(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

attention (and he never did) he wasn't the type to psst at me.
"Up here."
I looked up to the shelves.
The skull's voice was low and raspy, the sound of flint and steel. "I... I think
I've seen you before, stranger."
I hobbled over. The fellow was well-polished, though yellow and
snaggle-toothed. "Where have you seen me?"
"Curst. Gate town to Carceri."
I blinked, "Curst? Gate town? Carceri?"
"What are you, clueless? It's a gate town, on the rim of the Outlands, the
doorway to the prison plane of Carceri. It's a place of backstabbers and
traitors, and it's full of schemes as a baatezu's undergarments. Being right
next door to Carceri's apt to change a burg's nature; I wouldn't be surprised
if the town were about to slide over."
"Slide over? What do you mean?"
"When a gate town's beliefs get too much like the plane it borders, the force
of that belief is enough to make its bordering plane swallow it whole.
Happens all the time - at least when the Anarchists are involved." He spoke
this last with a grim kind of pride.
"Hey I know about you! You're that faction that's trying to throw Sigil into
chaos."
"Well... that's an oversimplification really," his voice bloomed as he spoke,
"We are a secret society, cells of members who work alone or through
directives passed through the network of informants and
leaders-who-remain-hidden. Our goal is to tear down the power structure,
to free people from the lies of politicians and powers, to let all lead their
own lives of their own volition. We work in secrecy - worked in secrecy - and
changed our routines constantly to avoid infiltration. My time was decades
ago, and so all the secrets I knew are no longer valid, except for the faces I
can remember - and even those must have changed by now."
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