After completing the Sensate’s quest, the party immediately decided to accept another mission. Terrazin realized, however, that these companions with whom he had been thrown were quite a bit more worldly than he. As he pondered the attendant danger of accompanying them (danger to himself and to them), his strange violet eyes clouded over. Terrazin gave himself over to the vision, curious to know what might be revealed in the mists this time…

He found himself walking down an ever-shifting street. The environs sometimes looked like the buildings of Sigil, and other times like corridors of his old monastery-home. At first, Zin thought he might actually be in Limbo, subconsciously altering the chaos to reflect his own experiences. He left off pondering this, though, and gave himself fully to the vision. He recognized that, like many streets, this one passed through many intersections, and had many side avenues that a walker might travel down. In the vision, he stopped occasionally to examine these side streets. Several such paths seemed to lead into Pandemonium… and all stopped a varying distance from the main road. Other paths led to great wooden branches, roads themselves in width and usage; few of these ended within sight of the street. Still other avenues resembled more of Sigil, or the monastery… Many of these, too, stopped abruptly several steps off the road.

Terrazin chose not to analyze the meanings or the guidance as he walked, simply absorbing the vision in its entirety. His calm was disrupted, though, as he caught a glimpse of riotous color from farther down the path he trod. He hurried in his dream, passing many side streets, to catch the fleeing color-wrapped form. The creature (?) ducked down a side street, but the street was empty and stopped mere steps from the road when Zin arrived.

Past the alley where the mysterious color had turned, the main road came to a five-way intersection. The road Zin had been following entered into an “X” pattern; all four other paths were wider than the one he had trod. One such boulevard was ice-rimmed, with a howling wind and a layer of snow covering the path. Darkness shrouded the road just a few strides past the intersection. The second boulevard looked exactly like Sigil; the Lower Ward, perhaps, or maybe the Clerk’s Ward. Nothing unexpected lay in or around this path. The third boulevard began as a street in the Lady’s Ward, but soon changed in texture to wood, and finally resembled a gigantic branch extending into an illuminated sky. The fourth boulevard’s entrance was a constantly shifting mass of cloud, which firmed to stone after several paces. This path too soon became shrouded in darkness… with the cracking sound of a whip echoing out of the haze.

Terrazin stepped into the intersection, turned, and…. His eyes cleared, and he once more stood in the Hall of Sensation, off to one side of the group. The others were leaving the room; Que turned and looked at the young githzerai who was hanging back. “Coming?” he inquired, pausing for a moment.

Terrazin stared at the gnome for a moment, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the vision. Que stood silently, awaiting a response. “No,” Zin finally replied. “But I will see you in Ysgard soon.”

Que’s eyes widened nigh-imperceptibly, then he nodded and walked briskly from the room.

Terrazin’s first steps down the path revealed in the vision were remarkably mundane. Taking his twenty-five cage payment, he headed to the Market Ward. He spent one cage to hire a lamp-boy to lead him there, not yet trusting his own mental map of the City. Upon arrival, he began perusing the shops for food and other simple traveling items. Twice, he instinctively covered his money pouch moments before some other hand accidentally brushed against it; another time, he turned and dropped his haversack only to discover its strap had just curiously frayed in a straight-line…

After an hour or two of wandering through the Great Market, Terrazin set out to learn more about the Factions. He had encountered a great number of them during the Sensate’s quest, and he was eager to learn more. The concept of belief shaping the world around a being was nothing new to a native of Limbo! But the philosophies behind such beliefs… ah, those were quite fascinating. And perhaps, in a quest to learn more of these Factions in which the other adventurers held such belief, might not Zin himself find the answer to the vision he had received? Or, at least, some guiding purpose for his life beyond the monastery and the illithid?

Zin traveled first to the Foundry, to talk with the Believers of the Source. He found the Godsmen’s teachings to harmonize with much of the great Zerthimon’s sayings. Indeed, was not Zerthimon proof that a lower being could ascend? He, a humble slave, had risen against his masters, freed his entire race, and become as a god among his brethren! But, alas, Zerthimon also taught that conformity and place in society was an important virtue… No common ‘zerai was permitted to rise in a similar fashion, lest he or she distract the others from their smaller lives and tasks. Zin thanked the Godsman who had spoken with him, and wandered into the Sigil “night”.

