow night's Cold Blood session is all about advancing the romantic subplots. I'm lucky enough to have a group who enjoys the soap opera stuff as much as I do. I'm glad to be a gamer. I'm glad to be gaming. And I'm glad to have a group who enjoys the game that's compatible with the way I like to run it.

And I have Kira Selnic to thank for that. Here's to you, you twisted freak show... I hope your afterlife is exactly what you deserve. (love you)

Interlude: Raven's Revelation

Joris returned to the Circle, and felt his exhaustion lifted when he saw a black-haired figure kneeling before the altar. Though her back was to him, Joris was sure it was her, even before she said "Hello, Joris," tinged with that untraceable accent.

"Raven," he said, not sure what should come next.

Raven stood and turned to face him, the ghost of a smile on her lips. Gods above, thought Joris, but it aches to behold her.

"I've been waiting for you," she said.

The urge to ask why arose, but he pushed it aside. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting," he said, "but I've just returned from Plague-Mort."

"I know."

How could she know that? What do I say next? "Anyway, I'm here now." The words fell from his lips like lead, but she didn't seem bothered.

"I'm glad," said Raven. "I have much to tell you."

"I see," he replied. "Um, have you seen Numeledes?"

"He's upstairs, sleeping. Close the doors, Joris. Please." He tried to keep an eye on her as he did. "I'm sorry I had to leave the Masque so soon."

Joris walked back down the aisle toward her. "I wasn't angry or anything. I just wanted to get a chance to... to get to know you."

"That's why I've come," she said as he approached, though he stopped when that strangely familiar scent crept into his nostrils. "There's something you have to know, before it's too late. Whatever happens... please understand that I didn't come here to hurt you."

"I don't understand," Joris said, apprehension bleeding around the edges of his words.

"I hope you will," she replied, and in the span of six seconds, her great bat-like wings shimmered into view, and an eerie red glow appeared in the depths of her eyes. In all other respects, she looked exactly the same.

"You're a fiend," Joris whispered, feeling icy needles in his extremities.

"My name is not Raven. My name is Kalisa, and I am tanar'ri."

Not just tanar'ri, but a succubus. Joris became aware of anger growing in his heart, somewhere under the numbness. "That was you? What were you doing in Plague-Mort?"

"As I told you then, I was investigating the Illuminated, same as you."

"And that - that face that you wore?"

"I must disguise myself when I risk running into other tanar'ri. You've seen why."

That he had. "What happened with you and... Latana, was it?"

"I sent her back to the Abyss. That's why I carry a cold iron weapon... to them, I'm a traitor."

Joris's head was reeling. What had she said about the Illuminated? "Is that why you were at the Masque in the first place? Looking for Baltazo?"

"Yes. At least, that was my reason for going. But now I know that fate brought me there, to find you."

Joris glared at her, and said "You're a succubus. No wonder I fell for you so hard." How could I have been so blind?

Raven's - Kalisa's - hands were out, palms up, her head tilted slightly, her voice calm, even as rage found its way into Joris's. "I'm sure the word of a demon means nothing to you, but I swear, I didn't charm you."

"You didn't have to, did you? It can't be hard to find the most gullible and desperate man in a crowded room, even if everyone's wearing a mask."

"It's not like that, Joris. You have something... you can offer me something that I need."

With a mirthless laugh, Joris said "I'm sure you could have found someone more qualified to give you that, as well."

"No," she said. "It's not that, either."

"Well, what is it, then? What could I possibly offer you?"

"Redemption."

The room fell silent.

"Redemption," Joris repeated, disbelief flushing his anger away. "For a fiend? I thought such things were impossible."

"Anything is possible. Already I have stepped from the shadows. I only need a hand to guide me into the light. Can you do that for me, Joris? Will you?"

Joris took a seat on a pew and held his head in his hands; almost at once, Kalisa was on her knees before him. He could not avoid her gaze, so he plunged into it, searching her for any sign of deception. It took all of his will to look beyond her beauty, but he could find no reason to doubt her words.

"I believe you," he said, "but I don't know that I can trust you."

At once, she said "My truename is Kalisatreanugori." Seeing his surprise, she continued: "As a student of the arcane, you must know what mortals can do to me with that knowledge... what you could do... and what it means for me to entrust you with it."

It was her truename; the word's power vibrated on his tongue, daring him to speak it. Fiends kept them secret all their lives; spellcasters could use truenames to summon them, punish them, or bind them into service. If she were willing to trust him with it, couldn't he trust her?

"All right, then," was all he had time to say before Kalisa's lips brushed against his, setting off fireworks in his mind. You're kissing a succubus, you stupid sod! Was that Haden's voice? Sheen's? That's how they steal your sodding soul! Get her off you! But he found himself quite unable - quite unwilling.

His wits returned as she pulled away, and he raised his fingertips to his mouth, not sure what he expected to feel there. He didn't feel diminished - not in the slightest. The kiss of a succubus was supposed to have a suggestive power which made you want more; the urge he felt, though powerful, seemed perfectly natural.

"What's wrong?" Kalisa asked, searching his eyes, sounding a little rejected. She drew her wings around her body. "I've repulsed you, haven't I?"

