I

From the Notebooks

of Fallendor the Mage:

t has happened again.

No peace this night
or for a fortnight past. I have been cursed,
robbed of my rest by a maddening vision—
the Codex of infinite Planes! It has been lost
since before my time, the time of my father
the time of all my known ancestors.
Yet every night in my dreams, I see the
cursed book. It hovers beyond the veil of
reality, a dream that has more substance
than reality. I try to touch the pages, but
every motion forward propels the book
away. Frustration fills me and I begin to
run. Every night I run faster toward it,
but every night I am no nearer to my goal.
In the morning, I awaken with new visions
filling my mind.
I began recording these visions in my
notebook as I remember them. They are
not the random scenes of dreams but
messages, encrypted in a code of images. I
am certain they are passages from the
Codex of Infinite Planes.
I have a theory about the Codex. I do not
think it exists yet, at least not as a material
thing. It exists only in the world of sleep.
There it reveals itself, a page each night, and
every morning I dutifully transcribe its
pages into the world of flesh. I am no more
than another of the great books scribes, like
the Archmage Tzunk before me.
At first the passages seemed random and
meaningless, but now I sense a pattern.
The Codex’s magic is the magic of words.
As the dreamer reads the entries in the
book, he creates the destination where the
Codex will send him. When the image is
complete, the traveler arrives. Perhaps if
someone could find all the fragments
recorded by the book’s scribes, the Codex
would become real in this world.
If there is a link in all the messages I
record, it is a city called Sigil, the Heart
and the Cage. This city exists, I know, at
the very center of the Outer Planes. It is
the place through which all things pass.
For now, my image of it is only fragmen-
tary. Perhaps if I review the entries relat-
ing to Sigil, tonight I will dream of the city
itself.
74 MARCH 1994
 naries of Pain. In its pages are listed all the
shadings of anguish, categorized by the
play of the nerves under the skin, and
defined the music of their cries. Ganeesh
composes poems from the entries therein.
Some of the poems are meant to be read,
since reading them is enough to cause
anguish. Others are performed in secret
conclaves of Sigil’s Lower Ward.
Just as there is an entry in the Codex for
the Dictionaries of Pain, there is an entry
in the Dictionaries of Pain for this book,
the Codex of the Infinite Planes. In the
alphabet of nerves, the entry for the Co-
dex can be found between the sharp sting
of discovery and the salted wounds of
failure.
Doomguard, The: The Doomguard is
one of the factions of Sigil. It exists only to
bring the end, the oblivion that over-
by David “Zeb” Cook whelms everything. Their goal of destruc-
Artwork by Dana Knutson & Tony DiTerlizzi tion applies to themselves, too, for the
entropy of the multiverse that they desire
must include themselves. Nonetheless,
they actively recruit and expand, swelling
their ranks while striving to destroy all
else. It is said that entropy comes when
everything is reduced to a single state, so
Aleax of Sigil, The: An engine of great threat to the Faction of the Athar. perhaps this applies to the community of
discipline, the aleax is the formless spawn Helplessly the creature wanders the Sigil, too.
of divinity. The creature has no thought or streets searching for a form. It hears the The Doomguard has heard of the aleax
no will, only the raw clay of its shell and denials and renunciations of all gods and of Sigil and are frustrated by it. They
the spark of life. The creature becomes cannot choose one from the lot. Its hand is would dearly grant it oblivion, but its
whole only by an act of mortal denial to one man’s, its face another. In this block it lifeforce is sheltered by the gods. All the
the gods. Then the aleax wakes each remembers the taste of oranges from Doomguard can do is stalk it helplessly,
morning in a new land, its hands and feet Elysium, in the next the scouring fires of hurling themselves at it like the goat that
clumsy strangers. Its face is the face of Gehenna. It talks in all voices, it speaks all charges the tiger.
one who rejects it. With each day, its mem- words. In its ramblings are concealed the Factions: Life without belonging is not
ories are new; the smile of a grandchild, great secrets and hidden thoughts of all it life. Every being must have a position to
the taste of sweat, the cold slash of winter has become. Driven mad by its too-full compare itself to all other beings. In the
wind, and the shrill of the teakettle in the existence, the aleax seeks only oblivion. core city of Sigil, to be is to belong to a
morning. Perhaps wanting to cling to its The inhabitants of Sigil are as singular as faction. In a lesser city, these factions
borrowed memories, the aleax seeks out the city itself. would squabble for the control of water,
and kills its mortal father. This seems like Dictionaries of Pain, The: This tome light, or gold, but Sigil is the heart of all
the sting of an ungrateful child, but the is not the only dictionary found on the cities. It cannot strive for commodities, its
aleax has no choice. Its family is a ring of planes, and not all dictionaries classify factions struggle for the only real
traps. The mortal parent gives it form but words. There are dictionaries of smells property—belief. What is believed is what
denies the child; the divine parent accepts where a scent evokes the memories of creates the reality of the planes.
