The Parted Veil
Location: Forgotten Lane / Lower Ward / Sigil
Let me tell you about the Parted Veil, that cluttered chaos of books and radical ideas where Kesto Brighteyes rules the roost. My story begins as I, Eldrimor Alastis, at the time a wizard fresh in from the prime with admittedly more pride than planesavvy, found myself pushing through the smoggy hustle of Sigil’s Lower Ward, chasing a rumour Kylie had fed me over lukewarm ale the night before.
“Aye, friend,” the tout had said, her voice all conspiratorial, “Kesto might have that spell ye be after—he’s got an archive even the Guvners envy, chant goes. Just mind his shop assistant doesn’t give ye the dead-eye.”
Dead-eye indeed. I brushed off her warning with a chuckle, which turned nervous as I approached the Parted Veil, its façade a mosaic of round amber glass windows which glinted like jaundiced eyes peering into the street. Outside, Kesto’s famous soapbox pulpit stood empty today, but I fancied I could almost hear the echoes of his grand illusions.
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. A magic mouth spell on the frame boomed a hearty, “Empower your mind, brave the unknown!” and I nearly leapt out of my robes.
The interior was a maze of books, stacked high and deep, forming labyrinthine walls and perilously winding paths. Tomes even lined the floor, their spines forming a literal literary cobblestone road. The scent of musty pages mingled with a faint acrid tinge of pipe-weed smoke drifting from somewhere unseen. The whole shop seemed to be made of ink, paper, and ideas long shelved.
“Welcome, welcome!” A small, frenzied shape hurtled toward me, clutching a precarious tower of tomes. Kesto Brighteyes himself, his wild white hair dancing like a dandelion in a storm, spectacles perched on his large, curious nose. “Ah, I smell prime dust on you—an adventurer! I’m afraid I’m an Athar, but now we’ve got that business out of the way, what wisdom do you seek? Spell keys? Maps to a forgotten plane?” He babbled on, setting the books down with a thump and rummaging through his pockets absently.
“I… I’m looking for a rare spell,” I managed, trying not to sound too green. But then, a shadow fell across me, one that made my blood run as cold as a wraith’s caress.
A tall, spindly figure loomed in the dimness between book-stacks. Ghoul-grey skin stretched taut over a skeletal frame, hollow eye sockets emanating eerie, residual dread. A fiendish bodak, from the darkest depths of the Abyss!
Before I knew it, my fingers were fumbling out a defensive spell. I’d been raised on tales of bodaks’ death gazes, each one more gruesome than the last. My heart hammered, ready to burst from my chest. The creature turned its head, almost languidly, and I was certain I’d end up a lifeless husk, cursed to haunt these groaning shelves too.
“Peace, peace!” Kesto cried, waving his arms like a madman. “Sir Cleve’s a gentle bookkeeper now. He’s a bit dead, sure, but we don’t discriminate here!”
“Gentle?” I sputtered, spell still half-formed on my lips.
Cleve’s mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile. “I only use the gaze for emergencies,” he said, his voice soft and somber. “The last time was when a night hag tried torching the shop. You’re no night hag, are you?”
I shook my head vigorously, still unable to fully process the absurdity of it all. Kesto, ever the cheerful cyclone of chaos, pulled me away before I could further embarrass myself.
“Now, what spell was it again?” the gnome asked, already bounding through the maze, leaving me to stumble along behind. As we twisted and turned, I passed towering tomes that I’m sure whispered to me. One particularly nasty-looking grimoire bared its teeth and growled. “Stop that now!” scolded Kesto, to the book—I think.
Finally, Kesto halted, finger waggling. “Aha! Here we are!” He yanked a thin, leather-bound book from a wall of volumes, causing the entire stack to wobble dangerously before stabilising. “This is what you want, yes? The Codex of Spells Beyond Thought—fourth edition, of course.”
I took the book, marvelling at the arcane energy it seemed to pulse with. But before I could thank him, Kesto leaned in close, his apple-green eyes magnified to terrifying orbs by his glasses. “Remember, knowledge here comes with a warning.”
“Oh?” I said, feeling a shiver.
“Aye cutter,” Kesto whispered. “Mind the stacks at night, and don’t pike off Sir Cleve. Oh, and should you ever hear a book whisper your truename, run. Some of ’em got a hunger for unwary wizards.”
I left the Parted Veil with a treasure in my hand but also with a lasting impression: If you ever go seeking knowledge there, for the powers’ sake, do not underestimate Sir Cleve. Even bodaks, it seems, can have a sense of humour.
Canonical Sources:
- Harbinger House [2e] p18, 22, 24-25 (minor scene in the adventure is set in the Parted Veil)
- Uncaged: Faces of Sigil [2e] p7-8, 16-17, 19, 44, 72, 116, 125 (description of the shop, Kesto and Sir Cleve)
Source: Jon Winter-Holt