Focused on his thoughts, Zin ignored his Gift’s subconscious warnings of impending danger until it was too late. He found himself roughly grabbed by several strong hands, and dragged into a nearby alley. Zin recovered from his surprise quickly as the thugs rifled through his haversack; he summoned a glowing astral sprite to illuminate the area. His attackers were revealed to be three burly humans, apparently down on their luck (judging by their tattered clothes). They started in surprise when the sprite appeared, then turned on Zin menacingly. “Cut the light, gith, or we cut you!” growled the largest of the trio.

Zin held up his hands placatingly; moments later, the short-lived sprite disappeared. Zin tried to speak with his assailants, “Gentlebeings, I am a visitor to your City. Can we discuss things reasonably? I will share what I have with you for only a little information…. Are you, perchance, members of the Fated?”

The humans laughed harshly. “The little gith thinks we’re Fated!” exclaimed one. “Yeah, maybe we should give him a little tour!” laughed another. The largest human gruffly commented, “We already have everything that’s yours, little gith. What else could you give us?” Then he, too, laughed at his own wit.

Zin’s eyes narrowed in the darkness, and he felt a building rage. He struggled to contain the emotion, for it d isrupted his thinking. Any loss of control was a victory for his illithid master… Then one of the thugs punched him in the face, and Zin’s mental battle ended. His mind lashed out with the pent-up anger at confinement and torture the illithid slaver had visited upon him, not so long ago… Moments later, Terrazin regained control, but the damage was done. The thugs lay prone in the alley, clutching their heads and whimpering. Terrazin calmly stepped forward, collected his things, and headed to the mouth of the alley. He stopped briefly though, turned, and tossed his money pouch back into the alley. “You need this more than I; perhaps you will find it recompense for my assault.” Then he turned and walked away.

Over the next few days, Terrazin traveled the length of Sigil, visiting each Faction headquarters. He spoke once again with Hugh at the Armory, with a nameless crazy at the Sanitarium, and with an ex-priest at the Shattered Temple. The Xoasitects he avoided… their brand of pure chaos was too frightening to be belief he could pursue! The Fated wanted money just to talk, but Zin had none to give. A Namer at the City Courts gave Zin an appointment for an “orientation seminar” the following week…

Initially, Zin felt the Athar were obviously mistaken. Both Zerthimon and the bitch Queen of the githyanki were mortals who had ascended to godhood. But the aasimar ex-priest with whom he spoke pointed out that Zin’s own statement had betrayed the truth: both beings were Powers, certainly, but not divine or unknowable. And if they had ascended to their current lofty positions, were they not once mortal? And perhaps, mortal still? Zin acknowledged the aasimar had a point, and promised to think on it.

The Bleak Cabal actually seemed to be perhaps on the right path. That the universe was uncaring and unknowable, all gith (‘zerai and ‘yanki) could attest. In fact, part of Zin’s training at the monastery included this tenet, with all of Limbo to show as an example. The only true power lay in mastering oneself, and imposing one’s will upon the world at large. But the human (?) with whom Zin conversed had a disturbing tendency to lapse into babbling… Zin got the impression that the Bleakers might, perhaps, have lost the focus - that power comes from within - and gotten lost in the magnitude of a senseless universe. That, too, was one of Zerthimon’s teachings: “You cannot control the universe anymore than you can calm all of Limbo. But such responsibility is not given to you, either. Impose your will on your tiny portion, and the society we build will *create* meaning from whole cloth.”

Zin’s interview with the Doomguard Hugh Phagus was mercifully short, for both of them. The young githzerai merely wanted to confirm the impression he had gotten on his previous visit: the Doomguard were destroyers. Nothing constructive, nothing beneficial… indeed, they were worse - in the radiance of Zerthimon’s teachings - than even the illithid! For the illithid at least attempted to build… Zin left the Armory quickly, hoping that none of the fearsome beings within would act against his obvious distaste for their precepts.