Joris brushed her wing aside like a curtain. "No, Kalisa."

"Please, don't look at me. I'm marked by the gods of darkness. I'm hideous!"

"You're wrong," said Joris, wiping a tear from her eye. "You are, by far, the most beautiful creature I have ever seen in all my life."

She smiled with a sniff. "That can't be true."

"I promise you that it is."

"Thank you, Joris. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kissed you like that."

"How should you have kissed me?" Joris asked before he could stop himself.

"Like this, I think," taking his hand and kissing the tips of his fingers until he was sure he'd pass out. They don't have to kiss you on the mouth to steal your soul, came the voice again. Was it his father, maybe? His own voice?

Go away, thought Joris. It's my soul, and I think it's worth the risk.

It's your funeral, berk.

He returned his hand to the side of her face, caressing her cheek. No mortal had skin this exquisite.

I've presided over enough funerals. Maybe I deserve one of my own.

"Do you wish me to pay for your help?" asked Kalisa.

"Of course not!"

"But you desire me."

"Of course I do."

"Then I will honor you with my love," said Kalisa, "if you will let me." Her hair waved over his hand like a midnight sea, and at once, he realized, this was the most important decision he would ever make.

This is your last chance, came a voice he knew to be his own. You could turn her away. Let her be someone else's problem. Whether you trust her or not, she's a fiend. She has powerful enemies - and she'll never be more than one sin away from damnation. What if she drags you down with her? Are you willing to risk perdition?

She's doomed to fail without my help, he thought, looking into her eyes once more.

Then why lie with her? How does that do anything but complicate the situation?

Because I have never wanted anything more. Besides, I have to know her if I am to save her, and what better way could there be?

That's specious reasoning, Crownsilver.

Look, I can't work with her and not yield to the temptation. What man could?

The voice was quiet now. Joris said "I could never ask for a greater honor... but I doubt that I'm worthy of it."

"By the time I'm through with you," she said, moving to kiss his mouth again, "you will doubt no more."

* * *

That night, Joris Crownsilver, who considered himself a scholar of all things divine, beheld divinity in a manner he never had before.

* * *

They talked for hours, their bodies pressed together beneath the blanket, as much for reassurance as to ward off the cold.

"Why me, Kalisa? Dark as this Cage may be, there must be others more virtuous than I."

The tanar'ri rolled out from under his arm, flashing him a disarming grin. "Do you know which virtue vexes the virtuous the most, Joris? Humility."

"Not everyone has this much to be humble about," he said, wishing he could laugh at it.

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that. You're a good man, Joris Crownsilver, and that's a damned rare thing. Anyone who can't see that in you is blind, and anyone who tells you differently is a liar."

Lord Cerellis's question drifted through Joris's head: Are you a brave man, and true? How had he answered? Oh, yes: I try to be. Maybe that was enough.

"You're very kind to say so," Joris said, wishing he could come up with something better.

"That's my point, though. You follow that path because you feel that it's right, not because you seek honor, or glory, or some reward. I want to do the same."

Her fingertips traced fiery circles on his stomach, but his fatigue was quickly catching up with him.

"How did you... step out of the darkness in the first place?" he asked.

"It's a long story, better left for another time."

"And your crusade against the Illuminated?"

"Part of the same story."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he decided to let it go, for now. When Sheen's inevitable reaction crossed his mind, he asked, "What do I tell my friends?"

"Why not the truth? Don't they trust you?"

"They always have, but I've never come to them with something like this before."

"If you don't tell them now, they'll find out sooner or later. Then they'll want to know why you didn't tell them..."

Joris sketched a sudden yawn. "Should warn you," he drawled, "I snore."

As he drifted off to sleep, he heard Kalisa say, "I know."

* * *

Joris dreamed, but not of Lenora.

* * *

Joris woke up alone, much later than he'd intended. He dressed in a hurry and dashed down the stairs; Numeledes, sanctifying the altar, watched him as he headed for the door.

"Succubus found you, did she?" called the old man.

Joris stopped. "You knew?"

"Of course. Why, didn't you?"

"No!"

"Must have been quite a shock, then."

Joris started toward him. "You could have told me."

"Sure, but then you might not have given her a chance. That's the thing about life on the Planes; nothing's what it looks like, and you've gotta figure out what's what on your own."

Joris thought this over for a moment, then said "I think I know where Firil is."

"Really?"

"Yes, someone I'm looking for is looking for her."

The old man smiled. "Send her my love, won't you?"

Joris nodded and left the Circle.

End of a Brave New World

So real life has forced Brave New World to a premature end. Work on my own campaign continues unabated, but I was already dwelling on "unfinished business" in the RPG medium, so I'm going to ramble about that for a while.

My first real ongoing campaign, Hand of Fate, began in 1986 as a series of episodic AD&D 1st Edition adventures. Since I wasn't telling an over-arcing story - what you might call "mythology" or "metaplot" these days - it wasn't a big deal to end that campaign with the PCs around 12th level. Later on, when this sort of thing bothered me, I did add some "untold stories" to resolve some of the dangling plot threads, since it wasn't feasible to get the group back together to play those episodes.

