Jamaros in Sigil (Into the Abyss)
18th day of the Month of Conflict, 126th Year of Factol Haskar’s Administration
The wraith leads Jamaros back up the stairs, out through the Butcher Block’s taproom, and into the street. Antipeak is fast approaching, the darkest time of what passes for night in the city. The streets are nearly deserted, the homeless and destitute having fled to whatever hidey-holes they can find while “respectable” citizens are long since home abed. Those few travelers the undead pair does pass are often denizens of some lower plane or Harmonium patrols on the prowl, looking for order to enforce.
The wraith’s path unexpectedly turns toward the finer parts of the city. The slums and tenements of the Hive give way to rows of government buildings lining either side of the street and then to palatial homes surrounded by high walls along well-lit and cleanly swept avenues. Even these give way to something colder, something that “feels” more aloof and distant as the pair enters the Lady’s Ward.
Cold white light reveals monumental buildings with ostentatious architecture - flying buttress, steeples, and colonnades with fluted pillars. Jamaros’ footfalls echo off the stone facades of the imposing structures. The city armory with its thick stone walls covered with razorvine looms over the street. Eventually a titanic stone building comes into view. It soars menacingly into the sky near the heart of the district.
A huge crumbled tower of simple black stone, embellished with the tarnished silver blades that seem to be in fashion in Sigil rises above the skyline. Even from a distance, the cry of vultures can be heard coming from the peaks of the minarets as they feast and squabble over the remains of bodies hanging from those tarnished blades.
The wraith doesn’t even slow as it glides up the stairs and enters the imposing edifice. It quickly becomes obvious that this place is some sort of temple and while Jamaros has no idea what god would be worshiped here, the intentionally intimidating motif of skulls, fire, and suffering souls leads him to think that it must be a dark power indeed. A purple flame burns at the back of the sanctuary and Jamaros’ guide heads directly for it. Somewhere above, bells toll the hour, their peals echoing across the entire dark city. Numerous robed figures stand chanting around the fire, heads bowed as if in prayer.
The undead barbarian can feel the power of their piety and even though it is directed toward the service of darkness and his hair stands on end. He turns, scanning the room for any threat that may be lurking in the darkness, and spies a dozen statues depicting scaly creatures that are half eagle and half lion. They exude a sense of coiled hostility, as if they are waiting to strike down anyone who offends the priests of the temple. When Jamaros turns his attention back to the spectral messenger it has finished speaking with one of the robed figures. It beckons the barbarian along and the two fall in behind a priest who leads them through a door at the back of the temple and up a circular stairway.
When the group reaches the third landing, the priest steps aside and opens a doorway festooned with graven images of bones, ravens, and other less savory carrion eaters. A handful of powder is tossed into the opening and a shimmering curtain of light appears. The spectral wraith drifts forward, beckoning the ghoulish barbarian to follow.
There is a flash of darkness, a moment’s sensation of dizziness and then the two are standing along the boulevard of a ruined necropolis. Mausoleums overgrown with sickly looking vines stretch for as far as the eye can see. The smell of mold and fungus hangs thick in the air. White mushrooms grow thickly along the foundations of the elaborate tombs. Things move in the darkness and despite the superior night vision his undead state grants him, Jamaros is unable to make out just what those Things are.
More ghouls, their rotting flesh dangling loosely from exposed bones, flit through the open spaces between the tombs, forming an escort that falls in with Jamaros and his guide as they walk toward a massive citadel that towers over the landscape. As the two draw closer, Jamaros sees that the fortress is a massive charnel house made entirely of teeth and bone. Shrieks and the sounds of chewing and breaking bones emanate from within.
Demonic bats of terrifying proportions circle in the sky above, darting and dashing through the air in a never-ending cycle of watchfulness. The front door to the citadel swings open, revealing a passageway of polished marble. Candelabra encrusted with layer upon layer of dripping wax cast a weak, flickering light over the path. The wraith leads Jamaros down the hall to a grand room carpeted in thick red rugs with hanging tapestries depicting various scenes of ghouls feasting on the flesh of the living. Dozens of lesser demon lurk in the darkness, eyeing Jamaros as he walks past. The barbarian finally reaches a dais.
Sitting in the throne atop the pedestal is massive humanoid with pale white skin and burning yellow eyes. Huge hands ending in midnight black talons match the creature’s teeth. A patchwork robe is thrown carelessly over one shoulder, exposing a robe that is open in the front. Even from a distance, Jamaros can smell the flesh the robe is made from. A black metal crown ringed with finger bones sits atop this being’s head. Each finger wears a giant ruby ring and a sickle hangs from a rotting belt at his waist.
A powerfully built woman, standing nearly 7’ tall and clad in hide armor and bearing a greatsword stands to his left while a slighter, winged woman with fanged teeth is perched on the right arm of the throne. Both women have the gaunt, emaciated features of the undead. The man grins, revealing razor sharp teeth, “Welcome, Jamaros. I would like to thank you for accepting my invitation.” The strength radiating off of this stranger is intense and, unwillingly, the undead barbarian slowly bends a knee to the demonic being seated in front of him. “I have a job for you.”