the child but refuses it form. Unable to other scents. There is Tbron’s dictionary There are many realities in Sigil for
accept this, the aleax chooses to return of memory, whose pages hold nothing there are many factions. There is the
itself each day to oblivion. beyond what the reader brings. Athar over whom the aleax have no
In the great city of Sigil, there is an aleax In Sigil, the baatezu Ganeesh holds an- power. They forswear the might of the
cut off from its god. It is an idiot and a other type of dictionary, one of the Dictio- gods. The Godsmen, who hold that all
DRAGON 75
beings could become divine, build their with roofed houses on other streets. Devas “Straight into the center of an open
proofs in the Great Foundry. Using words and tanar’ri build side by side, each ac- market! There I stood, like a gaping farm-
like these, the Fated take their reality from cording to its taste. boy, in a doorway between the mounded
others, wearing the dreams of their ene- “So let a clueless basher take some ad- fruits of a melon-dealer and the battered
mies as their own. The Sensates shape vice from a planar—get to Sigil and get a brass of a tinker. I first thought the spell
reality in eye and hand, fashioning the kip there. Sigil’s the heart of it all!’ erred, teleporting me to a market fair
world according to their experiences. PLANESCAPE™ campaign setting: In somewhere in Calimsham. A quick glance
The Bleak Cabal denies its philosophy another reality, there exists a game and to the sky corrected that belief. There was
has any meaning, for cause and meaning for that game there are imagined worlds. no sky. Overhead I looked at the jagged
are pointless to them. The Doomguard One of these is the PLANESCAPE cam- tops of buildings. The city was both above
constantly tears down the houses of its paign set. In it are three books that de- and below us and strung out like an arc
own thought, searching for path to entro- scribe worlds that never were. Some of from north to south and east to west.
py. There are the Mercykillers whose the players of this game imagine them- “I have since learned this city was Sigil,
justice is like ice to fire. In the alleys of the selves as people who never were— the city of doors. And well named it is.
Hive are the Xaositects and the Revolution- humans, dwarves, half-elves, goat-centaur Where I had spent my fortune and time
ary League, who live their lives in content bariaur, githzerai, and tieflings, the smoke- preparing a single scroll, the citizens here
disorder. tinged children of corrupted creatures. can travel throughout the planes simply
On the far side of Sigil’s ring, the Harmo- They pretend strange philosophies and by stepping through a door. If the right
nium hunts the realities that are not its invest their creations with powers beyond item is held, even the most harmless-
own. In its wake are splintered worlds, in their own prosaic lives. They explore seeming arch crackles with the flame of
never to be whole again. The Guvners their imaginary worlds with the maps that magical power to reveal the vista of a
probe the machineries of reality. The come with the box, maps that chart land- distant land. The citizens call these portals
Ciphers watch them without comment. scapes created for their pleasure. and make regular use of them. In my time
Their truth is hidden in the deep mines of In this game world there is a city called there I did too, passing through to other
the soul. The Dustmen merge the reality Sigil, impossible in their own reality. The planes. But I will leave those stories for
of life and death. They have abandoned city is a ring that floats over a spire whose another day!’
belief in the line between these two things. height is beyond measuring. Sigil is the The Lady of Pain: She is the guardian
Of all these factions, the Free League are home for their imaginary people, their of Sigil surrounded by her silent staff, the
the saddest in their claims. They delude heroes. From it, their characters travel by dabus. One sees her as she floats above
themselves with the vision of independence, magical doorways to distant towns and the ground, too rare a thing to touch
never accepting that they are bound to each strange lands. Back to Sigil their heroes common earth. Voiceless, she drifts past
other in their belief of free will. return to celebrate their imagined victo- him and into the Maze of the city, dispens-
Only the Lady of Pain stands free of the ries. In their journeys they meet other ing her blessings on no one. All that is left
factions, bound in by cages of her own. creatures no less fantastic than them- in her passing is the aura of serene fear.