The Dustmen held no interest for Terrazin. He did not even want to visit with them, truth be known, but he felt he should be thorough in his investigation… so he trekked down to the Mortuary, and gained himself an interview with a Namer. The “discussion” was so depressing, though, that Zin left after a few minutes. It seemed the very building acted to sap the life from his soul, to leech away the energy of his spirit. Zin took comfort afterwards by immersing himself in life at a Lower Ward tavern. The soot and dirtiness of the establishment bothered him, but the riotous enthusiasm of the people was infectious. The bard singing that night was quite good, and had the patrons of the tavern casting off their cares…

Terrazin was even asked to join in a card game when one of the players had drunkenly fallen out of his chair! The other players helpfully staked him their unconscious friend’s money, and the game began. Terrazin had trouble at first, getting a hang of the rules. Indeed, initially, it seemed the rules changed every hand… Then Zin realized the Foundry workers were having a joke on him… Zin smiled grimly, and began playing the game with his whole being. His keen eye for body language and his seer’s talents soon had a heaping pile of coins in front of him. The other players were so drunk, however, that they just laughed and played on. Terrazin stood abruptly when he had doubled the unconscious man’s money. “Thank you, gentlemen…” he said, scooping half the winnings into his haversack. “The rest is his… after you all have a drink on ‘his’ winnings!” The other players laughed and complimented Zin’s generosity as the young zerai left the table.

Unable to get a “free” interview with a Fated Namer, Terrazin spoke instead with people around the Hall of Records. Universally, the impression they gave him was that the Fated were a bunch of opportunistic thieves. Terrazin, however, felt that this wasn’t exactly right… No stranger to following his instincts, Zin went ahead and paid for an interview with a Namer. He discovered the “common understanding” of the Faction was misleading; close, but not quite right. However, their philosophy of “nothing for nothing” did not mesh well with Zin’s own personal feelings of compassion. The gith thought back to just the other night, in fact, when he had spared the men who attacked him; Zin thanked the Fated for his time. Then, feeling a little mischievous, he gave the tiefling two extra cage and walked out. The Fated followed him, trying to give the coins back, but Zin just laughed and wandered off.

Unwilling to wait for the “seminar” still five days off, Terrazin cornered a member of the Fraternity of Order on the street near the Courts and interrogated him about his Faction. The Guvner explained the basics, about laws being a universal constant, and how those laws could be learned and manipulated… Zin thought back to his life in Limbo, and initially disagreed. The Guvner argued back, though, that Zin was able to impose order on the limbostuff, was he not? And that order followed a pattern, did it not?… the debate lasted for several minutes until a Harmonium patrol came along. Then the Guvner accused Zin of interfering with a court official, and the interview was abruptly over!

The Harmonium marched the young zerai roughly through the Lady’s Ward towards the Prison. They were singularly uncommunicative; Zin was unable to learn anything about their Faction beyond “Shut up!” and “Move along!” (plus some choice epithets). They quickly came to the prison, where Zin was handed over to the Mercykillers for internment. Zin queried at once why he was being imprisoned. A Mercykiller explained that he had broken a law, and must pay the punishment. “Punishment leads to perfection,” the Namer quoted, obviously an oft-said motto. As the Mercykiler began to walk away, Zin pressed on, pointing out that he was not aware of any law that prohibited talking. The Mercykiller sighed, turned back to the Clueless gith, and began to explain. Zin was being imprisoned because he broke a law. The Mercykillers don’t make the laws, they just enforce them. The Guvners made the laws, the Harmonium are the police, and the Mercykillers are the jailers. Zin asked why the Harmonium made the arrests instead of the Mercykillers… after all, if the Mercykillers enforce the laws, why do they hide inside the prison? (Zin cold immediately tell he had strayed a bit too far in the tone of his question, but luckily for him this Namer had a - tiny - compassionate side.) The Namer then explained that the Harmonium were out to enforce their brand of “harmony” on the Planes. The Mercykillers weren’t out to enforce their own brand of anything - they believed that the laws were the laws, period, and that if everyone obeyed the laws, then there would be perfection in the universe.

Zin refrained from the uttering the next sarcastic remark that came to his mind, pushing it away as a tainted by the illithid’s memory. Instead, he asked more questions about the Guvners and the Harmonium. At the end of the discussion (which occurred when the Mercykiller’s patience had finally run out), Zin was informed he would be staying the night at the prison. In the morning, he could pay a fine of 50 cage to procure his release, or he could spend the next week in Prison as well.

Luckily, thanks to the card game the previous evening, Zin had more than enough to pay his fine in the morning. Still confused about the Harmonium’s place in the universe, he decided to head over to the Barracks.

