Aeron 2.0

[*taggedcattle]

From the personal notebooks of Aeron Telforar


The last shipment sold quickly. The undead are not as popular as I had thought. Hin prove to be ever so popular. Must be because they're compact. Ordered five more.

Dancers work well. Manservants not so much. The dogs are not all equally well-trained. Must see if I can somehow figure out how to keep them from gnawing on the skeletal servants.

Today's shipment included:
- 5 female hin (1 deceased)
- 4 female dancers (1 of them is obviously pregnant, so that voids the virginity bonus)
- 2 manservants (clean, well-trained)
- 3 guard dogs

Still looking for a new warehouse. Spotted a suitable building in the Clerk's Ward, near the Bazaar. Need to work on security. Was accosted by some barmy today, wanted to interfere with my trade. I offered to sell all the slaves to her at a discount so she could free them. Did not take me up on my offer. Apparently freedom is worth a big mouth, but not coin. I named her pauper.


Encountered a tiefling today, in the Bazaar. She was channelling something nasty. Something Outside. She scratched aberrant symbology in the cobblestones in front of Khazeet's. Experimented with a mindless thrall I bought from the flayer. Not a success. Apparently her scribblings have some kind of power. The Outside force occupied the thrall, and we had to blast it prodigiously.

It brings to mind thoughts of pre-maze days. Thoughts on the nature of the planes. Thoughts on Sigil. I have long held that the Spire is not a spire. At least not as we see it. We may not climb it, for it is infinite. It is a Singular Expression of discordant conspiracy. The planes are infinite. This we know. There are no cracks between. This we see in the Outlands. The transition from one state to the next is made discrete by interpretation. In nature it seems all too continuous.

What then, if what we know as the Lady was hurled upon a time. Hurled as far from the planes as possible, hurled as fast as possible. Did she hurl herself, or was she hurled? It matters not, what matters is that in her distance, she stretches that which cannot be stretched. How do you escape that which is infinite? Is the Cage her Cage, or is it her vessel to escape the planes?

So, we know what is stretched, and we know what is stretching it. As such, we know what is, and what lies behind. What then, lies in front of us? What are we hurling towards? By its very nature, it is aberrant.

Ah, yes, Sigil and it's paradoxical perception. From the Outlands, it seems as if Sigil is atop the Spire. This is not so! What we conceive as the Spire, is as I've stated a multitude of infinities conjoined. How can one see the end of infinity? One cannot! What we see as the Spire, and the image of Sigil atop it, that is merely an afterimage. The real Sigil is so far away, and moving at such speeds, that reality itself is bent. We cannot see beyond the threshold, and thus the threshold mirrors what is infinitely far. The passing of time, and the distance travelled is itself broken at that point. We cannot make sense of what we see because we can simply not conceive of it.


I must not speak of these things. Not in public.

[*taggedcattle]

Dancing skeletons a success. Must train assistant to take over sales.

[*taggedcattle]

His name's Tald. But not for long. I know who you are, you bastard.

[*taggedcattle]

So. Brent.

Brent was my student. He was good at sweeping; it's why I picked him. That is, until he decided he'd swept and learned enough. He got hold of my journals, and I don't know how, or why, but I left my house one day and ended up mazed.

Two years, if not more. Time goes wonky. I got too acquainted with my familiar. For the life of me, I can't stand to look at him now.

I got out. I found Brent. I had a key and there was a portal. Brent was dealt with. And now, now Brent is my skeleton, to sweep the floors until all the planes collapse and turn aberrant. He's my least favourite skeleton. I know his eyesockets are empty, but still he manages to look at me petulantly. I can hear the insult in his sweeping still.

Perhaps I shall just recycle him. I need new dice anyway.

[*taggedcattle]

I set a tail on Tald and on another. We shall see if there is success, I can use reliable business partners.

In other news, my dearest, dearest diary, I put a bid out on a workshop. It's in a disreputable part in town. It overlooks a trickle of sludge some here call a river. It's near some sort of ward for the weak. Sometimes I can hear screams coming from there.

It is no matter. It will suit me fine. The interior is clean, well kept, and cozy. It contains ample working space, and the only severe lack is a basement.

When I think about it, I find myself smiling. A place to call home would be welcome. I've stayed in various inns in this Cage for so long that every room becomes a fraction of a Cage, ever smaller reflections in some tricky mirror. I do need my own space.

[*taggedcattle]

I put the pregnant dancer in her own room. It will cut into my profits. Maybe I'm getting soft.

[*taggedcattle]

Apparently, I was outbid. The seller did not want to share with me the identity of the higher bidder. I suspect Ugdum. I think he somehow found out I was interested, and outbid me. Such a petty creature. Perhaps I should have him taken care of.