After that was the sprawling epic, Legacy, which did tell one long story, and took the PCs from 1st level to 20th (or whatever their racial maximum level was, damn 2nd Edition) over the summer of 1989. We almost didn't make it, though, so everything I've run since has been smaller. Because of that, I've finished three different campaigns: The Raven Returns, then The Threshold twice (first with my homebrew RPG, then with D&D 3E and a different group). Two started out with promise, only to end prematurely: Nemesys and Year of Shadows. I've prepped a lot of games apart from those, but Cold Blood is the only one that's made it to market - and it's intended to be a long one.

Real life is the ultimate cause of all campaign deaths, at least in my experience. If a group doesn't like your game, it rarely survives beyond the first session; some of mine have perished in this fashion. I've come to think of it like TV - you make a pilot, and if your audience likes it, you go to series. If not, you start over. (You can also fire everyone, but I don't recommend that.)

Anything that endures beyond three or four sessions only gets killed by school, or work, or relationships, or the like, as my two failed games have been. Really, to see five out of seven campaigns through to the end is pretty damned good... almost every story-driven campaign I've ever played in has flamed out before reaching the end of the story.

A friend's Shadowrun campaign lost players until it became a solo game for me. I loved that campaign too much to give up on it, and it just kept on going, because it was everything I'd ever wanted out of a game. It ended abruptly around the time the 2nd Edition came out (1992, which should give you some idea of how important this game was to me, that I'm still talking about it after all this time), leaving me with more Karma than the Buddha and a fistful of unanswered questions. Every so often, a new edition of Shadowrun comes out and I think about writing my own answers, but I never have. I only wonder what might have been.

I GM'd a little after that, but I didn't become a player again until Brave New World, and that was almost by accident (look down amongst the comments). If you're a gamer, you probably know how it is with a new group. It's hard to find someone you really click with, and you can never be sure until you play, even if everything looks good on paper.

I hadn't played a v.3.5 game. I'd never used psionics. I knew nothing about Maztica, even though I'd owned the boxed set about six moves ago. Our DM had suggested fey characters, since that fit in with where the party would be that session - something I'd never played, or done much with as a DM. And as I thought about these characters, growing up in isolation, the notion of playing them as dangerously naive seemed impossible to resist, especially since I usually play the jaded, cosmopolitan types. So I had to create two characters, and fast - in less than a week.

Still, every once in a while, everything falls into place.

This campaign didn't last as long as the Shadowrun game did, but I put more effort into this one, I think: exploring the personalities of Kyrian and Olena, thinking about the best way to advance them, digging deep with the other players, talking to the DM about everything that was going on, etcetera.

Now, six months later, it's time to collect the unanswered questions in my other fist and Move On.

Brave New World brought me back into roleplaying after the longest hiatus of my life. I've made some friends, had a lot of fun, learned to love chat-based gaming, and started writing and drawing again. It started me on the road to DMing again, which is still when I'm at my happiest. The group is sure to try something different later on.

But I still can't help but wonder what might have been.

Oscar Picks '07

NOTE: I actually wrote a post out before the show, then forgot to publish it. So, just like last year, I'm writing a post-game analysis.

The good news is, out of the nine "official" picks I made (Picture, Director, the acting & screenplay categories, and Animated Feature), I got seven right (78%). I missed both Actress categories, and pretty badly at that. Also, Sweeney Todd took Art Direction, which was one of my "soft" picks.

The bad news is that overall, I was only 10 for 24 (42%), getting Foreign Language Film and Original Song and NOTHING ELSE.

The show itself was pretty entertaining... I didn't really have anything to pull for this year, which made it kind of uninvolving. Outside of the technical categories, I've only seen Sweeney Todd (which I wrote about here), Ratatouille, and Eastern Promises (good as Viggo was in it, I knew he didn't have a chance against Daniel Day-Lewis). Hopefully I can do something about that soon...

By the way, this is my 50th post.

Interlude: Face of the Enemy

Haden regained consciousness in a small, torchlit room, and was not surprised to find himself lashed to a table. He was a little bruised, but otherwise all right. And at least they had left his clothes on; given the chill in the air, he was doubly thankful for that.

"Perfect timing," a voice declared.

"And style to spare," Haden answered automatically. He craned to catch a glimpse of the approaching figure, but the stranger loomed over him soon enough. He recognized the silver skull mask at once, then he saw that the brooch which fastened the cloak took the shape of an eye - the Great Eye.

"Baltazo," Haden said.

"Yes," replied Baltazo. "I've been looking forward to seeing you again, Haden."

"I'm not impressed. Nearly everyone's heard of me in the Cage. Do they tell stories about me in this wretched little burg, too?"

"I understand your need for bravado," Baltazo said, "but we both know that your effort is wasted. You cannot rile me with your asinine banter."

"There's one in every crowd."

"I wonder why you've come to trouble me so." Baltazo moved to the other side of Haden's table. He started to pull off his gloves, but Haden couldn't see his hands.

"Maybe I really like dinosaurs," Haden suggested.

