Chapter 4. The Opening Night

"Everything falls. Raise it all you like, but gravity will pull it down. Build up your house, someone's going to tear it down, and if someone doesn't than time will. Time, the slayer of all things. Look around, the multiverse crumbles no matter how hard you try to stop it. It started crumbling at the beginning, and will continue to spiral down, down, downwards until at the end. We are nothing but ashes. Ashes. That's the Doomguard, we acknowledge that Entropy exists. Some of us want to help it along, some of us want to stop it. Me? I care to stand here, let it crumble without my aid or interference. Anything I do in the end will be pointless anyhow, entropy sets its own pace in destruction as in all things. We are the Doomguard, the Sinkers, and we don't care about what you're doing... because in the end, it all slides away.

- The Selected Record of Lady Mash Cage

Limbo is a swirling soup of chaos and confusion. It is a place where there is no order to it: even the constant of chaos is not there. Limbo is the home of both the Slaad and the Githzerai, mortal enemies (most of the time). The githzerai host a strange group of recluses known as the "Chaos Shapers" who are said to be able to attune the chaos around them to create landscapes and buildings out of sheer thought alone.
They Githzerai are the descendants of a human-like race who escaped illithid slavery millennia ago, led by the great hero Gith. After some time, however, a civil war split the gith race into two factions that have since developed into separate races and cultures: the githyanki and githzerai. These two fight bitterly with one another to this day, but both enjoy killing illithid whenever the opportunity presents itself.

- The Selected Record of Lady Mash Cage , Predaphile's "On Races"2

Rahk passed a hand over his tired eyes, shading it for a moment from the bright light that surrounded Haer'Dalis. It was growing late and he was exhausted; so was Haer'Dalis. Perspiration dotted his temples, and he shuffled his feet at least twice during the short monologue. Now, that it was done, the tiefling sat down casually, crossing his feet under him.

"You are not satisfied," Haer'Dalis observed, throwing Rahk an accusing glance, "What did I do wrong this time?" "If I only knew..." Rahk thought wistfully, but aloud he said nothing for a time. What was it that he did not like? I liked it, but there is this nagging feeling that the performance would not please Raelis. After three weeks closeted with the woman, Rahk could imagine her reaction. She'd shake her head shortly and say dryly: "You did not fool me with this." Rahk sighed and said touching his chest briefly with weary fingers: "It still does not come from here."

Haer'Dalis shook his head ruefully: "You sound just like Raelis. " The edge of hatred that Rahk has heard before in Haer'Dalis' voice whenever he had mentioned the theater's owner was gone. Rahk wondered if Haer'Dalis familiarity meant that Raelis had taken personal charge of Haer'Dalis' education, not trusting him, Rahk, to do it right. Did it include a trip up to her bedroom? The boy was handsome. Haer'Dalis noted the gizherai's absent stare and added: "Do you even know why she'd torture both of us? If I ever get to play Advisor Gerassimo, they will think me a substitute for the great Rahk and complain over their pickled fish that they got cheated by having to endure my performance instead of yours." Slowly Rahk raised his eyes and looked into Haer'Dalis' flushed face. Blood pounded in his ears - he knew with a sudden certainty what had crippled the tiefling's act.

Jealousy is not a pretty emotion, but it is among the strongest in any sentient being. Especially when one is jealous of something, he desires above all else. For Haer'Dalis it was fame. And, just like with Raelis, who wished to be talented, and Glafira who wanted to be loved, Rahk had what the other desired. At least I can easily grant Haer'Dalis his wish.

"Haer'Dalis," Rahk said almost gently, "my friend, do not worry about it. I will never play this role before you. You can make it whatever you wish. You will have the premier." Haer'Dalis shoved hair away irritably out of his eyes: "What?" Rahk smiled: "I fear that I have a bout of stomach sickness coming. It might just unfortunately incapacitate me for the opening night."

