The Tomb

Nearby was a gate in the wall. As I opened the gate, a cold wind rushed forth. I began to shiver as I heard the sound of a voice whispering, although I could not make out what it said. In a second, it was gone and all was silent…. I realized that I had been here before, and I had a strong feeling that my companions must not follow me in.

The gate led into a long room. I had entered along one of the long sides, and the only exit was on the opposite wall. I wandered about the room, my only company a few corpses on the floor, long since rotted away to skeletons. On one wall was an inscription, which I read

At last I have you. Never again will you torment me, for no mortal man can escape these walls. Seek the keys and embrace death with each that you find. Only then shall you be free.

Apprehensive at what this could mean, I hurried back to the door I had entered by. It had closed itself and locked. When I turned around, I noticed something else. Inlaid in the floor was a symbol of torment, the same which adorned my arm. Wondering at this, I entered the only other exit from the room.

I walked forward, seeing ahead a square chamber with a sarcophagus at its center. As I made to enter the chamber, suddenly I was elsewhere. I was in a room, with its own sarcophagus. However, when I investigated, all I found in the sarcophagus was a key. The symbol of torment was inscribed on the floor of this room as well.

The only visible exit from the room led back toward the same square chamber. As I moved forward, suddenly I shifted. I was in the room I had just left. What was I to do now? As I thought I had begun to pace, and I stepped on the torment symbol. A bolt of lightning struck, and I knew no more.

I awoke from death in the room I had first entered when going into the tomb. Having no better plan, I made for the square chamber again. Once again I was transported. This time to a new room, but it still contained a sarcophagus, on the floor a symbol of torment and a passage to the central, square, chamber.

I had figured out the message in the original chamber by now, and knew these traps must be to prevent anyone apart from me learning what this tomb held. After dying two more times, I was able to finally reach the central chamber.

Around the central sarcophagus were inscriptions carved on stone panels. The panels gave slightly under my touch; for every one I pushed, a click came from the sarcophagus. The inscriptions interested me greatly, plainly messages to me. I started to read.

Fear names. Names have power in identity. Others can use names as weapons. Names are a hook that can be used to track you across the planes. Remain nameless, and you shall be safe.

I am the Nameless One.

Nameless one. An appropriate name for myself. The inscription, all the inscriptions, must have been written by an earlier incarnation. I moved to the next panel.

So they said — You have been divided. You are one of many men. You bear many names, and each has left their scars on your flesh.

lost one… immortal one… incarnation'S end… man of A thousand deaths… the one doomed to life… restless one… one of many… the one whom life holds prisoner… the bringer of shadows… the wounded one… misery-bringer… yemeth…

I grow weary.

The carvings on the next panel were crude, although it almost might have been the same hand which carved them.

There is nothing that can be done. Memories are gone, perhaps never to return. With every death I lose a part of me.

How can one be immortal and still die?

He told me that my mind is weakening with every death. I asked him how this could be, but he could not answer. He was of no use. I butchered him so that no other incarnation would ever benefit from his uselessness.

Another panel told me I had an enemy, apparently one as immortal as myself.

I have lost lifetimes because of my killer. I cannot deceive him, so I must kill him. I tried to throw him off the scent. I left false bodies, tailored in such a way to placate him. I roamed the most outer planes, hoping to use distance as a shield. I built this tomb filled with traps to try and kill the killer. I hid.

All I bought was time. The attacks inevitably begin again, with more fury than before. Deceptions are useless. Somehow, the killer always knows that I live. And no matter where on the planes I hide, he finds me… eventually.

The speculations on the next panel before me mirrored thoughts I had considered.

I suspect that we will continue to die and be reborn until we finally get our life right. I do not know what we have to do to bring that about, though. And therein lies the frustration.

Is it some sort of karmic cycle? As I gather, some incarnations have committed terrible crimes but also there have been a number of incarnations where we have labored to do nothing but good. Are these incarnations intended as punishment? I don’t know. And that is the only real truth I can offer in these carvings: I do not know.

At what point does the I get separated from the we? At what point am I freed of the shackles of the actions of these other incarnations? At what point am I allowed to be me, without the weight of these past lives?

Moving on, the next panel commented on the importance of journals; the walls I was gazing upon represented a journal as well.

It is extremely important to record your journeys so that you might learn from them. The greater need, however, is that the sources of information you use to uncover this mystery need to be protected when they are found. If key figures, documents or oracles are somehow removed, either by death or destruction, then you will never know who or what you are or how you came to be this way.

The next panel looked like the directions on my back Morte read to me in the Mortuary.