"They would have been useful to us, but Nihmron's loss is of no concern. What concerns me is your interest in my sect. Yours, and that of your friends."

"They're no friends of mine! I have no loyalty to them."

"You're quick to denounce them - too quick."

"Let me prove it to you! I'll tell you everything."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. My interrogator will scour your brain until I know everything you do." Baltazo's hands went to his mask, and Haden could see flesh flowing like quicksilver beneath it. "I'm going to show you my true face, Haden. That's how thoroughly I expect him to take you apart."

Baltazo lowered the mask, revealing blank white eyes, pale gray skin, and only the suggestion of a nose and lips. Haden had the horrifying impression that someone had started to sculpt Baltazo, then had been called away from the job, never to complete it. He recognized Baltazo as a Prime creature, from one of the backwater worlds, but the name eluded him.

"Take a good luck. This is my true face." Haden believed it. "You'll be lucky if you remember your own name, let alone this face."

He walked away from the table, and another man came into view. He was simply dressed, with tangled brown hair and a mustache that seemed pasted on. His amber eyes studied Haden, and their pupils seemed very small in the dark room. Like Sheen, he looked human - had once been human - but now was something else.

"Well met, Haden. I am Gyderic."

Haden struggled to mask his fear. "I know that name. You turned against your Council."

"Only when they refused me." The elan's smile made Haden queasy. "How could you possibly know about that?"

Haden pressed his lips together, but Gyderic's eyelids fluttered, Haden felt a power slice across his mind, and his secret was laid bare.

"Sheen," Gyderic hissed, barely audible over Haden's cries. "I never would have guessed, yet it makes perfect sense. Imagine that! My poor, deluded mistress, out here on the Great Wheel."

His mistress? thought Haden, struggling to pull himself together. Sheen?! "Trent... he said you were in the dead-book."

"The Great Eye illuminated my way back."

As Gyderic leaned over Haden, the aasling perceived a coruscating halo of power around the elan's head. He tried to concentrate on how beautiful it was, instead of dwelling on what it would do to him.

"Now, Haden. Tell me everything."

* * *

"He's broken, then?" asked Baltazo.

"Shattered," replied Gyderic. "He has some psionic talent, though. He might mend."

"And was he acting on his mother's behalf?"

"No, she hates him. Unless she was manipulating him without his knowledge, but I think he's too peery for that."

"I see. You've done well, Gyderic."

The elan sketched a graceful bow. "What will you do with him now?"

"Try to ransom him, I expect. His parents are golden lords, and we always need jink. Nobody knows he's here. In the meantime, I have another mission for you."

"I serve the Eye," Gyderic said.

Interlude: Kyrian & Aviana

Kyrian clawed his way out of a feverish dream to find his mother leaning over him, softly singing. The soothing sound brought his nerves back in line, and soon his breathing was normal, if a little raspy.

"You've been sleeping all day," Aviana said, stroking his forehead. "Barak's been treating you, but it doesn't help. May have to sweat this one out."

Kyrian groaned and sat up with some effort. He was in a bed in a shared room; he wondered if it belonged to one of his friends. "Have you been here the whole time?" he asked.

"Pretty much," she replied. "I've had to get up and stretch and have a look around once or twice. This place is amazing!"

Before he could stop himself, Kyrian said "This is my father's school," and a shadow fell across his mother's face. He wanted to apologize, but hadn't really said anything wrong, so a deadly silence crept into the space between them.

"They told me he's dead," Aviana finally said. Seeing her son nod, she said "I'm sure you've wondered why I've never told you about him."

"No," Kyrian lied. "Your reasons are yours alone."

"I want to tell you; I'm just not sure if I can. Your father was... a powerful man, Kyrian."

"He was a god pretending to be a man."

"I believe it," she said, her face showing only the slightest flicker of surprise. "I was drawn to him; all of the women of the Valley were. He'd stopped coming around by the time you and Olena were born, but I could smell his power on you both. I was sure he'd come for you someday, or that you'd go to him. Still, I wanted to hold on to you till that day came. So, I never told you. I'm sorry, it was selfish of me, I know, but..."

"Don't be sorry. He wasn't always the man you and my friends knew. He has another daughter, Demaris... he was vile to her. Every day I thank the gods that Olena and I were raised by you, and not by Nymbus."

"Nymbus!" Aviana exclaimed. "That was his name."

"Yes. Did you... see much of him, Mother?"

She seemed to have a hard time remembering. "You could say that."

"Then you knew him well?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. Unless you mean as a lover; that, I can tell you about." Not sensing her son's discomfort, she went on: "He was exciting... curious, and attentive... but distant. Oh, he feigned passion well enough - maybe he wanted to feel it, too - but he didn't fool me."

"I don't like much of what I've learned about Nymbus, Mother. He's... he was... I'm afraid that I'm becoming like him."

Aviana kissed her son's forehead, and his worries dissipated, if only for an instant. "Why would you think something like that?" she said.

"I don't know... Demaris has renounced her father, which makes me feel like his heir. I don't know, Mother. No matter how smart I might be, sometimes I can barely think at all. My feelings are so confusing! There are times I wish I could just... turn my heart off. And, to me, that sounds like Nymbus. Like someone pretending to be human."