Haer'Dalis crossed the stage in the four graceful strides of a swordsman, jumped off it and threw a hug around Rahk. "Thank you, gith." Rahk carefully placed his palm on the tiefling's shoulder and said: "There is another thing. I think you need to deliver to someone but me. If you rest for a moment I will ask someone else to come and sit through the rehearsal." Haer'Dalis stiffened. "Do not worry," Rahk said, "she is not an actress, but she has a sensitive heart and expressive face, so you will see if your attempts captivate her, not a mentor's frown." "What will you do while I rehearse?" Haer'Dalis asked. "Be your partner," Rahk shrugged, "gods see, I know every word by heart."

Rahk felt a pang of guilt for Haer'Dalis' grateful stare as he went to find Glafira. After all I am giving him the chance to win what he wishes so badly. It is only fair that it also helps me to get what I wish.

The man received Rahk in a large office in the Fated headquarter's building, sitting behind a massive carved desk. The chair he occupied matched the desk's style, judging from the part of its high back that Rahk could see above the narrow face of his host. He tried to look away from the man, or at least focus his eyes politely on the man's forehead, but he could not. Despite himself, he stared challengingly into those tired eyes, sparkling in its deep sockets like gold in a dungeon that had caught a thin ray of sunlight. With his yellowish skin, wispy gray hair and overhanging eyebrows, Rahk's host might have been his second cousin. Except that he was a githyanki.

Rahk was sure that they both wore the same insuppressible expression of distaste. Long time ago, githyanki and githzerai were one people, but they had parted their ways since and became mortal enemies. Racial hatred felt ridiculously irrelevant here, on Sigil, where everyone was a pretender, a fugitive or an outcast of some sort. The bloodlines did not bond people in the Cage, the teachings did. And yet, Rahk snarled at githyanki, and it was not entirely because the githyanki would have expected him to.

The githyanki tried to turn his snarl into a semblance of a civil smile. The result of his effort was unpleasant.

"So you had come to me to bargain for a pin that I might or might not possess. What do you have to offer?"

Rahk chewed on his lips. Perhaps, if he would name ridiculous price he could get out of this rich house alive, quietly return to the theater and the whole thing would be just an unrealized nightmare. "And you would never have that what you desire most," a mocking inner voice said, "you, alone, would not get your wish." The githzerai took a deep breath in and went about selling off his counterparts in a slightly quivering voice.

The githyanki listened with a distracted air of a good card player. He said not a word after Rahk finished. The silence hang and Rahk was suddenly aware that the lines of the poem that Haer'Dalis had recited during the audition were swimming up in his conscience. With a hollowed heart, against his will, Rahk repeated again and again that which Haer'Dalis had replaced - a relic placed on the card, a hall of gamblers growing quiet. His mouth went dry.

"Why," the githyanki ask suddenly, producing a small wooden box from the drawer of his desk, "should I give you this, if you have already told me everything I needed to know?"

"Because," Rahk offered hoarsely, "you need the name of the theater. And quickly. They are about to start the Second Act. The Third Act ends with the Queen Supreme casting the manipulative and powerful Advisor down and praising those who defied him. In two hours your Duke will be thoroughly humiliated, and you would have nothing to act upon but rumors. If your Duke does pursue his vengeance - he would appear paranoid and petty. Your only chance to scare is to stop the play from finishing while the Advisor still has power in the end of the Second Act. It will give the audience a different moral lesson than the one intended."

Githyanki's fingers groped the box and he threw a cautious look toward burgundy drapes, which decorated the walls of the office. The motion was so small, that if Rahk's every sense were not sharpened by his nervousness, he would have never noticed it and would have been startled by the sudden presence of another man in the room. He was a tall human in his fifties; he was short of an eye and badly scarred; but it was an air of command and self-assurance that told Rahk that he could be none, but Duke Darkwood himself.
"Give him the pin," he ordered quietly. "I am buying the name of the theater."

The githyanki gingerly slid the box across the desk's polished surface to Rahk. Rahk took his time opening the tiny lock and regarding the long pin made of yellowish metal with a wine-colored plain stone. Zerthimon was a simple man. Duke Darkwood never interrupted Rahk's communion with the relic until he looked up. Rahk steeled himself before he did, but he found himself little prepared to withstand the piercing gaze of the Duke's eye. Rahk did not know if every one-eyed man's glance is more intense; he only knew that the Duke's was boring into his skull so hard, that he could almost feel pain where it connected.

