Chapter 2: Into the Cage

"It's Her punishment of choice" Wimoo nods. "You never see it coming either, you just turn around some alley one day and never find your way back. Popular theory is you get trapped in some kind of pocket dimension, your very own planar prison."

"Some say the dabus used to worship Aoskar" Wimoo continues unphased "but quietly turned to the Lady after she shattered his temple and... did whatever she did to destroy him. She can make quite the argument" he muses. The dabus don't seem to react to Xana's symbols, but several people on the street give her a smile that ranges from mildly venomous to downright predatory. It doesn't help that most of those smiles feature razor sharp teeth, as most bystanders appear to have horns, tails, wings and talons. Wickari recognizes them all as variations of creatures from the evil planes, demons or devils they're called. A reminder of his own origin, the taint in his bloodline. He's almost certain some of those smiles are directed at him as well. Then the cough begins, sulphur and ash burning the inside of everyone's lungs.

"Ah, the smog" Wimoo remarks, pulling his cloack up before his mouth and nose. "We've entered the Lower Ward. It ain't called that because of location of course. Geography is relative in Sigil, not to mention the city itself changing constantly. No sirrah, this place is brimming with portals to the Lower Planes. Sometimes they spew forth fumes, then there's the Great Forge itsef."

"I would assume she's got to, when you consider the residents of this city. Not to mention powers and deities that crave this place, or the Blood War that might spill out to the streets." Wimoo pauses, as the cough from Xana and Tarandar gets louder.

"Perhaps we should take a break until the smog clears. Fortunately, the Lower Ward boosts a multitude of alehouses within walking distance from here. I'd take you to the Green Mill, but they got a strict policy against tieflings and githzerai" he looks at Wickari with a slightly apologetic shrug. "On the other hand, there's the Styx Oarsman and the Tenth Pit, but I'm not sure you could handle tanar'ri or baatezu yet. Dirkin & Firkin is frequented by people from the Higher Planes, again eyebrows might be raised but you do look like a holy warrior, sir. Face of Gith is as boring as it gets and I'll skip the Dustmen joints altoghether... they'll skin you if we go to the Hooded Lantern... same at the Mermaid's Cups too, though you will have enjoyed quite a dance first. Red Pony's a decent choice, though you'd better be able to hold your own in a barfight should you choose to go there. That's about it, I'll leave it to you to pick one, though we could always do a good ol' bar crawl and see more than one if you got the jink for it."

"Alright then!" Wimoo claps his hands in excitement. "Red Pony it is. Let's have a bit o' bub there and see where it takes us"

Walking around the Lower Ward, it's slightly only better than what you initially saw at the Hive. Houses are still small, but they seem to be slightly better maintained. Streets are narrow and busy, but nowhere near as snakey labyrinthous as the Hive's alleys. You've already noticed that most people -and that's a loose use of the term- around appear demonic in one way or another. From the basic horns, tails, wings, fangs and talon extras to outright alien forms that resemble bugs and twisted creatures of nightmare, they're all around and nobody seems to be bothered by their presence. Wickari in particular recognizes a few fellow tiefings, as well as various demons and devils he's heard about during his catechism. The other thing you notice, especially as you get closer to your destination, is a lot of dwarves, gnomes and other crafty races going about. Most of them are dressed in simple worker's clothes, some sport the occasional leather apron with a tool or two in its pockets. A few even bother to check out the shiny illusory symbols above Xana and all shake their heads in apparent disappointment.

If there wasn't a sign outside with a pony painted in bright red color, you'd probably miss the place. The Red Pony is no bar and it's certainly far from being called an inn. Drinking hole sounds more fitting, a tightly packed place that barely fits a bar and a couple of tables with stools around them. Everything looks simple, practical and sturdy. At this time of day (what time is it anyway, you're not sure there was even a sun out there) the place is empty. A muscular half orc is sorting out items behind the bar. He looks like he'd be more at home in some gladiatorial pit than behind a bar and you're assuming he also doubles as the establishment's bouncer if there's any trouble. As you enter, he pauses and raises his eyesight. "Didn't know ye worked as a tout, Wimoo" he says with a smirk. "I don't, but I'll try everything at least once" your guide responds. "My clients need something strong to wash down the Ward smog, if you please."

"By my knuckles, you truly are Clueless" the half orc barman says with a hearty laugh. "Don't know what you're paying Wimoo here to be your tout, but I'll take all sorts of jink" he adds.

"Yes, well..." Wimoo nervously fixes his robe. "Most coins are accepted in the Cage by pretty much everyone. After all, it is the crossroads of the universe."

"What's he tryin' to tell you is that money ain't that important round these parts" the half orc barman cuts in. "Knowledge, secrets, favors, that's what keeps the gears grinding, so to speak. Just be careful who you're dealing with, Clueless like you are prime targets for cons and don't even get me started about negotiating with the baatezu. So, you gonna have a drink or what?"

"And that's exactly why you're Clueless" the barman picks up from where Xana left off, as he turns to pour some ale into a pitcher. "Thank you, Rakk" your tout responds, as he produces a few copper coins and lays them on the bar. "The red ale in this place is an experience unto itself. Wouldn't want you to miss it" Wimoo smiles at you. "Once we get to the Hall of Speakers, there's bound to be things that need to be doing. It's only a few coppers, but you'll be able to pay off this minor debt and get it off your chest" he adds.

The ale is blood red, bright like cranberries but thick and stout in texture. Though it doesn't feel strong going down your throat, once consumed you immediately feel the kick inside your head. Xana and Tarandar feel better as liquid hits their sore throats, but their lungs are still somewhat burdened by the smog.