Aviana dragged her chair closer to the bed, and shifted her son's position so that Kyrian's head rested on her shoulder. She petted his head again, saying, "Whatever Nymbus may have been, or done, he gave me you, and he gave me your sister. I've loved you all your lives; I'll love you till the stars turn cold. You two are the best thing that's ever happened to me, Kyrian. Never forget that.

"And take it from me; you'll never turn your heart off. I know it too well, son. Whatever legacy he's given you, use it to become your own man. Make your own luck. Find your own truth."

Kyrian mulled this over, then said, "I'm sorry about the Valley."

"It wasn't your fault."

"That... woman... was looking for the key. The gift that Nymbus gave you. They murdered the Valley trying to find it."

"Why?" asked Aviana.

"I'm not sure. I thought he didn't need the keys anymore; maybe we were the target. Either way, there are more crystals out in the world, getting bigger by the minute... and keys that go with them. We've got to get those keys before any more lives are ruined."

"You sound like Olena," said the naiad.

"I know. She told me about this village that Sulveig's soldiers had attacked... they slew all the men, and maimed the women. Cut their tongues out." Aviana drew a sharp breath, but Kyrian continued anyway. "They were just innocent people, caught in evil's path. Olena and her group were... bothered by that. So they rescued them, and the fellows from Cormyr brought them back here to the school, and taught them to fight."

"Those women were villagers? I never would have guessed. What happened with their tongues, then?"

"Barak. He learned a new power and came all the way back here, just so he could heal them."

"Really," Aviana said.

"You should have seen the women's faces! I've never seen gratitude like that. And he did it without expecting any reward. It gave me a lot to think about. In truth, it just brought new focus to things I'd already been thinking about, for a long time.

"Anyhow, Barak and Jenan were talking before we left the school. They both wanted to go out into the world, to make things better than they are, somehow. Now, I understand what they mean. Now, I want to do the same thing."

Kyrian waited for his mother's reply, continuing when none came. "My psionic powers - I don't fully understand them, but my talents for fighting, sneaking, hiding - killing - are increasing. I'm still not very good, but pitting myself against these enemies is the only way I'll learn. Hunting these... villains who use psionics to hurt others is my true calling. I only wish it hadn't taken the death of our Valley to make me realize it."

"If you hunt villains, does that make you a hero?" Aviana asked.

"No," he said at once. "Just the right man for the job."

Aviana smiled. "I'm proud of you, Kyrian. I know Olena will be, too."

"She's in love, Mother."

"Really?" Sparks danced in the naiad's eyes. "With whom?"

Kyrian told his mother everything that Olena had told him about Oren. "That doesn't sound like the best match," Aviana finally said. "Oh well, she might find something better. Still, as long as she's happy."

"She is."

"And what about you, Kyrian? Did you find someone to love?"

"Me? No." He thought about keeping this secret from her, as he had from Olena, but it was no use. "I mean, I did. But I didn't figure it out in time."

"Tell me about her."

Kyrian did so; though he found it exhausting, it was also liberating. The story grew to encompass his entire journey; he had to punch it up here and there as Aviana's attention span started to wander. When he was done, she said, "So you didn't take any lovers at the caravanserai?"

"What? No."

"And the women here at the school? You didn't claim a little gratitude for yourself?"

"No! Mother!"

"Why not, Kyrian? It's just sex."

"Because it's... I'm..." He presses his fingertips to the corners of his eyes. "Because human women confuse me, Mother, even more than fey women. They're so vague! None of them seem to be interested in me. Or maybe they are, and I can't tell. Or maybe they pretend to be, to get me to do what they want."

Aviana laughed. "Yep, a fey woman doesn't play those games. You'll only learn by playing, though."

"All right, so what if I do land a woman? I'm not... I don't know if I can satisfy one."

"Why not? Don't you remember what I taught you?"

"Of course!" Kyrian could feel his fever coming on again. "But knowing what to do and doing it... for the first time? Very different."

"Again, you won't know till you try. Get out there, son. Sow some wild oats."

Kyrian's eyelids fluttered, and he yawned again. "I don't know if I can do that."

"Why not? Try. Just because your poor sister wants to chain herself to one man doesn't mean you have to do the same. With a woman, I mean."

"Means that much to you, does it?"

"Of course."

"If I promise to try, will you let me sleep?"

"Sure."

"Then I promise."

"Say it, Kyrian."

"I promise," he said, sighing, "to sleep with a girl the next chance I get."

"Don't just sleep with her; have sex with her."

"That's what I meant."

He felt his mother's lips on his cheek, heard her voice, strangely disconnected. "Love you, son."

"Love you too, Mother," he mumbled, as he fell into sleep's embrace again.

He dreamed of flying over a sea of women, recognizing the upturned faces of Jacynth and Hypatia amongst the strangers. He also saw Daine glaring up at him, and next to her was Lorthane, in a revealing outfit, tossing a wink his way.

When he woke, hours later, Kyrian realized that he hadn't seen Ligeia. Stranger still, in the dream, he hadn't even thought to look for her...