Jamaros: 91% health
The wraith leads Jamaros back up the stairs, out through the Butcher Block’s taproom, and into the street. Antipeak is fast approaching, the darkest time of what passes for night in the city. The streets are nearly deserted, the homeless and destitute having fled to whatever hidey-holes they can find while “respectable” citizens are long since home abed. Those few travelers the undead pair does pass are often denizens of some lower plane or Harmonium patrols on the prowl, looking for order to enforce.
The wraith’s path unexpectedly turns toward the finer parts of the city. The slums and tenements of the Hive give way to rows of government buildings lining either side of the street and then to palatial homes surrounded by high walls along well-lit and cleanly swept avenues. Even these give way to something colder, something that “feels” more aloof and distant as the pair enters the Lady’s Ward.
Cold white light reveals monumental buildings with ostentatious architecture - flying buttress, steeples, and colonnades with fluted pillars. Jamaros’ footfalls echo off the stone facades of the imposing structures. The city armory with its thick stone walls covered with razorvine looms over the street. Eventually a titanic stone building comes into view. It soars menacingly into the sky near the heart of the district.
A huge crumbled tower of simple black stone, embellished with the tarnished silver blades that seem to be in fashion in Sigil rises above the skyline. Even from a distance, the cry of vultures can be heard coming from the peaks of the minarets as they feast and squabble over the remains of bodies hanging from those tarnished blades.
The wraith doesn’t even slow as it glides up the stairs and enters the imposing edifice. It quickly becomes obvious that this place is some sort of temple and while Jamaros has no idea what god would be worshiped here, the intentionally intimidating motif of skulls, fire, and suffering souls leads him to think that it must be a dark power indeed. A purple flame burns at the back of the sanctuary and Jamaros’ guide heads directly for it. Somewhere above, bells toll the hour, their peals echoing across the entire dark city. Numerous robed figures stand chanting around the fire, heads bowed as if in prayer.
The undead barbarian can feel the power of their piety and even though it is directed toward the service of darkness and his hair stands on end. He turns, scanning the room for any threat that may be lurking in the darkness, and spies a dozen statues depicting scaly creatures that are half eagle and half lion. They exude a sense of coiled hostility, as if they are waiting to strike down anyone who offends the priests of the temple. When Jamaros turns his attention back to the spectral messenger it has finished speaking with one of the robed figures. It beckons the barbarian along and the two fall in behind a priest who leads them through a door at the back of the temple and up a circular stairway.
When the group reaches the third landing, the priest steps aside and opens a doorway festooned with graven images of bones, ravens, and other less savory carrion eaters. A handful of powder is tossed into the opening and a shimmering curtain of light appears. The spectral wraith drifts forward, beckoning the ghoulish barbarian to follow.
There is a flash of darkness, a moment’s sensation of dizziness and then the two are standing along the boulevard of a ruined necropolis. Mausoleums overgrown with sickly looking vines stretch for as far as the eye can see. The smell of mold and fungus hangs thick in the air. White mushrooms grow thickly along the foundations of the elaborate tombs. Things move in the darkness and despite the superior night vision his undead state grants him, Jamaros is unable to make out just what those Things are.
More ghouls, their rotting flesh dangling loosely from exposed bones, flit through the open spaces between the tombs, forming an escort that falls in with Jamaros and his guide as they walk toward a massive citadel that towers over the landscape. As the two draw closer, Jamaros sees that the fortress is a massive charnel house made entirely of teeth and bone. Shrieks and the sounds of chewing and breaking bones emanate from within.
Demonic bats of terrifying proportions circle in the sky above, darting and dashing through the air in a never-ending cycle of watchfulness. The front door to the citadel swings open, revealing a passageway of polished marble. Candelabra encrusted with layer upon layer of dripping wax cast a weak, flickering light over the path. The wraith leads Jamaros down the hall to a grand room carpeted in thick red rugs with hanging tapestries depicting various scenes of ghouls feasting on the flesh of the living. Dozens of lesser demon lurk in the darkness, eyeing Jamaros as he walks past. The barbarian finally reaches a dais.
Sitting in the throne atop the pedestal is massive humanoid with pale white skin and burning yellow eyes. Huge hands ending in midnight black talons match the creature’s teeth. A patchwork robe is thrown carelessly over one shoulder, exposing a robe that is open in the front. Even from a distance, Jamaros can smell the flesh the robe is made from. A black metal crown ringed with finger bones sits atop this being’s head. Each finger wears a giant ruby ring and a sickle hangs from a rotting belt at his waist.
A powerfully built woman, standing nearly 7’ tall and clad in hide armor and bearing a greatsword stands to his left while a slighter, winged woman with fanged teeth is perched on the right arm of the throne. Both women have the gaunt, emaciated features of the undead. The man grins, revealing razor sharp teeth, “Welcome, Jamaros. I would like to thank you for accepting my invitation.” The strength radiating off of this stranger is intense and, unwillingly, the undead barbarian slowly bends a knee to the demonic being seated in front of him. “I have a job for you.”
Jamaros: 91% health
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