I know you feel like you've been drinking a few kegs of Styx wash, but you need to center yourself. Among your possessions is a journal that'll shed some light on the dark of the matter. pharod can fill you in on the rest of the chant, if he’s not in the dead-book already.

Don’t lose the journal or we'll be up the Styx again. And whatever you do, do not tell anyone who you are or what happens to you, or they'll put you on a quick pilgrimage to the crematorium. Do what I tell you: read the journal, then find Pharod.

Don’t trust the skull.

Morte hadn’t read that last line to me. I read the last panel in the room.

What little life there is in the world is draining out this hole in my body. The world can burn, the planes can burn, just give me life! I will destroy this life so badly, break it, smash it, and stain it in blood and feces, so you cannot live it either! Let all creation burn for I cannot die!

Pushing the panels had unlocked the sarcophagus at the center of the room, which contained only another key. Having gotten four keys from the four sarcophagi I had encountered, I found myself in yet another chamber. A portal opened in one corner. Entering it, I appeared outside the tomb. I motioned Morte to one side, to talk to him. He floated over to me.

“What’s eating you, chief?”

I asked him to read the inscription on my back again. He hesitated, but I insisted I wanted to hear all of it this time. He rattled off the same shortened version as in the Mortuary. I asked him to continue.

“Go on. What does it say after that?”

“What are you talking about, chief? There isn’t any more.”

“What about, ‘Don’t trust the skull?’ ”

“Oh… that bit at the end? Well, I figured it was wash, so I didn’t read that line out loud.”

“Oh, really? And what do you think it means? Do you think it refers to you?”

“I doubt it. I mean, you can trust me, right, chief?”

“Are you lying to me, Morte?”

“No! C’mon, what’s your problem, chief? I haven’t steered you wrong yet.”

“Yet. I don’t like the fact you didn’t read me that line, and I'd like to know what else you've neglected to mention since we've been traveling together.” Morte still maintained his usual, casual manner.

“Nothing! I've told you everything… well, almost everything, but nothing, you know, dangerous.”

“If there’s anything else, I suggest you tell me now.”

“Chief, seriously, there’s nothing else. I wouldn’t hold out on you.”

That was the last I could get him to say on the matter. I was sure he was lying, but I wasn’t sure why.

Pharod

We retraced our path, headed back to the Buried Village. On the way I stopped to talk to Glyve. The water from the enchanted flask we had found dissipated the dirty taint the ditch water had left, and it succeeded in freeing Glyve from his stony prison. Before he faded entirely, he told me to seek out a woman called Nemelle in Sigil’s Clerk’s Ward for the command word needed to unlock all of the flask’s powers.

Back at the Buried Village I decided to rest for the night, seeing Pharod only when fresh the following morning. One more night waiting for his precious sphere wouldn’t hurt him after all this time.

The next day we entered his hall.

“Ah, corpse…” Pharod turned as I approached, his crutch clacking on the cobbles of the Court. He licked his lips and smiled expectantly. “Have you brought me what I asked for?”

“The bronze sphere? Here it is.” Pharod’s eyes gleamed as I handed him the bronze sphere — he touched it gingerly, almost reverently.

“You…” He chuckled. “Ah, corpse, such a gamble you were, and paid off handsomely, you have…” Pharod studied his reflection in the sphere and tsked. “The years have been cruel to me, I see…”

“I did what you asked, Pharod. Now I want some answers.” Pharod didn’t even look at me as I spoke… his attention was swallowed by the sphere he held.

“Yes, yes, ask your questions…” Pharod turned the sphere in his hands. “Very important, your questions…”

“What do you know about me? Why was I told to seek you out?” Pharod studied me with a critical eye.

“Stay your weapons for what I'm about to say, corpse, for it could be your ears'll take offense…” Pharod smiled wickedly. “My ears no longer care, but yours are still fresh for the burning, it seems.” I did not care about Pharod, only the information he held.

“You have my word that I'll stay my hand, Pharod. But I need to know what you know.”

“The truth…” Pharod’s tone softened, as if cajoling. “The truth was stretched a bit from my mind to my tongue when we first spoke, corpse — in all terrible honesty, I know little about you.” He raised a withered finger. “Yet, hear me out…” I impatiently motioned him to go ahead.

“You’re a cutter who plays at being dead, as I see.” Pharod squinted at me. “Some time ago, you came to me, like you are now, but not, just strolled right into Ill-Wind Court and said you wanted an ‘audience’ with me.” After pausing a moment, he continued. “Aye, an ‘audience.’ “ Pharod chuckled, like whispering sand. “Like I was royalty…” He seemed amused, but there was an edge in his voice. “You knew the right things to say, you did, oh yes. You spoke the chant like a Guvner, born and true. And I listened.”