Marlon's Valentine

Interlude: Loose Ends

Quinn moved down the darkening alley; though no one saw him, he tried not to draw attention to himself. He should have taken the first portal out of Sigil, but taking the time to find a door to Excelsior would pay off in the end. That gate-town was as far from Plague-Mort as he cared to go, and being surrounded by do-gooders wouldn't be so bad if it kept the Great Eye off his back.

Were those adventurers who sacked the Citadel of Fire do-gooders? Quinn couldn't be sure. He'd been surprised when they'd spared his life - even more surprised when he gave them the information they sought. Quinn never trusted Green Marvent, but he was downright terrified of Baltazo - why in the Hells had he turned stag on him?

Doesn't matter now, he thought. Just get out of town.

He looked down at the shining white feather in his hand, which seemed supernaturally heavy. Had it really come from an angel's wing? The old tiefling at the antiquities shop seemed sure, and she hadn't charged him much for it. Once he found the portal, the dark of it would come to light.

At last, he saw it - two buildings joined together by a narrow bridge spanning the alley. He headed for the archway underneath, crossing through a flat, black shadow.

A sudden, sharp fire burned through Quinn's gut; he looked down and saw a shining silver blade thrusting through his midsection. At once he reached for his own sword, but another flash of silver sent it flying, still in its scabbard.

Quinn screamed as his attacker's weapon tore itself free, and he fell on his belly. A shadow rose from the darkness, taking on the rough semblance of a humanoid with a silver sword in either hand.

The shadow turned Quinn onto his back. "Fade finds all who betray the Eye," it said in a voice like a wind bearing dry leaves. "Olwyn is already dead. Next, I'll find Trent, and all of the turned barmies those adventurers know about."

Quinn tried to answer, but only coughed up blood. His vision was dimming, but he saw a sparkling gem appear between Fade's fingers. "I'll find the adventurers as well," said Fade. "Make no mistake about that. As for you, Quinn, your usefulness to the Great Eye is over."

Quinn felt the blade pierce him again. He felt his soul leaving his body, and knew the time had come to move on to the afterlife - but he couldn't escape the clutch of the shadow's jewel. In an instant which seemed like an eternity, the gem swallowed Quinn's spirit, causing it to bloom with a dim flicker.

"Your usefulness to me," said Fade, hiding the jewel in his fist, "is only beginning."

Interlude: The Circle

Joris made his way through the streets of The Lady's Ward. Though he felt safer here than in other parts of Sigil, all the jink on display reminded him of Silverymoon, and not in a good way.

He found Transformant's Square after Dossy Street; there, sandwiched between temples of Gruumsh and Apollo, he saw a small building of unremarkable stone, just where Raven had said it would be. Joris regarded the simple golden circle that hung above the doorway until he passed through.

The entrance led directly into a circular chamber perhaps twenty-five feet in diameter. Finding himself alone, Joris examined the room. A simple altar sat in the center, ringed by rows of rough pews. A stairway led up on the far side of the room, with a closet door set into it. Three small statues lined the altar; the one closest to him was a surprisingly graceful rendition of Mystra. Small icons representing other gods of magic were mounted between the statues.

Joris knelt before the statue of Mystra and clasped his hands, not hearing the shuffling feet until they reached the bottom of the stairs. He turned to see an old man - an ancient man - in a black robe too long for his bony frame. The image of a skull wreathed in flame dangled from a chain around his neck. Despite the man's morbid trappings, his face was kind, and lit up with a smile at the sight of Joris.

"Greetings," he said in a reedy voice. "Welcome to the Circle, my son. I am Numeledes."

"Joris Crownsilver," Joris replied, standing up to approach the old man. "Is it Wee Jas you follow, sir? I'm still learning all the gods of the Great Wheel."

"Yes, I serve Death's Guardian."

"Are you a Dustman, then? If you don't mind me asking."

Numeledes waved a hand. "No, though many of the Stern Lady's faithful are. All that screed about already being dead... I feel alive. Don't you?"

"I don't mean to offend--"

"Nonsense, my son. We don't get many visitors, but I still get that all the time. I don't hold to a faction; call me Clueless if you must. Now then, what brings you here?"

"A woman. That is, a woman told me about this place. Her name is Raven."

The old man's eyes went misty. "Ah, yes. Raven. Lovely creature, isn't she?"

"Very," Joris said, hearing the caravan in his mind, and not for the first time that day. "Um, have you seen her?"

"Not for a while, no. I don't see much of anybody," Numeledes continued, not noticing Joris's disappointment. "Most of the Ruby Sorceress's faithful pray in the Mortuary, and with our facilities being... what they are... those who follow other gods prefer not to congregate here."

"Maybe I can help with that. I am a cleric of Mystra."

"Hmm? Oh yes, the Torilian goddess. You are ordained by her faith... have you conducted ceremonies before?"

"Yes." Mostly funerals, he thought. "I have other commitments, but I'd like to help here, if you'll let me."

"Other commitments." Numeledes drew closer to Joris, looking into his eyes. "Faction stuff?"

"No, sir. Adventuring."

"Really."