Geography of Sigil: These were the selves. They create races to fill the spaces
dreams of the Guvners’ factol: they have imagined—modrons, servants of This is my dream, Fallendor’s dream,
“Come to learn about the planes, berk? Set, marrenoloth, and vortexes-and write recorded in the pages of the Codex. This is
Well, if that’s true, then this is the right descriptions of them into the box. the part where a mage’s life intersects the
place. There ain’t nobody who knows The easy question would be, of course, life of his dreams. He falls in love with a
more about the planes than the folks who who dreams who? Is this world the crea- single glimpse of the Lady of Pain but he
live here. So it might be wise to sit down tion of those who imagine it in play, or are cannot acknowledge that love. Her
and listen to what a bloods got to say. they mere fictions of this realm? But the warmth would bring destruction. Still, he
“First off, welcome to the real world— hard question is this. Of the two worlds, is unable to forget her. He researches the
more real than most know. It pays to have one is truthful, while the other one lies, so Codex more and more, searching for the
a geography lesson before getting to far who created the honest world? clues to a portal that will lead him to Sigil.
into this, so pay attention. The dark of it’s Portals: “I, Prespos, citizen of Iriaebor He records his dreams, compiles them,
simple-there’s three realms in all the the Overland City, explorer-mage, occa- and draws maps of their routes. From
multiverse: the Prime Material Plane, the sional ambassador from the court of Bron, these he searches for the final entry that
Inner Planes, and the Outer Planes. The son of the former alderman Teramgot and will lead him to his goal.
Prime Material’s got a lot of little worlds his legal wife Elysa—may the gods guard At last he dreams the magistrate stand-
floating in it, bubbled inside their crystal their souls—have journeyed to planes ing in an empty house, reading the papers
spheres. The Inner’s a place of raw surg- beyond our own; all true are my words, Fallendor has left behind.
ing elements and no place for most cutters from my departure from this plane to my
to live. It’s here—the Outer Planes—where journeys into the other dimensions of the The document ends here. To date, no
the real secret of the planes is going to be planes and my return again. May Oghma sign of Fallendor has been found.
found. curse me if my words are untrue! Magistrate Lach-Verger
“Of course, for a clueless sod, the Great “I have always been a scholarly wizard,
Roads an overwhelming place. There’s too though I admit to an uncontrollable wan-
much of the planes for a berk to absorb. derlust that lures me to far reaches of our
That’s why it’s best to learn the way to globe. Although some consider my schol-
Sigil, the City of Doors. arly journeys reckless, I am not a foolish
“Sigil floats over the great spike at the man. On my explorations I have every
center of the Outlands, the plane that desire to return to Iriaebor alive and not
itself is the center of the ring of Outer as ashes in some jar.
Planes. A basher can’t get to it by walking. “On the day of departure I prepared for
There ain’t no roads or gates to her, at the worst. My will was complete and the
least not in the sense most primes under- servants paid through the end of the year.
stand. Sigil’s doors are portals that can A scroll gave the means for departure-I‘
lead from anywhere to the Cage’s streets had invested a small fortune to make the
and maybe back again. Even beyond that, sheet. I uttered the words and sure
Sigil’s no ordinary place. It curves and enough, a shimmering gate appeared.
arches ‘round itself ‘til the sky is filled Bravely, wand in hand, I stepped through.
76 MARCH 1994
 From the unpublished
journals of Ambran

T the Seeker, half-elven paladin of

Oghma’s temple at the court
of Azoun IV; king of Cormyr.

en days in Sigil: As fascinating as

this city is, I fear I have tarried too long.
My charge was to explore the realms
beyond the barriers of Toril and I must not
lose sight of this goal. My friends back at
court cannot wait forever for my report.
It is with reluctance and fear that I have
prepared to leave this city. I have heard
much of the lands beyond the doors of
Sigil. Much of what I hear worries me,
though I am not sure how much of what I
hear is exaggeration or truth. That, I
guess, is part of my duties. I have become
particularly concerned about the Blood
War. There is always a chance that such
endless warfare will present a threat to
Cormyr. Certainly the fiendish travelers I
have seen pass through Sigil’s gates show
little concern for the lives of others, even
here where peace gilds the surface of life.
This morning I hired a guide, named
Glin. He is a bariaur, one of a race of goat-
centaur men. It was curious dealing with
him—though he was quite polite, he had
all the appearance of a tattooed savage.
Even after spending time in the city, I
barely understood him. People here speak
Common but fill it with odd expressions.
My guide said he was a Free Leaguer and
a blood when it came to the planes and
kept calling me a clueless or a prime. I
can’t say that I liked either and he makes
me suspicious— peery, as they say here.
Still, he was the only guide who claims to
know the Outlands that I could find on my
limited funds. (Sage Trandleer’s maps of
the planes note this as the Concordant
Opposition. Glin laughed when I used the
name, saying it pegged me as one of the
clueless for certain. I must be more cau-
tious in relying on the sage’s works.)
Glin is ready to leave tomorrow. He has
expressed no problem with my aimless
itinerary. I have learned the bariaur are a
race quite given to wanderlust. He sug-
gests I get new clothes, so I won’t stand
out so much as “a hopeless prime." Insult-
ing as it sounds, I’ll take his advice even
though it stretches my funds dearly.
