Contents
A Day in the Life
of a Cager
Introduction
Jaimi Bimkz
Pekan Shu
From Factioneers
From Planewalkers
Darker Chant
Clerks' Ward
Castles in the Sand
Dair's Mercenaries
Darkwell Court
Golden Confessions
The Grove of Erik
House of Mattados
The Planarium
The Scriptorium
Théatre Broulliard
Guildhall Ward
From Primes to Planewalkers
Michandoco's Maze
La Pax
The Sculptor's Guild
The Sunken Plaza
The Weather Tower
The Zen Garden
Hive Ward
The Behemoth
Deffas' Laboratory
Fallen Angel
Fiend's Salute
The Goblin Quarter
The Happy Medium
The Mangled Leg
Montekkai's Alley
Suicide Alley
The Warehouse
Xaco"#ti
Lady's Ward
The Arched Gardens
The City Zoo
The Godswatch
The Hollow Fountain
The House of Life
Selphi's Enchantment
The Spiral Cathedral
Temple of Celts
Temple of Titans
Underground Canals
Lower Ward
The Calculating Engine
Darthiir's Test Hall
The Fire Pit
The Furnace
House of Mymirs
The Lost Bridge
The Pentacle
Petrified Forest
The Schlacthof
The Scuttle
The Spiral Cathedral
Styx Oarsman
The Theatre of Harmony
Market Ward
Chater's Field
The Drunken Dabus
Jonas' Visions
The Merchant's Scale
The Silver Tongue
Tholin's Machines
Torpedo Room
A Day in the Life of a Cager
Jaimi Bimkz is a human seamstress, lives in the Lower Ward, and is a namer in the Free League. This is her story.
Prologue. An hour before antipeak. Well, out with the formalities first of all then. I'm Jaimi Bimkz, and I'm the best bleaking seamstress in Sigil. The 9 stingers I'm getting for my entry on this mimir is about how I live. That said, I'll be recording tomorrow... I'm off to sleep.
5 hours after antipeak. Woken by the sound of that flock of Astral Streakers that passes every morning about this time, I get up out of bed and wash my face with the water in my basin. I've been using the same water for 3 weeks... I use it more to wake myself up than to get clean. Well, while I'm on the subject, I suppose I'll tell you berks about my kip.
She's a little second floor flat in an apartment building that sits next to a bleaker housing project. The old girl has three sparse, dirty little rooms, including my bedroom and bathroom. I like to be at my shop more'n home, it's nice there. Home is dirty. I havent got much in my place 'cept for the basin, a miror, my bed, a cabinet where I keep dishes (in case company comes... hah), a table with a stool incase I eat at home, and a wardrobe, with my 3 shirts and 2 pairs of pants. There's a crack in the wall, covered by the mirror, and I'm happy I'm only on the second floor lest the ceiling would drip on me. The building itself is a completely nondescript, gray, plaster building... like so many others around here.
Well, as I was saying, I've just woken up and I need to dress. I put on a burgundy patched up skirt that's down to my ankles, a grey shirt, and my long grey jacket. I pull my hair back and knot it there, so it doesn't get in the way of my work. I'll be going out for a bite to eat now... it's tough to work on an empty stomach. I probably won't be back home until much later tonite, as I work in the Market Ward.
5 and a half hours after antipeak. I'm at the Ubiquitous Wayfarer on the edge of the Lower and Clerks Ward, regardless of whatever berks say it's in the Lady's. It's a quant little place that serves primes and planars alike, especially folks that just tripped in from some portal... the kip's loaded with the sodding things. The place serves up a nice bowl of good, affordable pourage... and doubles as a good place to find new people.
Take that tief over there. She's wearing last month's fassion... the shoulder blades, dark cape, leather, crazy black-died hair. She needs something new, and she looks like she has some jink to drop...
"Yes ma'am, I'm talkin about you and your shoulder blades. You need to do something about that, where are you coming from, Baator?"