"I know I don't seem like the type, but my friends and I--"

"All right, settle down. I don't mean anything by that. This old place could use another cleric, 'specially with me getting older by the minute. Follow me."

Climbing the stairs behind Numeledes seemed like an eternity to Joris. Are the others worried about me? he wondered. How long have I been gone? Where's Raven? Does she come here often? I should have thought to ask that!

Numeledes opened a door at the top of the stairs, and waved Joris into a tiny room containing only a small bed, a footlocker, and a chamber pot. "You can stay here," the old man said.

"I'm told that I snore," Joris said.

"Won't bother me. Wait here; I'll get you the key."

Joris looked around the room, trying to marshal his thoughts. His own space - he was getting his own space! Living in a space smaller than a closet in his father's house would be all right, so long as he didn't have to share it with anyone else. He sat on the bed; it seemed comfortable enough. Now, if only there was a window...

The old man reappeared in the doorway with a brass key and an oversized bundle, which he handed to Joris. "You might have use of these," he said. "The last partner I had left them behind. Wonder what happened to her. Tiny elven maid, Firil was, and full of fire..."

Joris opened the bundle to find a suit of chainmail, formed from fine links of mithral. Elven chain, he thought; casting detect magic, he let out a low whistle. Enchanted elven chain! There was also a sturdy mace of elegant elven design, and a string of ceramic beads. Both of those items also radiated magic.

He looked up to thank Numeledes, but the old man was gone. Joris peeked in the door across the hall from his own, and saw the old man fast asleep on another simple bed.

Blessing his good fortune, Joris changed into his new armor, and found that it fit him well. He packed his old mace and scale mail in his foot locker, clasped the amulet around his neck, locked his door, and raced down the stairs, late to meet his friends at Chirper's.

Interlude: Mad Witch Blues

Jazra stared at the bottom of her mug, just visible through the firewine. This stuff was cheap, to be sure, but at least it was cheaper for her. The management at Vander's allowed the tiefling to stay for free, and extended a deep discount on her purchases, in exchange for all the business her touting brought in. With nothing better to do tonight, she was trying to get drunk, and having a rough time of it, given her light coin purse.

She looked up to see Hexla coming through the front door, dazzling in her red dress, holding her gold dragon mask in one hand. Seeing Jazra, Hexla headed straight for her table and sat down. She stuck out like a sinner on Mount Celestia in this seedy place, but she didn't seem to care.

"So how did it go?" Jazra asked, though the answer was already visible on the witch's troubled face. Hexla swiped Jazra's drink and swallowed it in one gulp; unsurprised, the tiefling signaled for another bottle.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Hexla sighed.

"That bad?"

"That woman! She's - Margone is just monstrous, Jazra. I can't come up with words for it, not even in Infernal. You should have seen how she treated her son!"

"You mean Haden?"

"I think that was his name," said Hexla. "Do you know him?"

"Only by reputation." Jazra ran a hand through her frazzled dark hair. "So you refused her bid?"

"I told her I'd have to think about it. Don't give me that look, Jazra! I need work."

"You need jink," said the tiefling. She scratched a pointed ear with a three-fingered hand, jingling her earrings.

"Right. It's like I was saying, if I can get someone to invest in a potion shop, I can build a new lab and use it to continue my research."

A bottle of firewine arrived with another glass; Jazra poured for both of them. Wincing at its bouquet, Jazra said "I thought you wanted out of the Cage, though."

"I do. I did. You know how I feel about Sigil, Jazra - too many people, too many bad memories. But," she said, her tone shifting, "now I'm not so sure. Something else happened tonight."

Jazra leaned forward, and the table's candles gleamed in her dying-ember eyes, and in the red gem set in her forehead. "You make it sound like something good."

"Talan was there."

"Talan? Handsome ranger Talan?"

"The same," Hexla said coolly, sipping her wine.

"Then he did escape Avernus. What in the Dark Prince's name was he doing at the Masque?"

"I'm not really sure. He and Haden were looking for someone, I think. There was a scuffle, and then Talan was chasing some big cat. I used the confusion to hightail it out of there; I just couldn't take Margone's company any more."

"I don't doubt that. Did anything happen this time? With Talan, I mean?"

"No, but he's interested. At least, I think he is. He's very quiet, and shy..."

"A real man of mystery," Jazra said. "Then the night wasn't a total waste."

"Not at all," said Hexla. "And I was afraid I'd bought this dress for nothing!"

"Congratulations," Jazra said, topping off their glasses for a toast. "Send him my way if it doesn't work out, will you?"

"Anything for a friend," said Hexla.

Interlude: Caravan!

Joris turned his attention to the dark woman in the doorway, a woman clearly born of evil, accustomed to wickedness. What a lovely and terrifying creature this is, he thought. If only all women wore their natures on the outside!

He felt guilty for thinking that, but it was lost when Sheen left his side to help Haden with the half-fiend. Where do you think you're going? he wanted to shout. You can't just make an accusation like that and walk away!

But she had. And it wasn't an accusation, really; she hadn't meant it to be. That was Sheen's way, he knew, to dispense with formality and cut to the truth.

Was that the truth, then? Am I the one who doesn't think I'm good enough?