One day out of Sigil: What an ex- past the hordes of beggars so prevalent in before the walls of a great building—the
traordinary means of travel! Having ar- this city, until we reached an open arch Palace of Judgment. (Even though it was
rived in Sigil by spell, I had never seen a that spanned the small street we were on. as large as a city, there is no note of it on
portal in operation. From their description To my amazement, he said this was our Trandleer’s maps. Neither was I able to
I had no idea what to expect, certainly portal. The whole thing seemed patently find any note of Sigil where I began my
nothing as simple as this. ridiculous—I could see the street continue, travels. I suspect the accuracy of the sage
The day began when I met Glin at the I even walked under the arch and nothing more and more.)
Great Bazaar. Though he said nothing, I happened. Glin gave a bleating laugh and This, Glin explained to me, was the
think he approved of my new traveling said, “Poor sod, of course it won’t work domain of a power venerated in the Prime
gear, since it is much more in fashion with without the key.” Then he pulled me by Material Plane as the judge of the dead,
this world. He brought virtually nothing at the arm as he stepped though. The arch part of a great bureaucracy of powers. It
all, save a small saddle-bag and a stem of crackled with sparks that tingled my skin reminded me of faiths I had heard of from
what I gathered was horse-tail reed. The and before my very eyes the landscape Kara-Tur. Indeed, the building had the look
goat-man led me down several side streets, changed as we stepped through to stand of those found in far eastern lands. What

28 APRIL 1994
 lived or even how they came here, only an
unquenchable desire to file through the
palace gates. Unable to get an answer that
way, I watched for where they came from,
yet this too was impossible to tell. When I
watched the road behind us, not one peti-
tioner did I see. I lowered my gaze for an
instant and when I looked back, there
stood two or three new travelers, not 10’
from me! I could believe only that they
had appeared from the very thinnest of air.
At first, when they are fresh to the line,
these petitioners are like unformed clay.
Their features are sharp but their minds
dull. Their words are slow and halting and
their passions flat. With the passing hours
this mental haze lifts and they become
more natural and animated until one
would mistake them for a normal mortal.
Still, as much as I questioned them of their
previous lives, not one could dredge up
even the slightest memory of a moment
prior to this one.
Three days out of Sigil: Still waiting
on line. The wonder of the petitioners has
grown weary. Glin is impatient to take me
elsewhere, but I think tomorrow I will
reach the gate. Oghma grant me the pa-
tience to endure that long.
Four days out of Sigil: Today I
reached the gate and had my ambitions
crushed. After waiting half the day, it was
finally my turn to stand before the en-
trance. There I was confronted by a singu-
lar creature. It was taller than a man and
had the head of an oxen, like a minotaur
and yet not. It was dressed in splendid
robes and gleaming armor and barred the
way with a massive halberd. These details
are clear because I had ample time to
study it as it blocked my path.
At first it spoke in a language I could not
fathom. Seeing my ignorance, it shifted to
another and then another, all similar in
tone yet different in inflection. Only when
it had failed in all this did it resort to Com-
by David “Zeb” Cook mon. “You are not awaiting judgement,” it
said with some puzzlement.
Artwork by Dana Knutson & Tony DiTerlizzi
I explained my nature—a prime, not a
petitioner—and that my purpose here was
to gain knowledge and understanding.
Unfortunately, the answer was discourag-
ing. I was welcome to apply for an audi-
ence in two to three weeks. It was clear I
made this building singular was the line of TwO days out of Sigil: Ignoring the could not immediately get in and I have no
bodies filing patiently through the gate. protests of Glin, I joined the petitioners on desire to wait around here for weeks it
Humans, half-elves, and creatures I could line for the palace. It seems the best will take to gain audience.
not identify, dressed in colors and ranks of means to obtain an audience with the When I found Glin at a stable-like inn
clothes, waited in a queue that stretched beings within. I have been waiting the and told him, he was quite pleased to be
beyond my sight. entire day, slowly shuffling forward. Glin on our way. Perhaps sensing my disap-
“Petitioners, them that’s died on the has gone off to one of the many taverns pointment, he offered to take me to Rib-
prime," was how Glin explained it. “Inside that line the way. cage, the gate-town to Baator, the plane
the proxies of the power’ll send each one Though the wait was (and is) tedious, it Trandleer notes as the Nine Hells. Again
to his proper plane—least that’s how it gave me the chance to learn more of the there are more name changes I must
works for the cutters who follow this petitioners. My first curiosity was where learn.
pantheon." Petitioners and proxies—two did these travelers come from? Not one
things new to me. I must learn more about could answer this simple question. They
them. had no knowledge of where they once
DRAGON 29
 Here is the end of Vol. 7 of Ambran’s Twenty Days out of Sigil: My guide the fields are squared, the forests almost
journals. The next diary in the sequence, continues his driving pace, even though straight rows of trees. Perfect, logical
Vol. 8, has never been found. From what there are no signs of pursuit. When I order.