"What's this insulance? I'm on my way to the Hall of Speakers."
"Not dressed like that I hope. You need something more colorful, all that grey... people won't pay attention to you if you're dressed in only grey and black."
"I'm a Knight of Entropy, now sod off. This is my military uniform."
Ahh, well, you can't win 'em all. Enough of here for now then, time to keep walking. My morning routine revolves around my getting to the Market in time, and it takes 2 hours to walk... even in the morning's light traffic.
Walking to the Market Ward: Sigil in the early morning. Walking to the shop is a good way to get a look at Sigil... and I'm told that's what I'm getting paid for.
I'm walking along in this infernal fog now, the light boys are out in force putting out the lamps on the streets. That ragtag bunch don't say too much during the 'bright' hours, they do their jobs then run off to their families to hand over the few greens they made during the night, and then catch an hour or two of sleep before they have to start another long night of wandering the Cage. They're a hungry lot, and poor for the most part. You can see it in the way their faces are so drawn, and how their eyes are sunken. A real bunch of bloods, the lightboys, there's no other bunch closer to Sigil except for the dabus.
Besides the fog and the boys, there's the heavy dust that's always hanging in the air and on everything... the dust of a million universes kicked up by the feet of several million folks. Combined with the fog, the dust makes the air up here tough to breathe for people who aren't natives. You can always tell a berk is new to the Cage when you see them taking big, deep breathes, or coughing alot from the dust.
Now, look at this cutter here. He's a native. He has a long, black coat on, a cap on, and high, well worn boots... the kind of boots that you can walk through the Market without getting your feet stomped, or through the Hive without getting knee deep in mud. He's watching the ground. He's looking where he's going, minding his business. He doesn't care what's going on around him. He's going where he's going. He don't look funny at passing fiends or primes, he lets them go their ways too. Bar all that about Cagers being stuck up and arrogant. We aren't. Those are planars who moved into the Cage, got rich, and took the name. Cagers are the folks that you see and you recognize, but you don't know their names. The real movers and shakers of the city are the folks you don't see coming. That guy's a Cager.
Heh, well, I'm getting nostalgic now. We're almost there, so I'll quite rattling.
Nearly 7 hours after Antipeak. After an ordeal of a walk, I'm finally outside my shop, deep in the Market Ward. The City is just about fully awake now, and folks of all sorts are walking about the streets. Folks that have ripped clothes, old clothes, or not much clothing at all. From my shop (a tan brick building on Copperman Way with one glass panel in the front where I hang my wairs, and a sign that says 'Jaimi Bimkz - Seamstress' in big red letters), I can see everyone that walks up and down the lane, and sometimes I hollar at them to come in and have a look when I'm not busy enough.
Inside, there's my desk and workroom, where I keep my inventory and do my sowing. In front is a room with samples of my work- shirts and things mostly, beautiful stuff noone can afford, but I assure the commoner (don't get me wrong... I'm not trying to say I'm high up, I'm a commoner myself) I can reproduce the same thing with slightly different material. I slide the curtain off of the glass plate, sweep the ever present dust off of the doorstep, and now I'm open and ready for business.
7 and a half hours after Antipeak. A half elf male just walked in. The poor sod has a rip in the left knee of his pants, and the cuffs of his sleeves and pants are horibly tattered. His clothing is obviously too big for him. He has his hair tied back in a greesy ponytale and his face is shiny from vigorous washing. This is the face of a man who's afraid to admit he's a member of the working class... and he's obviously not a Cager from that Clueless grin he's got on.
"Can I help you?"
"'Ello, I'm looking for Jaimi Bimkz... I hear she's quite a seamstress."
"She's me berk, what can I do for ya?"
"Right, I'm Ainland Olsen..." he'd broken an important rule there, it's not a good thing to give your full, real name to a stranger, "...and I'm looking for someone to make me some clothing."
"Obviously. You're here."