"The Beakon," he managed at last through his parched lips, "The Comedy of Terror... Terrors."

Raelis had insisted on the 'terrors', saying that it was a wordplay with the 'comedy of errors'. She dismissed laughingly his argument that, unlike love, terror has but one face, a single facet. It was on the day they had finished the last scene. "My silly Rahk," she had said, "everything has a single facet. It is either present or it is not." She carefully put the corrected pages on her vanity desk, and him, Rahk - on her bed, in not so careful fashion, and tried to prove her point. He had actually agreed with her, for it felt foolish saying 'no' between the perfumed sheets and there was no time for longer words.

Can you count the facets of treachery, Raelis?

Rahk felt so sickened as he walked out of the office, that he had to lean against the doors when it closed behind him to quell dizziness. The Duke did not bother to check if he had left. Or he did not care.

"Gather factotums," the Duke said, "as many as you can round up. Lead them into the theater." The githyanki asked hesitantly: "Sir, won't it be better to send someone alone to buy out the troupe?" The Duke gave a dry chuckle. "We are not buying out the troupe. We are pulling down their fake Queen off the stage, and those who rebelled against the Advisor and drag them away. Openly."

The githyanki laughed along nervously: "Is that wise to defy the Lady so overtly?"

"Yes," the Duke answered without a moment's hesitation, "it is wise to make a show of strength when one is in the possession of strength. Make no mistake, Gith, this play is not a random occurrence. The Lady threw a glove into our faces. Two courses are before us: to act as humble servants or interpret it as a challenge. I have no desire to pick it up and return it to the Mistress with a subservient bow. No, I fully intend to fight. " From the sound of his voice, the Duke was both agitated and pleased. The screeching of the chair being pushed away came from the room - the githyanki must have risen off his seat to do the Duke's bidding. Rahk ran down the hall, afraid to be discovered eavesdropping, but the Duke's words still reached him, as the two men in the room were walking toward the exit: "A Comedy of Terrors? The playwright had chosen a fitting name. Make sure that he gets acquainted with terrors first-hand... for his errors." A bout of raucous laughter echoed off the hall's arched ceiling.

Rahk turned a corner just in time to avoid getting noticed. Another stretch of the hall and he would reach the exit from the building. He jumped when a door opened ajar to the right of him and plastered himself against the wall, praying that he would stay unnoticed. Nobody exited. What's more, the familiar bubbling and swishing sounds reached the githzerai's ears. He stepped right in front of the door, already knowing what he would see. The Lady of Pain had opened the portal. He was one step away from Limbo and his hand was still clutching Zerthimon's pin in his pocket. He was one step away from his home, fame, the silver sword. Nobody would ever know how it was earned. It seemed that hours flew by as the githzerai stood looking at his native plane.

The first step away Rahk made was that of an old man; he dragged his feet and stumbled, his vision temporarily obscured by the shimmer of Limbo. Fighting off the dizziness left by the unfulfilled wish, he pushed himself to walk faster, then to run.

The Beakon was brightly lit and Glafira occupied her usual sit at the doors. She gasped when she saw Rahk and barred his way, her puffy hands balled into a doll's fists on her hips. "I do not know if I hate you or admire you," she said petulantly. Rahk stared down at her not understanding. "How full are we?" he tried to ask, but found himself out of breath. He propped himself against the wall and tried to took in a few hard heavy breaths to normalize the flow of air into his lungs. His windpipe was burning. Glafira's stance changed from infuriated to worried. She clasped her hands together and mumbled: "Are you truly sick, Rahk?"

"No," Rahk managed, "not sick." The silly girl confronted him because of the sham they concocted to let Haer'Dalis to play tonight. "Are we full?"