can be inferred from other notes in Am- challenged him on it, the haughty bariaur I do not know what I shall do if my
bran’s diaries, the volume was probably claimed speed was urgent if I wished to guide does not relent. He seems to lead me
lost in the flight from Ribcage or the fight see the wonders of the Outlands and then with some purpose of his own, perhaps
that followed shortly after. asked if I wanted to end his employment, fulfilling desires I have not yet realized.
leaving me abandoned out here. If he Twenty-four Days out of Sigil: How
Nineteen days out of Sigil: Praise presses me on it too much, I will. I refuse can I describe it, the most extraordinary
Oghma for escaping Ribcage! Looking on it to be held hostage by a guide. Oghma will thing that has happened yet? Purposes have
now, I marvel at my mad desire to view guide me. been revealed and yet I still do not under-
the portal to Baator or the terrible conse- We have cleared the Vale and the land stand. This morning Glin waited impatient-
quences it would have. I saw, yes, as I has changed. Gate-ward—the local way of ly, as he always has, while I broke camp.
have already described and for my own saying you’re moving toward the edge of I’ve become used to the fact that he will not
peace of mind, I will write no more of it. It the Outlands disk—the plain grows rough. assist. We set out at his thundering pace
is effort enough for me not to dwell on it (The other direction is “spike-ward,” to- once again, and I resigned myself to the
still. Sage Trandleer prepared me for noth- ward the spire at the center of the plane.) struggle of keeping up.
ing like what I saw. I can see in the distance that it is fractured At noon, we reached the crest of a ridge
Glin has been driving us both at a brutal along near crystalline lines, so that the overlooking a walled town. From its per-
pace ever since we escaped Ribcage. I hills tilt and angle like great blocks. Glin, fectly square blocks (described to me in
cannot blame him for I too fear the town’s who is at least not completely secretive, Sigil), I knew it was Automata. I assumed it
Blackguards are still pursuing us. explains (in his own colorful words), was our goal, the cause of Glin’s haste but
Even in our flight, I cannot help but “There’s no dark to it, cutter. Every plane instead of descending to town, he insisted
notice the mountainous landscape we are around the rim gets mirrored on the Out- we stop in the center of a field. There he
passing through. Glin says it is the Vale of lands. Know it and you can fix where you laid out a blanket, curled his legs beneath
the Spine and it is aptly named. The bar- stand. Them blocks are toward Acheron. himself, and waited. I didn’t bother asking
ren valley floor is almost perfectly curved Head that way and you’ll find Rigus." why, now accustomed to his stubborn
and the mountain peaks arch overhead, Twenty-three days out of Sigil: Glin refusals.
though not quite as skeletal as they were says we’re somewhere upland of Automa- “You’re a long-suffering cutter, Jon," Glin
in Ribcage. ta, the gate-town to the plane of Nirvana said suddenly without my asking, “and
I have not seen any game—deer, rabbits, or Mechanus as it is known to the natives you’re right to be peery of me. I should’ve
or birds—since our descent into the Vale of the planes. (With all his errors, how did said more earlier, but I’m not much of a
on the way to Ribcage. Before, even at the Trandleer ever earn the title sage?) I was basher to rattle his bonebox. It’s bad busi-
worst points of our journey, near Se- told in Sigil that near Mechanus, rigid ness, you see, to linger in the Vale of the
muanya’s Bog, there were at least some order prevailed. Then I didn’t believe it—it Spine too long, especially after that dust-
natural animals. seemed too fantastic to be real—but here up in Ribcage, and the ground ‘round
Acheron ain’t much better. So that’s why I
pressed us at first. Then, once we were
free of that case, I figured you’d want to
see this." With that he pointed toward a
thin line of figures that was snaking its
way from the gates of Automata.
“It’s the modron parade. Every seven-
teenth cycle, a whole troop of modrons,
those strange little berks, tumble out
through the portal of Mechanus and begin
a march round the whole length of the
Great Road. Nobody knows why they do it,
but they’re modrons, so it’s got to be some-
thing to do with the order of the universe.”
As the line marched through the neat
fields outside Automata, I could estimate
there were over a thousand or more of
the strange creatures. They marched in
perfect files, organized by rank with each
led by a banner marked in symbols that
only had meaning to them. “What happens
to them?”
My guide shrugged at this question.