“But you were royalty… at least a man of position, once, were you not?” I interjected.

“Once.” Pharod hissed. “Once. Titles, only words, nothing in the end…” He lapsed into silence, then tsked. “Knew that, too, my history, I think you did…” Pharod gave a mock bow, his crutch creaking as he leaned against it. “ ‘Oh, Pharod, great Collector King,’ you said. ‘I have come before you to request a boon.’ ‘A boon?’ I said. ‘What could I offer a man of such obvious strength?’ “ Pharod wagged his crooked finger.

“And you asked for a strange thing: You says, ‘Lord Pharod, I ask for courtesy. Your Collectors roam throughout the Hive. If they should find my body, I want it kept safe. That is all I ask.’ “ Pharod shrugged. “A simple boon.”

I suddenly feel a prickling in my skull as Pharod spoke the word ‘boon’ and the smell of blood and fear rushed through my nostrils… Pharod was hiding something, something that happened in the past, involving me — and it scared him. The boon he granted me was no simple matter.

“So you granted my boon just like that? There’s nothing to be gained from it, for you. Why did you even agree to do it?” Pharod fell silent for a moment.

“A dead man can keep no promises, and promises to a dead man are easy enough to make, corpse.” I could tell he was prevaricating.

“You’re a merchant, Pharod, not a Samaritan. There must have been another reason…”

“Aye…” Pharod’s face suddenly peeled back in fury, his skin flushing red. “After you'd strung up a score of my blood on the Hive walls t’ die, I had enough reason to promise you the planes themselves. Then your butchering self comes to my home, my kip, to demand a ‘boon’ of me…” Pharod calmed himself, though his face was still flushed. “Aye, I agreed…”

I tried to tell myself that this other incarnation was another person, no relation to me at all. But I still felt shame at this other’s actions.

“I'm sorry about your people, Pharod, for what that’s worth.” Pharod tsked.

“No matter, them bodies served me well enough. The Dusties pay the same for fresh deaders as for old…”

“Was that the only reason you agreed to my request?”

“You knew things about me… things only I knew. You knew I was greedy for somethin’ beneath Sigil, and you put a name and picture to it: the bronze sphere, you said. I didn’t think you would fetch it for me…” He chuckled. “Yet did you? Aye. The Planes turn in strange ways…”

“And that’s all you know?”

“All I know? Nay… but it’s all I know about you, corpse.” Pharod replied.

“Fine. Next question… what did you take off my body after I died?”

“I?” Pharod licked his lips. “Why, I took nothing, corpse.” His face split in a grin. “Then, I wasn’t the one that found your body…”

“Who did?” Pharod’s smile widened, pulling the pasty folds of flesh back from his face like a curtain.

“My daughter, the rose of my eye, the sweetest of my family, and the sharpest wit of them all…” He licked his dry lips and sighed in mock sadness. “Such a cruel tongue on her…”

“Your daughter? Who?”

“My darlin’ girl, Annah. She found you, dead as deader can be, in a place where most Collectors wouldn’t go for a mountain of coppers. Could be she plucked something off you, could be not…?” He leaned in, shaking his head. “You'll have t'ask her, for it’s not her Da’s place to say.” He still was taking me for a fool.

“Don’t lie to me, Pharod. You’re a merchant, and you always take a cut from your workers. What did Annah give you from my body?”

“Ah… yes… my tribute…” Pharod folded his withered hands over his crutch, almost protectively. “There’s no telling what was from you or not, corpse. Most like, there was nothing.” I had had it with his skirting of the truth.

“Pharod, my patience is at an end. If you don’t hand over what was stolen from me, I will see to it the Dustmen know where to find you.”

Pharod was silent for a moment. He tapped his fingers against his crutch… slowly. I waited, glaring at him.

“Where has the decency of man gone…” Pharod grumbled, shaking his head. “A courtesy I am doing for you, corpse… such a courtesy. Pharod parting with anything… it'd be the dead-book for me if anyone heard… wait here, move not a yard. I shall return.”

After a long while, Pharod returned, his crutch clacking against the flagstones. In his hands, he held a number of items, which he passed off to me.

“You will be silent on this and accept the blessing that I even remembered…”

Absently, I catalogued what he had given to me out loud. “A few hundred coppers, a scrap of paper, bandages, and a ring? Very well… it was Annah who found me? Where is she?”

“Where’s Annah?” Pharod shrugged. “She’s hiding in the shadows here, I expect, listening to us trade the chant. I called for her after you went below… had to ask her if you were really in the dead book when she found you or not…” He chuckled dryly, then took a deep breath and called out to the darkness. “Annah! Stop mithering in those shadows and come greet our guest!”