Glafira glared at him indignantly: "If you must know – to the brims. And they keep coming, and coming…" The familiar buzz of voices was coming from behind the wooden doors. "How long till the Third Act?" he asked. Glafira shrugged: "It might take a bit longer tonight with so many spectators taking their seats." That should be enough time to warn Raelis. If Fated had not already seized her. If they would not try to stop him. SO many ifs… In a sudden flash of inspiration Rahk kneeled in front of the gnome, so that their eyes were on the same level.

"Keep this for me," he said closing her plump pimp fingers over the small wooden box. "This has to be delivered to Limbo, to Torj'lor Monastery." Glafira did not go pale; Rahk was sure that those cheeks will remain pink no matter what, but she gasped: "Rahk, you said you were not sick –" He did not let her to continue. "There is no time. Whatever happens, stay out of the harm's way. Bring this to Limbo. Please." He made her repeat Torj'lor a couple of times, and ran on. He pushed his way through the crowd in the hall. There were suspiciously many men and women with piercing, cold eyes. Too many.

Raelis sat in her dressing room resplendent in a garment that was supposed to imitate the garb of the nobles from the Prime Material Plane. In front of her stood a large bunch of magic flowers, overpowering the room with both their vivid blue color and aroma.

"Raelis," Rahk cried out hurriedly, "you have to flee. I have betrayed you." Perhaps, if he was not so short on time, he would have masked his words, perhaps he would have tried to whitewash himself, but there was no time for anything but simple, ugly truth. "I have betrayed you," he repeated again, slower and quieter.

"Why?" Raelis asked, lifting all of her five jewel-like eyes at him.

"There is no time to explain! The theatre is teaming with the Fated. Gather everyone. Run!"

"Is that another woman, Rahk?" Raelis mocked his excitement with the impossible coolness of her tone.

"I simply wanted to go home, Raelis," Rahk admitted, "The Lady of Pain demanded that I'd do it for her or there never will be a portal that would take me to Limbo."

Raelis threw her head back and laughed. Rahk watched her dark hair uncoil, stupefied by her behavior.

"I was so blind," she said. "That's what it always was about, was not it, Rahk? Tell me, are you even a man grown in the years of your people? Why, o why do you need to run back to your home and hide under your mother's skirts? I knew that you were hateful of the Cage, but I thought… nay, I hoped that you were starting to understand Sigil and accept your destiny here and your talent. Why, you'd even tried to partake in a political intrigue of this mad and beautiful city. But I was mistaken. Sigil, the theatre, the play and Miss Raelis Shai were all empty words for you."

"I came to warn you," Rahk groped for words desperately, "please, save yourself. The Third Act – "

"Has already started," Raelis parried, "and a pathetic little man like you cannot stop it from unfolding."

Suddenly light came into her eyes, the same way it flashed from their yellow depth when she was reciting a particularly good passage of a drama. "It begins today. This man, the Duke, is going to be pulled down and shattered. If he takes my troupe with him – so be it. The world is spiraling down to its end. What does it matter when and how we meet our death? The important thing is – we are serving the entropy, we are destroying the neat little order that this fastidious man had tried to create."

Rahk gaped at her, realizing how badly he had misjudged her. Miss Raelis Shai took acute pleasure in every facet of life and lived to the fullest, but not because she was a Sensate. It was because she lived her every day, her every moment as if it were be her last one. How else would the one who believed that the Multiverse is spiraling down towards its ultimate destruction live?

"You are a Sinker…" he said quietly.

"Please," Miss Raelis Shai rejoined affirmatively, "Doomguard."

Rahk slouched. "Then you would not stop the play." Raelis shook her head negatively. "If you ever loved me, your place is in the audience, Rahk. Find a seat and enjoy my triumph." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You are the clumsiest berk I have seen, but you gave me this gift, this play. I can die right when the curtain falls, Rahk. I will never write an equal to my "Comedy of Terrors" Go now, Rahk. My entrance is near. I do not wish you to miss it."

On stiff legs Rahk descended the stairs. He should run, but he could not. Raelis had bound him and she would be looking for him in the audience. He owed her that. He had to see how the Comedy of Terrors ended.