The music resumed, an easy, waltzing tempo. Joris turned toward the bar, intending to secure another drink, but someone glided into his path - a tall woman in a vibrant green dress. An elaborate mask of peacock feathers hid her face; her long hair was black as a cave, and she smelled of - what was that? It was nothing he'd ever smelled before, yet it seemed familiar. Comfortingly familiar.

"Will you dance with me, sir?" she asked, her voice soft, with an exotic accent. Before Joris knew what was happening, they were dancing, and he was aware of their closeness, of the heat between his fingers and her skin. That was always part of dancing, but it had never affected him so strongly before. I'm not that drunk, he thought. Am I?

He wanted to see what the others were doing, but found his attention completely arrested by this woman. "I'm Raven," she said.

"Joris," he croaked. Wish I'd gotten that drink. "My name's Joris Crownsilver."

"You dance well, Joris," Raven said. Had Sheen told him the same thing? When was that, earlier tonight? Last week?

"Thank you," he mumbled, not sure if she'd heard.

"Is that a god of magic?" she asked, flicking her green eyes toward the holy symbol that Joris had insisted on wearing, over Haden's strenuous objection.

"A goddess, yes. Mystra."

"I thought so. I've seen that before, at the Circle." Seeing his confusion, Raven continued: "It's a little shrine, not too far from here. They honor three deities of magic there: yours, Wee Jas, and Corellon Larethian." She gave him simple directions, which he struggled to memorize, captivated as he was by the impossible greenness of her eyes.

"I've been hoping to find a place," Joris said, "where the Lady of Mysteries was worshipped in Sigil."

"It's not much, honestly - "

"It's something. Thank you for telling me about it, Raven. How did you come to find the Circle?"

"Because magic is my life, Joris. I'm a sorcerer."

His next question was lost as the waltz drew to a close amidst a smattering of polite applause. The quartet's drummer began to hammer out a driving beat; as the guitar, flute, and harpsichord joined, an elated shout of "Caravan!" erupted from those on and around the dance floor.

"Tell me you caravan," Raven exclaimed.

Joris watched the other dancers for a moment - just long enough to get the idea. The caravan was a lot like that silly dance that girl had convinced him to learn so they could enter that silly competition together...

Joris pulled Raven close. "For you," he said, "I will."

They launched into the dance. Strangely, though he led, Raven deftly steered him through the more unfamiliar portions. Joris danced on, forgetting why he was there, ignoring the reasons why he hadn't wanted to come. He didn't feel the eyes of everyone watching, wasn't shackled by the memories of a hundred balls and cotillions past. Only the moment mattered. Only Raven mattered.

He only regained his sense of self as the music and the movement ended and the clapping began. Joris held up Raven's hand in triumph, and they bowed to the other dancers, then to each other.

"That was divine, " Raven said. "Thank you, Joris."

Joris found that he was too winded to reply. To his relief, Raven started toward the bar, and he followed. He saw Talan nearby, and Haden approaching a pair of cloaked figures. Baltazo! he thought. Mother of Magic, Joris, but you're an idiot! You came here tonight for a reason!

He saw Haden tug on one man's cloak, and Joris started pushing his way forward. The scene quickly dissolved into chaos, only to be swallowed by Haden's darkness. He saw a great cat bound from the black to the hall, pursued by Talan, but Joris was too crowd-bound to do much about it.

By the time Joris was free to move, the action was over. He headed over to Sheen and Haden, asking them "Was that him?"

Haden replied in the affirmative, but Joris only half-heard, looking around for any sign of Raven - but the woman was gone. Joris had the strange sensation that she hadn't been real, that he'd imagined the entire encounter. No, pike that, he thought, as they say here. I'm going to find her. It's a big Cage, but there's only so many places -

"I have to say," Haden said, ending Joris's reverie, "that this has definitely been a fun party."

"Best I've ever seen," Joris replied.

Interlude: Toranna's Visitor

Toranna shivered within the ratty blanket. Though accustomed to the Mortuary's chill, she was not bothered by the temperature of her vault-turned-cell. It was the memory of Skall which was icing her blood.

She had never been so cold as she'd been in the factol's presence. He was neither alive nor dead; was he undead? No, Toranna thought, suppressing another tremble. He was something else entirely... a living thing who'd come to embrace True Death. Only his dedication to advancing his faction had kept Skall in the mortal world. She was not surprised that her infiltration of the Dustmen was something he'd want to investigate personally.

Toranna blessed the Black Sun for her liar's tongue, for Skall was a merciless inquisitor. She'd laced her confession with just enough truth to sound convincing, but she didn't given him the whole story, and she made sure that he knew it. It had nothing to do with loyalty to the Illuminated - it was a desperate ploy to stay alive. Skall had surely seen right through it, but he'd indulged her anyway. The factol would kill her in the end; Toranna was also certain of that. All she could do was pray for a chance to escape in the meantime.

A key rasped into the lock. She hadn't expected them back this soon! She gathered her wits as the door squeaked open, allowing an unfamiliar woman into the vault. Dressed in conventional Dustman black, the newcomer's face was remarkably nondescript, if such a contradiction was possible.

"Hello,