DOORS TO THE UNKNOWN
“One door for relics, forgotten and discarded… a second door for powers set aside and lost… a third door for mysteries, waiting to be freed… a fourth door for reality, to tie them all together and reveal the path to tomorrow’s brighter horizon! The Four Doors return!” – Garmundi, priest of Aoskar, before hurtling through the Second Door
By now, the whole Cage has heard about the Four Doors. These so-called “blinks” are synchronized temporary portals that appear in Sigil for a few months every 500 years, and supposedly once bore some significance to the worshipers of the dead portal-god Aoskar, slain by the Lady of Pain. That knowledge alone is enough to keep most bashers from involving themselves with them, but the Four Doors have garnered attention from a few interested parties, including the merchants of the Planar Trade Consortium (who hope to procure unique goods from beyond the blinks) and the Society of the Locked Door (an isolationist group seeking to “protect Sigil from unwanted influences” by reducing portal traffic, and whose most zealous members have begun carrying out a campaign of violence against portals, primes, and planewalkers alike).
RUINOUS RODENTS RUN RAMPANT
”Cranium rats of unusual size? There’s no evidence to suggest they exist!” – Gorad Drummerhaven, Planar Biologist
A news crier in the Clerk’s Ward shares the following story, which quickly becomes a subject of fantastical speculation. The Green Sister, nature goddess Sheela Peryroyl, presides over a modest realm on the Outlands: Flowering Hill, a sprawling agricultural town that exists in harmonious balance with the untamed wilds. The petitioners there live out a pastoral afterlife of toil and comfort – work for the pursuit of pleasures – and the gentle nature of the place extends even to the Peaceful Shires, a cluster of nearby villages settled by a few thousand living souls (mostly planar halflings).
UNEXPLAINED DEATHS IN THE HIVE WARD
”Y’mean to tell me all the indigent sods are gettin’ lost wit’out cough in the throat nor chiv in the back? Sounds like a kindness to me.“ – Bowain LeFévre, Night Market peddler
Chant among the locals says that, one by one, the drunkards and thunderstruck sods of the Hive Ward have started dying off with no apparent cause of death. Is it the belief of the Dustmen made manifest, and a “lucky few” are ascending to a state of True Death? Some strange form of murder or ritual sacrifice? An upper planar plague?