He regretted his rash decision thousands times, but he could not reverse it even if Raelis eyes were not almost continuously on him. The hall was filling with people steadily and all points of egress were blocked. He was trapped in the Beakon. When he looked at the stage, he saw Haer'Dalis, stunning and unmistakable as Duke Darkwood. O, they called him a different name, but his scars and an eye-patch, the wig of gray hair, and finally a ridiculous mantle sewn with playing cards left no room for doubt. In horrified fascination Rahk watched the audience to take it in, to feed of it. They laughed and gasped, as the intrigue was quickly unfolding to its finale; only few of whom Rahk decided to be chanced spectators looked troubled. The faces of the Fated were grim and dotted with perspiration. Rahk even spotted the familiar face of the githyanki. He was almost sure that the githyanki had noticed him as well.

Finally the curtain fell for a brief moment and rose. The flowers were tossed towards the bowing troupe, and a small boy run up the stage to trust a box heavily decorated with ribbons into Haer'Dalis' hands. The curtain fell again. As on a cue the Fated rose and moved toward the stage, almost as organized as if it was a military drill.

Rahk closed his eyes. He did not want to see the curtain open again to reveal the last unplanned scene. It was the yelp of surprise from both of his neighbors that made him look.

The curtain was up but the stage was empty, save for the faint bluish glow that dissipated in a split second. Rahk remembered the box that was handed to Haer'Dalis. A key…The Lady of Pain had granted her obedient servants a sanctuary. Relieved, Rahk got up and started navigating his way through the milling crowd. A few of the Fated made it on the stage and were hastily casting the spells trying to determine the troupe's destination, while the traces of the portal still lingered. It was then, when the honest folk realized that there were powers at play tonight. The crowd pushed for the exits. It suited Rahk just fine.

"Not so fast, githzerai," a cold voice said over his ear and a masterful squeeze to the back of his neck sent him into unconsciousness. He woke up to the knowledge that he was thoroughly and cruelly beaten. Githyanki's face loomed over him. "You are coming with us," the githyanki informed him, as if he did not grasp that yet. Someone has to pay for the Duke's humiliation, and they elected me by default.

They dragged Rahk away. His mouth was full of blood, and pain shoot through his body mercilessly, but would knock him into unconsciousness. It also prevented him from focusing and forcing himself into blackness. Resolutely, he tried not to think of what lay ahead of him. Not death. Never that easy. They will torture me for eternity. The Baatezu might have tired of tormenting the Duke, but a githyanki will never tire of having a githzerai in his power.

The walk through the hall was endless. A small bundle, thrown out of the way stirred as they approached it. "Glafira," Rahk thought dimly and almost reflexively he stumbled, lost his footing and leaned heavily on the man who half-carried, half-led him. It earned him a few sharp blows and curses, but the sight of a puffy hand clutching a small wooden box rewarded him for the tearing pain in his stomach and a cracked rib. Glafira's eyes brightened with recognition and the girl moved. Almost it looked like the ridiculous little creature would sprang at his attackers. Rahk shook his head as vigorously as he dared. "Torj'lor," Rahk mouthed to her. The gnome sagged back, her lips pinched in one stubborn thin line.

Rahk sighed, almost happily. For that's how a man feels when he is granted the one thing he wanted above all else. The only thing that marred his triumph was that he would be absent when the relic would be restored to the monastery. Some call Sigil the City of Doors. For me it was always the Cage and it will ever be.

AN: I hoped you enjoyed it. Kedris, thank you so much for your kind notes and encouragement.

So, was the plot over engineered? I also found a kind and gracious soul who promised to help me with grammar, so I hope to replace the chapters with 'decent' versions soon.

This is most likely the last story I write for BG1/2 characters. I would like to work on two short stories set in FR next. I know that they are not likely to attract attention, since readers come to these pages in search of the adventures of the intimately familiar beloved characters; but what the Hell! I really would like to try self-sufficient plots and original characters. That does not mean of course that I will stop reading BG page – I like this game too much for that.

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