The Shattered Temple

After the bridge you travel on the Street of the Martyrs. This street is quite busy with working class types. It looks like they are coming home from their jobs. Most have soot covered faces and clothes. The appearance of these dirty residents is only made worse by the shadows playing on their faces from the lanterns they hold as they walk. The smog here is much thicker here than in Goatswood and its smell is very acidic. The sound of hammering can be heard ringing through the alleys and above all the structures the giant smokestacks of the Great Foundry spout flame and billow noxious fumes.

Clymenstria: [Glancing over the rooftops towards the giant stacks fouling the air, and longs for her homeland and it wild rolling hills and breezes that did not smell of three shades of fiend.]

After a few densely populated blocks the neighborhoods look ruined and unpopulated. Razorvine and grass have taken over the skeletons of these buildings. This is the same all around the Shattered Temple.

Tarsheva: We're entering The Shattered Temple District. It'd be best if you'd hide your holy symbols while travelling in this area. The Athar don't twig towards priests. That's not screed friends, more than one Proxy has been fallen by their hands.

Clymenstria: The more I see of this cage, I understand more why it has its name. For the entirety of the time you are here you wish you were out of it. [Reaching up to grasp the beaded chain, ever around her neck, she presses her lips to it, closing her eyes in prayer and slowly tucks it into the top of her armor] I like this not [moves her hand to rest near her shield testing it to make sure she can easily bring it bear.]

Brilligh: [reaches up and checks the silver pin once again. Tho it was not given to her as a holy symbol, she still thinks of it as a symbol of Hecate, and on the Planes, intent can be just as powerful as actions.]

Snatch: [double checks to make sure her holy symbol is tucked away in a pocket, unafraid to conceal the majesty of shekinestra from heathen eyes, she walks proudly, but not boistriously through the lane with the group]

Peter: [adjusts his family jewels so that the boys are more comfortable]


THE SHATTERED TEMPLE

Turning onto Athar's Circle the bustle of the Cage fades as a body approaches The Shattered Temple. A breeze whispers through coarse grasses littered with tumbled stone and splintered wood. Some of Sigil's poor wander here and there gathering up loose stones and beams from the surrounding falling-down buildings.
The tilted skeleton of the Shattered Temple looms above all these other, lesser ruins. Razorvine curtains its ragged walls, listing buttresses, and cracked towers. The Lost have shored up the remains of the crumbling sanctuary, but it seems as though they like the ravaged mood of the place.

Clymenstria: [After a first furtive look, and seeing the remains of a mighty temple laid to waste by time and neglect, rent asunder, beaten, she averts her eyes and keeps them on the road ahead of her, ears trained to sound of coming enemies. And deep within her, the shrine where her faith lies is strengthened, for she know that only through that will it assure Athena never meets this fate.]

[To non-priests] There is a some comfort from this mute witness to the fact that powers can die - as did Aoskar, the near-forgotten god of portals once worshiped here when the place was still called the Great Temple of Doors. Slain by none other than the Lady of Pain herself.

Pfepftzet: [her mouth curves into the smallest of smiles as she considers how weak those who worship the gods can become. She feels a surge of strength run through her body, her steps feeling lighter and her pack less of a burden, as she silently praises her belief in her strength over that of any god.]

Brilligh: [thinks on Pazriel, that he too is a god, or at least thinks of himself as one. Guess any cutter's neck can be slit when it comes to pushes & shoves, and rolls the idea of his demise around in her mind like a stone on her tongue. She approaches one wall, reaches up with her curved blade and cuts away a few branches of razorvine, taking care to mostly hold it in her gloved hand. She ties a black ribbon at its base, and tucks it into an empty pocket in her robe. Brilligh must have been tugging on another part of the vine because as soon as she cuts the vine in her hand another cuts her arm. *BRILLIGH TAKES 1 PT DAMAGE* A piece of Sigil, this randy vine, a reminder of mortality, a fitting souvenir, and the base of some right hende bub.] Rust it all! This sodding Cage gives me a new meaning for narky. I'd rather walk the Great Road then spend another tick here.

At the end of a nameless Lower Ward street off Brandy Lane stands a decrepit outbuilding made of worn, moss-covered stones. Two guards bearing the Athar insignia watch the entrance.