As chance would have it (of course, as a seer, Zin did not much believe in chance), the officer from the patrol who had arrested him was on “recruitment duty” that morning. He did not appear to recognize Zin, but the young zerai felt that his decision to further investigate the Harmonium was confirmed as a true path. The officer, when questioned, handed Terrazin a recruitment pamphlet, and offered to answer any questions. While Zin began reading the pamphlet, the Harmonium officer went back to reading a tome of his own. The pamphlet explained that the universe’s purpose - or rather, the purpose of all beings in the universe - was to exist in harmony. Of course, some sods don’t understand this - like the fiends, for example - and need to be forcibly brought into the fold… Terrazin could agree with their philosophy, but was not sure their methods were most efficient. He thanked the officer for the pamphlet, and wandered out.

His wandering brought him to a small park in the Lady’s Ward, were he overheard two people talking. One spoke in the gruff tones of a dwarf; the other had more lilting tones that betrayed either elvish or other background. Zin entered the park and quietly moved up to hear their conversation. Sitting on a bench was indeed a dwarf; his partner, though, was a blue-skinned humanoid with wispy hair and a slightly transparent look to him. [[An air genasi,]] thought Zin, finally putting a picture to the description he had learned long ago. Zin focused on the pair’s conversation.

“Ya freaking airy-fairy, you’ve got it all wrong!” exclaimed the dwarf. “The chant isn’t in the action, it’s in the thought! If I don’t think it, it can’t happen.” The dwarf crossed his arms, and sat back, as if his statement proved his point beyond a doubt.

“No, no, my deluded friend,” replied the genasi. “If you had to think about it in the first place, you have separated yourself from the universe. That can only lead to disaster.”

“Hah!” barked the dwarf. “That’s my point exactly! I *am* separate from the universe, because the universe is all in my head!”

“And such a *big* head it is, too,” muttered the air genasi. The dwarf appeared not to have heard him, although Terrazin caught the words quite easily. “I am most assuredly not in your little bearded head, you old blowhard. All I am trying to say is that we might both be right; can you not see this? Well, you are a little more wrong than I, of course…. Perhaps the universe is imagining you, not the other way around. But, regardless, be being in harmony with the universe - or the imaginer - you will always act correctly, and quickly.”

“Bah! Just like arguing with an elf… I don’t want a compromise, windbag, I want a fight!” The dwarf grumbled. “Let’s go back to the tavern and get something to drink. I’ll imagine you’re paying for it, and you can quickly and correctly hand the wench the coins!” The dwarf laughed at his joke as the genasi grimaced, but the two walked off together amicably enough.

Terrazin considered their arguments, obviously teachings of the Signers and Ciphers. He was reminded that Que was a Cipher, and also espoused the “harmony with the universe” concept. Terrazin’s whole being and training was against this concept, believing that only through careful thought and controlled response can harmony or unity be attained. Perfect emptiness leads to chaos - every githzerai child heard stories of gith who had dissipated into the Limbo mist from becoming too mentally stilled! The Signer, though… Zerthimon showed that a truly powerful being can impose his will on the universe. He led the zerai into Limbo so the whole race would have a constant testing and reminder of this basic tenet. Every day, the githzerai imposed their will on the chaos to create stability for their monasteries and cities… But one person imagining it all? What kind of being could imagine every uniqueness? Every discovery, personal or profound? Terrazin shook his head, unable to picture such a being. And the hubris of some Signers, to think *they* were the One!?

Terrazin wandered for the rest of the day, considering what he had learned. Of course, he had yet to discuss Faction philosophies with an Indep or an Anarchist, a Xoasitect or a Sensate. Make that, a Sensate with a whole mind - not Ginaea! Poor girl, so lost and obviously damaged. Zin wished for a time that his own Gift lay along the telepathic Way, that he might eventually repair the confused girl’s mind. [[But, perhaps instead they could find a Master gifted in such a way? Certainly, no githzerai…]] Terrazin suddenly realized that he had strayed from Zerthimon’s teachings, imagining himself powerful enough to perform such mental surgery on another. And so recently after accusing the dwarf of hubris! Chagrinned, he resolved to find a quiet place for the evening where he could meditate on Zerthimon’s teachings and restore himself to the path.

