Joris made his way through the streets of The Lady’s Ward. Though he felt safer here than in other parts of Sigil, all the jink on display reminded him of Silverymoon, and not in a good way.
He found Transformant’s Square after Dossy Street; there, sandwiched between temples of Gruumsh and Apollo, he saw a small building of unremarkable stone, just where Raven had said it would be. Joris regarded the simple golden circle that hung above the doorway until he passed through.
The entrance led directly into a circular chamber perhaps twenty-five feet in diameter. Finding himself alone, Joris examined the room. A simple altar sat in the center, ringed by rows of rough pews. A stairway led up on the far side of the room, with a closet door set into it. Three small statues lined the altar; the one closest to him was a surprisingly graceful rendition of Mystra. Small icons representing other gods of magic were mounted between the statues.
Joris knelt before the statue of Mystra and clasped his hands, not hearing the shuffling feet until they reached the bottom of the stairs. He turned to see an old man – an ancient man – in a black robe too long for his bony frame. The image of a skull wreathed in flame dangled from a chain around his neck. Despite the man’s morbid trappings, his face was kind, and lit up with a smile at the sight of Joris.
“Greetings,” he said in a reedy voice. “Welcome to the Circle, my son. I am Numeledes.”
“Joris Crownsilver,” Joris replied, standing up to approach the old man. “Is it Wee Jas you follow, sir? I’m still learning all the gods of the Great Wheel.”
“Yes, I serve Death’s Guardian.”
“Are you a Dustman, then? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Numeledes waved a hand. “No, though many of the Stern Lady’s faithful are. All that screed about already being dead… I feel alive. Don’t you?”
“I don’t mean to offend—”
“Nonsense, my son. We don’t get many visitors, but I still get that all the time. I don’t hold to a faction; call me Clueless if you must. Now then, what brings you here?”
“A woman. That is, a woman told me about this place. Her name is Raven.”
The old man’s eyes went misty. “Ah, yes. Raven. Lovely creature, isn’t she?”
“Very,” Joris said, hearing the caravan in his mind, and not for the first time that day. “Um, have you seen her?”
“Not for a while, no. I don’t see much of anybody,” Numeledes continued, not noticing Joris’s disappointment. “Most of the Ruby Sorceress’s faithful pray in the Mortuary, and with our facilities being… what they are… those who follow other gods prefer not to congregate here.”
“Maybe I can help with that. I am a cleric of Mystra.”
“Hmm? Oh yes, the Torilian goddess. You are ordained by her faith… have you conducted ceremonies before?”
“Yes.” Mostly funerals, he thought. “I have other commitments, but I’d like to help here, if you’ll let me.”
“Other commitments.” Numeledes drew closer to Joris, looking into his eyes. “Faction stuff?”
“No, sir. Adventuring.”
“Really.”
“I know I don’t seem like the type, but my friends and I—”
“All right, settle down. I don’t mean anything by that. This old place could use another cleric, ‘specially with me getting older by the minute. Follow me.”
Climbing the stairs behind Numeledes seemed like an eternity to Joris. Are the others worried about me? he wondered. How long have I been gone? Where’s Raven? Does she come here often? I should have thought to ask that!
Numeledes opened a door at the top of the stairs, and waved Joris into a tiny room containing only a small bed, a footlocker, and a chamber pot. “You can stay here,” the old man said.
“I’m told that I snore,” Joris said.
“Won’t bother me. Hold on; I’ll get you the key.”
Joris looked around the room, trying to marshal his thoughts. His own space – he was getting his own space! Living in a space smaller than a closet in his father’s house would be all right, so long as he didn’t have to share it with anyone else. He sat on the bed; it seemed comfortable enough. Now, if only there was a window…
The old man reappeared in the doorway with a brass key and an oversized bundle, which he handed to Joris. “You might have use of these,” he said. “The last partner I had left them behind. Wonder what happened to her. Tiny elven maid, Firil was, and full of fire…”
Joris opened the bundle to find a suit of chainmail, formed from fine links of mithral. Elven chain, he thought; casting detect magic, he let out a low whistle. Enchanted elven chain! There was also a sturdy mace of elegant elven design, and a string of ceramic beads. Both of those items also radiated magic.
He looked up to thank Numeledes, but the old man was gone. Joris peeked in the door across the hall from his own, and saw the old man fast asleep on another simple bed.
Blessing his good fortune, Joris changed into his new armor, and found that it fit him well. Must not be Firil’s armor, then, he thought. He packed his old mace and scale mail in his foot locker, clasped the amulet around his neck, locked his door, and raced down the stairs, late to meet his friends at Chirper’s.
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