“Most of the little sods wind up in the dead
book, I guess. The road takes ‘em right
along the gates to Baator, Gehenna, the
Gray Waste, Carceri, and the Abyss. At
each gate they pass, raiding parties of
baatezu, yugoloths, geherleths, and
tanar’ri come boiling out and make a few
more of ‘em lost. The chant goes that
maybe two or three ever make the full
journey, coming home a couple of cycles
later."
I was and still am stunned by this. What
would possess a thousand or more intelli-
30 APRIL 1994
gent creatures to blindly march to almost she explained. “We Doomguard always see order as progress to something
certain death? Perhaps they march to watch the progress of their parade to greater, then it’s the fiends we’ll side
observe the state of order along the Great learn what our role in it should be." with—”
Road. Perhaps their march ensures the “Your role?” I had to ask. “And let the fiends rule the universe?” I
survival of that road. Perhaps they march “Our universe exists but to end, and it’s blurted in horror.
just to die. What would Sage Trandleer our purpose to see that entropy is ful- Rialiva laughed, though I hope not at my
make of this? filled." simplicity. “For a handsome cutter, you
My meditations on the whole spectacle “So then the modrons are your enemies, must be a prime. The fiends, particularly
were interrupted by the arrival of a wom- because they seek order in everything,” I the baatezu, are only another type of
an, clearly a warrior, though her armor guessed. “You’re here to see if they fail." order. We don’t want to be ruled by them
was to my mind scant. At first she kept “Not necessarily. Entropy is only another any more than you do."
some distance from us and surveyed the form of order. The modrons may serve I must confess I surrendered the argu-
scene just as we were. At last, against our purpose." ment at this point. Her philosophies, like
Glin’s well-meant advice, I hailed her. He “Then you’re here to protect them from so many others in this strange realm, are
recognized her as Doomguard by the the fiends?” I pondered. This was becom- deeper than I ever imagined. I have much
device she wore. ing stranger than I anticipated. yet to learn and see.
Though wary, she was not hostile and “Not all order’s entropy. We’re here to To Glin’s raised brow, I have invited
we eventually fell to conversation. Her decide what cause the modrons serve. If Rialiva along for the rest of my wander-
name was Rialiva and she’d traveled to they seek the absolute rigidity of the uni- ings. Tomorrow Glin has promised to
Automata from one of the Doomguard verse, then it’s no different from your continue to the River Ma’at. What new
citadels on the Inner Planes. kind of entropy, is it? The stopping of all mysteries will I see there?
“I’ve come to see the modrons march," things. Here’s the chant, if the modrons

DRAGON 31
by David “Zeb” Cook

Artwork by Tony DiTerlizzi & Dana Knutson are hard and worn with care, then fresh
with youth. There is no way to tell.
From the final journal of Ambran the Chronepsis banishes all reflections, so that
Seeker, former paladin, who forsook his even the smoothest water does not share
god, name, and country to remain on the what it sees.
Outer Planes. May Oghma forgive him of Glin is impatient to leave. He worries
his errors; may King Azoun not judge him that Chronepsis, sole inhabitant of this
too hastily realm, will change his humor. I am reluc-
tant to leave. I have never been in the
presence of a god before, even a scaled
hird day in the
one like Chronepsis. Still I have become
Mausoleum: I have lost all track used to the presence of petitioners
of days and nights. The march throughout the land, so it is strange to
sun across the sky, the falling find none here. What becomes of those
grains of the hourglass—what is the use of destined for Chronepsis’ land? Perhaps
these things in Chronepsis’ realm? The they are the grains within his hourglasses.
span of days is his to rule, within the Glin is right. It is time (if there is time
Mausoleum’s shattered boundaries. Per- here) to leave.
haps I have aged here, perhaps I have not. First day outside the Mausoleum:
Glin greeted me this morning, his face Glin’s fears seemed unfounded. Indeed I
unlined and horns just budding. By after- wonder if Chronepsis truly knew we were
noon he was aged again. Could the same there. Perhaps we are still there in the
be happening to me? Sometimes my hands shuffled randomness of the dragon lords

DRAGON 51
 hours, arriving with our heads bowed Dream One: I dream about the book. I
during its breakfast, leaving quietly again curse it in my dreams. Each night pages
at lunch, only to reappear during dinner come to me and press themselves against
counting the hourglasses in their niches. my flesh, carving their images into my
Outside the limits of the Mausoleum, the skin. The chapters construct places that I
land has changed. It is no longer green, will go. They build themselves word by
but has the sere look of fall. It reminds me word, slowly tattooing their knowledge
of Cormyr. Since the Mausoleum I can no onto me. When they are finished they will
longer count the days from Sigil. take me to these places, these places I do
Five days after the Mausoleum: The not want to go.
land grows worse—more rugged than I There is a man I see who travels toward
expected. This morning Glin asked his first me, sometimes straight, but more often with
question of me, beyond the usual queries the path of the lost. There is a page in the
of every day. He was curious about my book my dreams are writing for him. When
dreams, if I had any recently. I have not it is done he will stand before me.
and told him so.