Morning found Terrazin in Prison again. At first, he could not remember the events of the previous evening, nor how he came to such a place. Then he tried to yawn, and the pain brought it all back to him…

After meditating for a while, he found he had more questions about the Signers. So, having recently heard the dwarven Signer arguing with enthusiasm, he decided to hunt the fellow down and ask some questions. He soon found the pair in a tavern called the Fated’s Gift (the sign showed a broken Fated symbol)…. Having had such a good time at the Lower Ward tavern the night before, Terrazin walked right in. The dwarf and his genasi companion were over in the corner, talking animatedly with two humans and a tiefling. Terrazin headed towards their table, ducking through an archway - and suddenly found himself in a dark cellar! His seer’s instincts suddenly shouted out “Duck!”, but he was clubbed on the back of the head before he could react.

When he came to, he was bound to a chair in a small room. A remarkably infernal tiefling (his fiendish ancestry not very far removed) began demanding all manner of information from the disoriented zerai. Zin was confused, and his head still ached from the earlier blow. When he was unable to answer clearly or quickly enough, the tiefling had a couple burly stone princes “rough him up”. Before long, Terrazin was a mass of bruises and split skin. Eventually, however, the tiefling seemed to be satisfied by something Zin had cried out, and motioned for the githzerai to be untied. “Don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Clueless, and the League won’t have to take exception with you!” Another knock to the head, and Zin’s consciousness had faded once more.

When he had come to the next time, he found himself behind the Fated’s Gift. He pulled himself into a lotus position, and began concentrating on his pain and wounds. Soon, healing energy flowed through his aching muscles and sore bones, knitting and soothing. After a few minutes, Zin was healthy once more - if a little tired. He went back into the tavern, this time careful to avoid the archway and its dangerous portal. The dwarf and his retinue had left the tavern by then, however. Zin sighed, ordered a drink, and asked the barkeep what he knew of the Signers. The bartender laughed. “Those guys keep trying to ‘imagine’ they’ve paid me, that’s what I know! Worse than Fated, sometimes! But not a bad lot, if they like you. I gots a couple of ‘em owes me favors, see, and they keep my furniture in good shape. I doesn’t think I’m part of a dream, though, if that’s what you’re askin’!”

Terrazin thanked the barkeep, and turned to enjoy his drink, when a chair suddenly came whistling past his face. Well, most of his face; the chair leg caught him on the jaw and knocked him off his stool! In moments, the young githzerai found himself caught up in a ferocious brawl that ended only when the Harmonium moved in to bust heads. Terrazin was picking himself up off the floor when the same officer yet again grabbed him by the shoulder. “Repeat offender, eh? Back to the Prison with ya then!”

Minutes after another healing meditation, Terrazin looked up at the sound of the cell door opening. Without preamble, a Mercykiller in full armor strode into the cell, and Asked in a compelling fashion: “Were you part of the Anarchist cell?” Terrazin felt the compulsion act on his mind, identified it as harmless, and let it take hold. “No; I do not know of what you speak.”

The armored figure nodded to himself, then left the cell. The cell door was left open as well; Terrazin timidly stuck his head out and looked around…. None of the guards in the hall seemed concerned, so he departed. The man at the front desk returned his things to him again, urged him not to visit any more, and waved him off. Terrazin agreed he’d seen enough, and left quickly.

His food supplies nearly gone, Terrazin decided to return to the Market. He found a quiet café from which he could watch the passersby while sipping a hot flavored beverage (“green tea”, the proprietor called it), and waited for the Fates to bring him to his next revelation. And arrive it did: [[What if Zerthimon is the One the Signers are talking about? What if all of this is just a dream which he has created one night to imagine himself free of the illithid torments?!?]] Terrazin sat motionless for some time, stunned by the potential of that thought. [[Even the Dustmen’s philosophy would be preferable to that! I would rather be dead and unknowing, than never have truly existed at all!]]

Time passed unnoticed by the githzerai as he struggled with the cosmic potentialities. Finally, his normal pragmatism snapped him back to reality. Regardless of whether he was a figment of imagination, he believed himself to be a unique being capable of rational and independent thought. And that, really, was all that mattered - to him, at least. [[Perhaps *this* is the thought that drives the Bleakers over the edge?]] he thought with some insight. He pitied the mind incapable of accepting the potential without being broken by it. Because, in the end, whether the life one leads is real or imagined, it is real enough to the being who lives it!