I turned to see a striking red-haired girl dressed in leather armor… I hadn’t even heard her enter the chamber. Her right arm was covered with a series of interlocking plates that looked as if they were taken from the skin of some creature, and a horned shoulder piece protected her left arm. Oddly enough, she had a tail… that was flicking back and forth as I watched. I instantly recognized the tiefling girl.

“You’re Annah? I met you in the Hive — outside the Mortuary, correct?” The girl ignored me and turned to Pharod.

“What’s this about, then? I'm not playing the leash-pull with this scarred dog, so I'm not. Get one of your other gullies to do it.”

“Annah, rose of my eye — have I not taught you to respect the dead?” A thin smile wormed across Pharod’s face, and he made a slight bow towards me. “This resourceful corpse needs to know where you found him.”

“Eh? What are yeh on about?” She squinted at me. “ ‘Ee’s not a deader.”

“Ah! Yes, my mistake…” Pharod nodded, then his voice dropped dangerously. “Yet, my darlin’ Annah, that still makes it your mistake… for this one only had one foot in the dead book when you brought him to me.” He tapped his crutch against the flagstones with a light tap. “He woke up, sought me out — most embarrassing.”

“So?” Annah glanced at me, then shrugged. “He shouldn’t be playing deader on the Hive while I'm about, or he'll wake up in a Dustie’s arms, he will.” I was still angry at Pharod, and took some of it out on the girl.

“Maybe you could have checked to see if I was alive before dumping me off there.”

“Oh, aye, and maybe yeh should have been more careful an’ maybe yeh wouldn’t have been lying face-down n’ stone-still on the alley cobbles like a deader, aye?!” I calmed a bit, realizing the unreasonableness of my complaint.

“Enough of this — where did you find my body?”

“Show him where you found his body, Annah.” Pharod tapped his crutch again for emphasis. “Take him to the haunted alley.” Pharod studied Annah for a moment, then grinned and turned to me. “If yeh happen to lose my darlin’ Annah on the way to the alley, corpse, you come back and see Pharod. I'll guide you…”

“Tchhhh…” Annah sneered at Pharod, then threw a glance at me. “C’mon, then. And keep yer steps quick, jig? I've little time tae waste on the likes of yeh.” I indicated that I wasn’t ready yet, there were still a few things I wanted to investigate here. Annah would have none of it.

“Oh, aye? Well, then, yeh can sniff out yer grave on yer own, eejit! I'm not wai—”

“Annah…” Pharod’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the girl’s speech like a knife. “Be his minder. See that he comes to no harm while in the village. Then guide him to where he wishes to go.” Annah spat on the ground.

“Pox on yeh both…” However, she came with us docilely enough as we left the hall, where she stopped me.

“I got some things to say ta yeh, I do.” I told her to go on.

“I seen the way yeh act, an’ yeh need to be told some things if we’re going to be travelin’ together… first — don’t go flapping yer bone-box and locking eyes with everyone yeh meet. That’s a sure street to trouble, it is. An’ don’t be takin’ no one’s name in vain or yeh'll be attracting the worst sort of attention, and right quick, too.”

“An’ one last thing. Don’t be thinkin’ yeh can treat me like a cobblestone, neither — yeh start doin’ that, an’ I'll take these blades an’ carve yeh, I will.” I asked her about the blades she carried.

“Me blades? Aye, these dags are mine. I like these punch dags, I do — yeh can keep yer axes n’ hammers n’ clubs — these dags are more me style. Yeh jest behave yerself, an’ yeh won’t be wearing ‘em, aye?”

There were several items I wanted to check in the Hive before I went with Annah to where she had found me. We left the Buried Village, heading back to Ragpicker’s Square. Before we reached the square, I remembered the items Pharod had given me, especially the note. I pulled out the note, and read it.

- Beware SHADows

- Beware places where the night LIVEs.

- They wait

- There is no Natural Darknesss

- Only ShaDOWS

I wondered what it could mean.

* * *

Pharod stood and fingered his prize, the bronze sphere, the item that would save him from his fate. He had scarcely noticed when the others left, so intent was he on his find. A motion! He shook his head, it must only be a rat.

He returned to study of the sphere. After all these years, he finally had it. It would take study, but he was certain he could unlock whatever secret the sphere held, the secret that would protect him. Wait, someone was near him. But he had heard nothing. It must be Annah. He would flay her hide, disobeying him…

He froze, noticing what was actually nearby. It was as if the darkness hiding in the corners of his hall had flowed, taken shape as a dozen humanoid shadows surrounding him. He could not even make a sound as they closed in, claws rending, and he died.