Seven days after the Mausoleum: When I awoke, my arm stung and
Glin asked again about my dreams. His itched. Rolling back my sleeve, I was horri-
interest is more than curiosity. fied to find a band of writing freshly tat-
Glin says we should pass over Ilsensine’s tooed there. A single word girdled my
realm soon. Although he did not add any forearm— Fallendor.
more to that statement, he clearly does not For the first time since I left Faerun, I
want to linger there like we did at the am truly afraid. The terrors of Baator I
Mausoleum. glimpsed in Ribcage cannot compare to
Eleven days after the Mausoleum: I this. They were real, at least. I could have
understand now why the bariaur wishes fought them if it had come to that. Gro-
to hurry. The air here is filled with a sub- tesque as they were, they at least had flesh
tle pain that, were it stronger, would drive and substance.
me mad. It began this morning with a What have I done in leaving the safety of
buzzing burn at the back of my thoughts, Toril? What a fool I was to feel safe in a
a verminous fly lodged behind my eyes. world where my dreams turn against me.
All day the drone has grown stronger. By Seventeen days after the Mausole-
this afternoon there was the distinct sen- um: Glin has stopped asking, although I
sation of thoughts—images and whisper- still think he covets the images in my
ings that were not mine. Hands without mind. I know what he is after now, and
skin, whimpers from the room of a dark- will not fall for his traps. I’m not a fool—if
ened inn, the ranting of a fevered fiend, he can’t trick me into giving him what he
and scraps of other thoughts I could not wants, he may try violence. Let the basher
identify—these things have filled my mind. try—I’ll be ready for him.
Even focusing on my writing is hard. Worse still, the dreams have not stopped
Glin solicitously asked about my dreams. and we have left Ilsensine’s realm. Each
I think he only pretends concern—there is night they become stronger and more
more in his eyes than care. It is like he insistent. My left arm is almost completely
expects an answer, casting his net to col- covered by tattoos. Why does this no
lect my dreams. Perhaps he’s not a Free longer concern me?
Leaguer as he claimed. Is he a follower of
the Fated, those who seek to understand Dream Two: Slowly moves the tattooing
the planes by taking it from others? If I tell hand, carefully inking the script on skin
him what I dreamt, do I lose my visions so like the whorls of a finger. With each
that they can become his? touch of the needle, another syllable is
Thirteen days after the Mausole- whispered. I shape the sounds carefully
um: Glin’s question persists and this adding a little more of myself to the ink.
morning I lied. I can no longer trust his Carefully I inject the memories into the
motives. flesh, layering a new skin over the old.
I told him no, but I did dream. It was a Ambran becomes no more. He is the can-
persistent buzzing that skirled behind my vas, the escape from the prison the Codex
eyes. It was not my dream, but the dream has built for me.
of another that slipped away in the tangle
of other preoccupations. I can even imag- Nineteen days after the Mausole-
ine a man, a shadow at the back of the um: This morning the tattoos advanced
burn. Perhaps because of Glin’s curiosity I beyond the collar of my jacket to coil
feel compelled to write down these around my neck. Glin has seen them for
thoughts, or is this some effect of the the first time and I can see his fear. He no
illithid-lord’s realm? Glin says Ilsensine’s longer hungers for my dreams. Perhaps
domain is in caverns beneath our feet, now he knows what they are. The bariaur
tunnels lined with the pulsing veins of can no longer be trusted.
Ilsensine’s mind. Perhaps the mind-flayer Twenty-three days after the Mauso-
gods knowledge is too great for it to con- leum: We have reached Bedlam, gate-
tain. Whose dream is this—mine, an- town to Pandemonium. After all my
other’s, or the secrets gathered by the wandering through the Outlands, now I
thing beneath the ground? travel with a purpose—to reach Pandemo-
nium. I have forced my journey upon my
52 MAY 1994
guide. I lead and he follows, increasingly that now covered nearly all my face. “You have wiped away the blood and ink. When
apprehensive over the paths I choose. Pike know about this?” I wake he will be before me. He nears the
it, I tell him when whines. “I am Hrava—leader of the Sarex. Come door to my cave. I when I wake, I, Fallen-
into the shadows if you want to hear the dor, will reach out my hand and pull. I will
Dream Three: By day I serve as a slave chant." draw him out, trap him within this shell. I
to the Codex of the Infinite Planes, copying It was foolish, but I followed the voice. I will be free!
the pages. Today’s entry was on the Grotto needed to know. “What is happening to I feel his footsteps through the earth. My
of Bones at the heart of Hruggekolohh’s me?” eyelids tremble . . .