Terrazin finished his (now cold) tea, and left the café. He entered the stream of people circulating through the bazaar, letting the life and sounds wash over him and confirm his sensations of life. And then he had a new insight… was this guidance behind the philosophy of the Sensates? That, since the answers to the other questions are unknown, and unknowable, the only thing that matters is what you can sense - and live! - for yourself?

Pondering this thought, Terrazin wandered the streets of Sigil once more. He fond himself, then, in front of the Hall of Sensates, the beginning of his journey several days past. Shrugging at the mysteries of destiny, he went inside to find a Namer of the Sensates with which to discuss his revelation…

“No no no, berk, the Society is all about sensing!” the obviously frustrated gnome gesticulated wildly at the tall githzerai as he shouted his statement.

“Yes, good Namer, I realize that. I believe, in fact, that I have already agreed with you.” Terrazin paused to take a deep breath before trying yet a different explanation. “You seem to insist that life is about gathering as many sensations as possible. I am simply suggesting that sensation confirms life. Sensations are not toys or Ladies to be hoarded… they are the threads which weave a tapestry of life. Even if all the threads are grey - a being with a limited variety of sensations - an astonishingly detailed and subtle piece of art can be woven!”

“Art, schmart! I’ve wasted enough time with you, and argument is no new thing for me! Get out of my office!” The gnome crossed his arms in a huff and glared at the young seer until Terrazin finally nodded his head and departed the rock-marked patch of garden.

As he walked through one of the Hall’s many indoor arboretums, he thought more about the Factions and his own revelations. He firmly believed, now, that the Signers did not have the truth… but something still nagged at him about their philosophy. He shrugged, setting the thought aside; it would come to him later. The Sensates - evidenced by his recent discussions with several individuals - did not seem to appreciate his version of their philosophy. They all apparently believed that a being should dash around madly to experience everything in the universe…. But to what purpose? No Sensate he had met could say what such a hectic life would accomplish. And truly, that seemed unique among the Factions; the other organizations all had a universe-view that explained (or defined as unknowable) the “Why?” of things. The Sensates, on the other hand, had a belief *method* without a belief!

Terrazin stopped in the Public Sensorium to see for himself the “bounty” the Sensates had amassed. He was amazed by the sheer quantity of sensations and experiences that had been stored and catalogued by the Faction - there were more than 80 different entries for “plucking one’s nosehairs”, for Zerthimon’s sake! A few moments’ consideration of this volume brought about in Terrazin a feeling of sadness, of wasted lives… While he stood, contemplating, a clerk moved up tapped him on the shoulder.

“Sir?” asked the petite female bariaur. “Did you wish to experience something, or did you want to donate an experience?”

“Donate?” Zin asked, confused.

“Certainly, sir, right this way,” said the clerk, mistaking his reply for an answer. Zin allowed himself to be led down a colorful hallway to a private room. In the center of the room was a pedestal with a glowing crystal on it.

“Just think about the sensation you wish to donate, and place your hands on the crystal. It will handle the rest.” The bariaur female backed quickly out of the room even as Terrazin began to stammer out a question. Left alone, Zin shrugged and approached the crystal.

He thought about what he had experienced in his short life, and about the volumes of experiences already catalogued. [[What unique experience could I possibly have had that isn’t already records a dozen times already?]] he thought in dismay. Then, he had an idea. Before his resolve could falter, his placed his hands on the crystal, dropped all his mental defenses and walls, and poured out his soul. All the youthful restlessness of being different in the monastery… the joys of wandering the wilds of Limbo, creating and shaping at a whim… the surprise and curiosity of finding the human’s corpse… the excitement as the dead psicrystal awakened to his touch… the spike of terror as the slavers captured him and dragged him away from the only life he had known… the agonies and stench and self-pity and soul-wrenching horror of being an illithid’s personal “project”… the exhilaration as he escaped, using the slaver’s own inflicted pain as a source of power to overcome his guards… and the peace of stepping -free- into Sigil for the first time.

Drained, Zin passed out. Some time later, he awakened to find himself laying on a bench in the entry area of the Public Sensorium. As he sat up, the bariaur female hurried over to him. “Are you okay, sir?”