"Yes... right.. well, can you make me a new pair of pants? These ones are getting awfully worn, and I only have two other pairs..."
"Right. Go back to your kip and get changed, and bring those pants you have on back here so I can make a model of them. I'll dispose of them for you."
"Sounds grand, saves me the trouble. I'll be back soon."
And with the same clueless grin, he turned around and left. He'd just broken another important rule... that nothing is a waste. Those pants of his could hold me off for a year with a bit of mending... and that's what I intend to do with them.
7 and a quarter hours after Antipeak. I'm working on some backordered shirts made from some Bytopian cotton now.... there's a troop of gnomes stuck in Sigil that came in yesterday asking for shirts like they have home. I told the little berks I'd get them done for them before they went home, which means I probably have several weeks to finish this project, they're being stupid gnomes and all. It'll take the berks ages to figure out the dark of portals. Either way, they'll be in tonite asking if I'm done, so I'm working on it. They'll be paying heavily for this job... eight miniature shirts made of cotton aren't easy to sell if they bail out.
3 and a half hours before Peak. The poor sod with the big clothes that came in earlier just came back... looking rather flustered and sweaty.
"A bloody confusing place, this Sijil." he smelled like the Hive.
"Sigil, and yes, a wee bit more confusing than wherever you're from..." I sneered, "Waterdeep is it?"
"No, Greyhawk City, on..."
Not interested in the origins of this prime, I interupted... "Nevermind. Have you got your old pants?"
"Ahh, yes, right here."
"Hmm... ok. Come back in a few hours, and I'll have a nice pair of new pants for ya."
"How much will it be?"
"That all depends on how hard a time I have making the pants, what materials I use, lot's of things. I'll have a price for you later, now if you'll excuse me."
And with that, he left. Spinning new pants for him'll be a cinch. The fact that he wears them 6 sizes too big means he wont be picky about sizing. In the mean time, I need to run to the Shaven Ratatosk deeper in the Market to pick up some materials.... I'm running a bit low. In this business, going for cloth is like going for groceries. It's an every other day thing.
2 and three quarter hours before Peak. The Market by this time of morning is a bustling place. Sigil is now fully awake, and the chaos that is our city is now in full swing. Looking about, one can see all manner of folks, Upper and Lower planars alike, as well as barmy factioneers running amuk posting Sigil up with their propaganda, a slew of advertisements... from Astral Streakers dropping messages, to Black Marion singing her subtle, coded songs. The touts are all standing about, waiting for the Primes and out of towners to start tripping in from the portals that riddle our city... it's the perfect time of day for such a thing. The City is freshly 'clean' (or, as clean as she gets with this infernal dust) from the Dabus' nightly patrol, and according to statistics from the Hall of Records, Primes are most likely to come through Sigil at this time of day than any other. Don't ask what sod thought that fact up.
Anyhow, I'm just outside of the Shaven Ferret, a pretty small little fabric shop in the Market Ward specializing in Bytopian furs and silks that's hidden in an alley that turns off of Risvold Street. The building itself is falling down... the chipped plaster and smashed roof are just two of the building's redeaming traits. It's a pity really, the woman who owns the place (Sara DeAngelo, the second best seamstress in Sigil... heh) is the nicest you'll ever meet, but she's poorer than anything. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but she has four male kids to bring up, no husband, and she's too proud to send them to the Gatehouse for care. Anyhow, I'm entering the shop now....
"Jaimi, is that you?"
"Lady's grace Sara, how are you?"
"I'm ok," she sighs, "but I had to send the boys to work today, the poor dears. I need more money for the rent or the Takers are going to evict us." This is testamony to her kind heartedness... most folks these days don't care much for their kids, seeing them as nothing but a mouth to feed.
"Where are they working and for how much?"
"They're working for Estavan, that ogre chap in charge of the PTC. They get payed a stinger a week each, hardly much at all, and Estavan gets a special discount at the store on things he buys here. I'm probably getting robbed in the long run.... I hear that one is rather slippery."
