Airon’s Boarding House

Nestled right where the Market Ward’s hustle hits a lull, Airon’s Boarding House is a surprisingly cosy refuge from the cacophony of hawkers, criers, and bellowing bargain-hunters. The building itself is a confusing blend of Sigil’s architectural madness—overhanding half-timbered walls seemingly propped up by huge beams against the buildings across the street, and clay-bricked chimneys poke out at odd angles, looking as if the kip was pieced together by an architect who loves a good paradox. A bronze wind chime dangles crookedly by the entrance, singing a thin, tinny tune with any breeze that wafts through the Great Bazaar.

The exterior smells perpetually of roasting pumpkin and spices, which might make you suspicious at first (if you’ve been in Sigil long enough to know that nothing is ever entirely pleasant), but it turns out that Airon really does have a thing for pumpkin. More on that in a bit.

Inside, the décor is quaint and homey, if a bit overdone. The main room has patched, velvet armchairs that look like they’ve seen better decades, and thick rugs drape over the creaky floorboards, trying in vain to muffle the sounds of boots, hooves, or the occasional rocky visitor. The walls are hung with mismatched paintings of idyllic country scenes from prime worlds nobody recognises, alongside framed newspaper clippings from across the multiverse, all curated by Airon himself. The cutter has a knack for “gathering interesting histories,” though some might just call it hoarding.

The bedrooms come in a few variations: single-bed closets that feel more like broom cupboards with fancy aspirations, modest double rooms for the less solitary traveller, and one or two suites with balconies overlooking the bustling street below. Airon charges 3 jinx a week for room, breakfast, lunch, and, as promised, all the pumpkin tea you can drink. The tea, in case you’re wondering, has a warm, earthy taste, with a hint of nutmeg and a deeply unsettling aftertaste if you don’t add enough honey.

Amenities and Quirks

Now Airon’s Boarding House isn’t just a simple bedroom for the night; it’s more of an experience. Every morning, a breakfast spread of warm oatcakes, pumpkin butter, and fried eggs greets you in the dining hall, where travellers from across the planes exchange stories, argue philosophy or politics, or play games of chance. Lunch is usually a hearty soup or stew, but dinner? Airion makes a point of not serving food in the evenings, citing “spiritual reasons”—but he never really explained that to me. A berk who stays too long might start wondering if he’s simply too miserly to pay for evening meals.

You also get 10 gallons of hot water daily, an extravagant luxury by Sigil’s standards. There’s even a bathhouse on the ground floor, complete with half-a-dozen iron tubs where weary cutters can soak in steamy bliss. Just be sure to reserve your time, or you’ll find yourself like I did sharing with a half-naked bariaur bard who never shuts up about his latest love affair. Those berks are hairy in places I never knew existed.

Airon Himself

The eponymous Airon is a wiry elf with a wiry temper to match. He’s old, even by elven standards, and his hair’s gone silver, though his eyes are still bright and shrewd. He wears a waistcoat stitched with pocket dimensions, where he stores scrolls, keys, and who knows what else. Airon loves to chat, but only when he thinks you’ve got something interesting to say. He’ll listen keenly to tales of your travels, but if he catches a whiff of a tall story, his smile turns brittle faster than an ooze mephit in the sun.

He’s a fanatic for safety precautions, too. Every room has a charm ward against common curses, and there’s a strict “no fiends beyond the common room” policy, enforced by a pair of surly quadrone bouncers. (Yes, you heard me right. Modrons. Airon says they were “a bargain, albeit a noisy one that needs a lot of oil.”)

Anecdotes and Advice

I once spent a few nights here after a wild escapade that left me covered in astral glitter (don’t ask). During my stay, a trio of green prime visitors were aghast at the lack of dinner service. They tried cooking a meal with conjured fire in their room. Suffice to say, the fire wards activated, and they were promptly soaked by a summoned water mephit. The sodden berks were unceremoniously booted into the street, leaving behind a soggy carpet and an entire room smelling like charred cheese. Airon sighed the whole night, muttering about “trusting primes with complex concepts like ‘rules.’”

Emergencies notwithstanding, the boarding house is surprisingly serene after dark, though. The hum of Sigil quiets to a murmur and the beds are comfortable enough to get a good night’s kip. So, if you need more than just a couple of night’s rest and don’t mind a bit of pumpkin obsession, Airon’s Boarding House is a pleasant place to be. After all, in a city where everything changes and shifts, sometimes it’s nice to know you can at least count on a good oatcake in the morning.

Canonical Source: In the Cage [2e] p84 (brief description which I’ve expanded upon here)

Source: Jon Winter-Holt