Zin pressed his hands to his temples and forced a civil answer past the hammering mental exhaustion he felt. His attempt was garbled, but at least not a growl. The clerk’s face betrayed a look of compassion as she nodded. “That sometimes happens to first-timers, sir. They don’t remember to let go of the crystal. Here, drink this,” she said as she pushed a moderate-sized vial into his hands. “It will make the headache ease until you can get some food. You’ll be good as new in no time!” she ended, brightly. Her hooves clicked daintily as she headed away. Zin quickly drank the contents of the vial, grabbed his haversack, and stumbled out of the Sensorium.

Terrazin left the Hall of the Sensates behind, and rejoined the multitudes moving about Sigil. He shortly found himself again in the Great Market. He felt drawn to a cluster of people standing around a meat-pie vendor, so he moved over to investigate. Three curious and fearsome beings were arguing about who had the right of things; a Baatezu Godsman, a yugoloth Cipher, and a strange bear-headed humanoid with golden fur who appeared to espouse the beliefs of the Signers. Upon first hearing the trio’s arguments, Terrazin was confused; they all seemed to be agreeing with each other! Where was the conflict?

As he listened further, he realized that each was trying to include the other’s beliefs as a “subset” of his own. The berran (as one of the gathered onlooker’s named the bear-man) was trying to say the Ciphers’ quest to join the universe was really just his *own* subconscious’s attempt to winnow out “unnecessary population” from the Dream. The Cipher, of course, took offense to this, and looked ready to rip into the berran until the Godsman tried to explain that “in fact, the Ciphers are all good little Godsmen who are trying to ascend…” The yugoloth roared, and leapt for the baatezu’s throat. The crowd cheered (this was apparently what they had been waiting for), then scattered as the berran conjured forth a wall of air between the two fiends. The Cipher, caught in mid-leap, immediately stilled himself and assumed a lotus position. Zin barely heard him muttering “seemed like the thing to do at the time…” as the yugoloth drifted down to the street. The Godsmen just nodded to himself, said “One more test passed!”, then turned and left. The crowd sighed in disappointment and dispersed, with a number of glares directed at the berran.

Zin remained behind, though, to see if the yugoloth and berran would continue talking. The Cipher remained in a meditative state, though, so the githzerai seer hurried to catch up with the golden berran as it departed. “Excuse me,” he began…

The berran spun around immediately, then paused, squinting at Zin. “Yes, gith? Why do you trouble me?”

“I wanted to ask only this: could we not *all* be dreamers?” Zin punctuated his question by creating a floating astral sprite with a thought. “Must there be a ‘One’ - could not this universe be where sleepers of another world come to rest?”

The berran considered Zin’s questions for a moment before replying. “You sound like a Signer, berk, but you turn our tenets around like a question. It seems to me you are asking if two plus two is four… but I feel like the answer you expect is ‘three’!” Then the berran growled, a low rumbling sound that made Zin a little nervous. “And now you have me thinking on instinct like a common beast - or worse, a Cipher! Four, okay? The answer is four, now get out of here before I imagine you gone!” With that, the berran spun and stalked off, leaving a confused githzerai alone in the street. With a sigh, Zin turned and reentered the Market’s main square.

He suddenly found himself walking with a partner. Zin stopped and looked at the tiefling that had begun to walk in step with him. The male was of mostly human stock, with a slight point to his teeth and ears, and a greenish tint to otherwise pink skin. The tiefling stared right back at Terrazin unashamedly, with a grin on his face. Finally, Terrazin spoke. “Yes?”

“Yer Clueless, aincha?” the tiefling asked, more as a statement than a question.

“I don’t think so -” began Terrazin, but the tiefling cut him off.

“Sure ya’re! I seen ya round, last couple days… askin’ ‘bout Factions, gettin’ yer jink jacked… even saw ya in Prison last night! Sure,” continued the tiefling as Zin began to interrupt. “In the next cell, I was. Said to myself, self? What’s a Clueless gith doin in Sigil? Gettin’ lost, ‘course! So I says, he needs a friend, summun to shows him the ropes, give some pointers….”