"I wouldn't know... I buy all of my material here. Anyhow, four stingers a week is more four stingers more than you're taking in now, and the work'll do the lads good."
She sighed again, a habit of hers when her mind was full, "Maybe so, but I miss them."
"They'll be back soon enough, Sara. In the mean time, I need to place an order. I need a bit of cotton for shirts for a troop of gnomes, about a pound I'd say, some burlap (for a prime's pants) and a bit of Spire Butterfly silk, for a deva who said he'd be stopping in today. While I'm here, I need a new spool of ribbon too." I didn't really need any ribbon... but Sara always had more than she could sell, and wouldn't accept my charity if I gave her an extra green to support her family with.
Walking about behind her counter, she replied "A deva eh? He'll be paying a pretty bit I take it?"
"Not as much as I'd hope... those upper planars are cheep. They think because they're 'holy' we should work for them for free."
"How true, how true. Just give me a second to cut this cotton, and I'll let you go back to your business then, you can pick up on the side. Good to see you, Lady's grace."
"To you as well, Sara."
With that, Sara DeAngelo walked back into the recesses of her crumbling shop. One could see she was suffering from malnutrition, and has been under distress. Sara loves her littluns, it's sad to see her in this state. Anyhow, life goes on... her story is another, and I'm sure she'd be happy to tell it for eleven stingers just like me.
I walk around the side, to her cargo bay and pickup area. I pay the full fifteen stingers for all the material, no more no less... like I said, she don't take charity. One of her servant boys helps me carry it all back to the shop, silently. He was probably sold into service to her. Children in the city only have a few likely paths... they get sold as slaves, adopted by the Bleakers, or get lucky and have a mother like Sara. This one falls in between having a mother and being a slave... she probably treats him like one of her own. Ahh well, excuse me. I'm getting emotional again over all this.
1 and a quarter hour before Peak. I'm back at the shop now. The windows are starting to get that midday dust on them, the dust they always get when the city is all woken up. I dusted them off, headed back over to my tools, and resumed work on those gnomish shirts. I sat and sowed for a while, until something caught my attention (and not much can grab my attention when I'm at work), a deva looking in the window. She's indescribably clean and beautiful... and seams to glow, even through the dusty, fogged pane of glass. Sure enough, she walks in. Her golden hair is tied back with a silken ribbon, and her lovely dress looks as though it were woven from the stuff of dreams, white as snow. Her milky skin complemented her bright red lips, which started to move...
"Are you Jaimi Bimkz?" she asked. Her words were hypnotizing, I felt as though I were half asleep as she was talking to me, drowning in her voice.
"Ye... yes.." I cleared my throat, "Can I help you?" self consciously, I started to twist my skirt.
"Yes, you can. I need a new dress for a ball tonite, would you be able to make me one?" She obviously didn't know much about the trade... making a dress for a highup deva takes more than a day.
"Well, it'd be quite a task actually.... I highly doubt it, especially as I have these seven gnomish shirts to do...." before I could finish, she dropped a pouch full of jink on my table, and gold sparkled from inside.
"That's two hundred jinx, cutter," she gave a faint grin.
"Um..." I choked on my words and stuttered a bit, "Well, I suppose I may be able to arrange something. How would you like it?" Two hundred jinx is more'n I make in a three months.
"Like this, with gold fiber trimming, but dark red instead of white. Thanks much, I'll be back a bit later... the ball starts at Antipeak." With that, she smiled and took her jink, and walked off into the streets.
It was moments before I recovered, and realized the folly of my action... I had broken Imel Bruster's third rule, You Order It, You Own It. In this case, I just ordered up a dress for a deva, and if I don't follow through, I own the responsibility. Jink makes a body do some addle-coved things... now I have to come up with a dress by Anti. Bah, I'm off to lunch.