realm. With fearful patience, I described There was a soft caress of shadow
the cluster of skulls that ring his throne, across the bridge of my nose, tracing the Procampur: I still struggle with the
how those heads whisper of their lives patterns of words etched in tiny lettering transformation. There are parts of Am-
when the winds of Pandemonium blow there. “You’re being replaced. Word by bran left behind that press me to act
through their moldering sockets. word, memory by memory. Each sentence against my will. I wonder how his incom-
I know that when the words are done I on your skin’s the thought of another, plete spirit feels in that cave in Pandemo-
will go there, but I cannot stop the dreams every syllable a moment of their life." nium? I wonder if he too is a slave of the
from flowing out of me. The best I can “Impossible!” That was ridiculous to say, Codex?
manage is to tarry over the arch of a let- but I did. I thought I was free of the Codex, but
ter, the flourish at the end of a line. The “And yet it happens." even now I realize this too was a lie. I no
pages of Tzunk’s work that I have found “Who—” longer see it in my dreams, but its words
show the same touches, the same devotion “Who is doing it? A prisoner and a slave. still bind me. These notes, for one. I can-
to artistry, as he too came to understand There is an ancient book—the Codex of not resist the urge to write my experi-
his fate. the Infinite Planes. Perhaps you have ences, even though I always burn them
At night the Codex visits me, filling me heard of it?” later. My passions are printed on this face;
as its receptacle. Even as it does so, I shape I nodded to the eyes I could dimly see. these hands describe the childhood of
my dreams and send them to Ambran. “To exist and to grow, the book becomes another body. All the things that Fallendor
Each night I tattoo a little more, painting the dreams of a prime. The slave writes was are written for everyone to see—his
him while he sleeps. Each night I sense what he dreams and goes where the pages hopes and his final treachery. People see
that he is a little closer to me. I am amazed take him, until eventually the slave is a this tattooed face and shun me. Words still
that the Codex does not suspect me, even useless husk. When he finally writes his enslave me.
as my escape nears its finish! own page in the dead book, the book waits
for another and continues its pages."
Twenty-seven days: Where I have “I’ve been captured by the book?”
been is meaningless. Where I am going is “No, you berk, you’ve been snagged by
the only thing that matters. Today I dis- the slave." The darkness gave a dry,
missed Glin and he was glad for it. He is throaty chuckle to my plight. “Sometimes
useless as a guide. I know where my jour- the slave learns from the Codex even as it’s
ney will end. using him. He learns how to ball up his
Still, I fight my fate. I have tarried now dreams and send them to some poor sod
for four days in Bedlam, staying to the like you.”
high ground of the Citadel. The inhabit- “And?”
ants are saner here than on the lower “And you become him. And he escapes
slopes, so close to Pandemonium’s gate. the Codex’s grip—even if he does have
Every moment I struggle to resist the urge wear his memories on his skin for the rest
to descend and pass through the iron arch of his life—makes for an interesting life."
to Pandemonium. I started to shiver. “What happens to
The tattoos continue to appear. The me?”
memory of a past love is written in the The shadows swirled around me and the
curve behind my ear. I cannot see it, but I voice whispered in my ear. “Maybe you’re
already know what feelings the words destroyed. Maybe you’re trapped inside
carry. I am less of myself and more of your own body. What does it matter?”
someone else. I was sick with fear then. “Why are you
What is happening to me? telling me this? What do I owe you?”
Twenty-nine: Today I almost suc- The laughter came again, fading into the
cumbed. I was searching for a sage, a darkness, “Owe? Nothing. I’m Hrava, the
member of a group called the Sarex. I had shadow-fiend, what you’d call a thing from
a hope he would explain these tattoos the pits of the Abyss. I told you because it
(what would Trandleer say?) when I real- amuses me. But I’m a fiend—am I lying or
ized my steps were carrying me from the telling the truth?” With that he left me in
safe haven of the Citadel and into the the darkness.
tangle of the lower slopes. I could barely I have given up looking for answers in
remember the prayers to Oghma to Bedlam.
strengthen me! Pandemonium: Now I have even given
My distress did not go unnoticed. Even up counting days. My body carries me
as I fought for strength, a voice addressed forward as if it knows where to go. The
me from the shadows. At first I thought it wind cuts and screeches in my ears, trying
was another part of the madness that has to drive me insane. It can’t—what more
taken me. can madness do to me now? I (or someone
“You are in great danger," it whispered. else?) still harbors the hope that I can
“The Slave of the Codex has written upon escape this fate.
you.”
I was dumb-founded. Until this point, no Dream Four: He is here! My needles
one in Bedlam had even noticed the tattoos have pricked the last letters. My hands
DRAGON 53