“And you would be that someone? What makes you think I would trust someone like… wait, what do you mean ‘getting my jink jacked’?” Terrazin made a quick search of his pouches, discovering he had indeed been relieved of his money. “What’s going on here?” he demanded of the tiefling.

“No worries, pal,” said the brash male, handing Zin his money pouch. “Saws ya lose it in the crowd back there,” indicating the meat-pie vendor with a shake of his head, “and thought ya might like it back. No dark ‘bout it, though. The Indeps, see, did me a favor when I was Clueless, and I thought I’d pays summun back. And *you*,” he said with a grin and a hearty punch to Zin’s upper arm, “you is my chance!”

“Hmm,” Zin replied noncommittally, rubbing his arm. “Well, thanks for my ‘jink’ back, anyway. But I’m not Clueless… I can hold my own on the streets, and I know all about the Factions.”

“Riiiiiight,” said the tiefling with a knowing nod. “That’s why you was in da Prison for roughing up a Guvner. Anyway, name’s Darik… you need anything, you kin find me here in the Market. Luck to ya, Clueless!” With that, the tiefling turned and walked off with a jaunty step. In moments, he had disappeared into the ever-present crowds.

After checking the reduced state of his finances, Zin sought out the little café again. His search proved fruitless, however, even with his seersight and excellent memory. The place where the café had been just yesterday was now nothing but the back wall of a building… Zin shrugged, dismissed the mystery from his mind, and moved on. A few minutes later, he was eating a strange skin-wrapped sausage of unknown meat and drinking a hot brown liquid that smelled of almonds and honey (but tasted vile). He enjoyed the combination of flavors and smells, though, and relaxed to think about his recent investigations.

The more he reviewed his findings, the more drawn he felt to only two of the Factions. The Indeps, if ‘Darik’ was to believed, certainly seemed friendly, but from all he had heard they were no Faction at all. No, the Signers and the Sensates were the philosophies that kept drawing him back. After all, was he not here, drinking a foul liquid and eating an unknown meat just to savor the sensations? And yet, all his experiences in Limbo and the teachings of Zerthimon seemed to point out that the universe *was* malleable to those of strong will and clear purpose. Of course, his own mental training proved that one did not need to be a member of a Faction to create substance from nothing… and the Sensates really had no world-view.

Thinking further, Zin wondered if Zerthimon warned against gathering too much power because it might disturb the Dreamer the Signers philosophize about. Perhaps, Zerthimon is *not* the Dreamer, but instead came to realize the truth of the Dream and therefore shepherds his people against such disturbances which might cause the universe to end? Zin shook his head to clear the circles into which that process seemed threatening to lead. Finally he simply sat back, inhaled the sweet aroma of his beverage, and closed his eyes.

His mind immediately slipped off into the mists once more, and he found himself standing again at the intersection. Only three paths led from the square now; the avenue by which he had entered was gone, and the icy darkness of one main path now was replaced by a sturdy and seamless stone wall. The remaining paths…. One was still the wooden road leading out into a strange illuminated sky, with leaves and tree-sized branches jutting forth. The colors seemed crisp, the sounds sharp and clear, and the wood had a grainy texture he could distinguish from afar. The second road looked exactly like any number of roads he had trod in the last several days, a nameless undistinguished street in Sigil. Bland and boring, even the atmosphere along that road seemed tinged with grey. Far down the path, Zin thought he could see the roof of the Asylum… The third and final path was cloudy and hard to see. It seemed to shift continuously, from street to branch, from hallway to cavern. Colorful lights blossomed, and fantastic shapes and creatures formed and dissipated. The street appeared exciting and interesting, and pulled at his soul… but underneath, Zin though he could sense something dark and foreboding. As if his travels down that path would lead certainly to excitement and adventure… but also lead him away from his core beliefs and his faith in Zerthimon and his own destiny as a bearer of the Eyes of Midnight!

Zin stood for a moment longer in the misty square, looking at his choices, but then the vision dissipated…

…leaving him once again in the Market of Sigil. No longer seated in the small food shop, though, but rather standing before a stone archway leading into a dark alley. The arch’s keystone was carved in the shape of an acorn, and smaller carvings along the top described fanciful vines and leaves. Zin looked at the arch more closely… and felt the cup of now-cold liquid in his hand vibrate ever so slightly. Zin smiled, looked around, and then stepped through the Portal.