A Quiet Time At Sigis Office Ending. Forever.

[*Rainbow Prism]

Door of Undersigil SIGIS News office almost got crushed out off hinges when relatively thin and small blur bludgeoned through inside the establishment. With small pause it gave itself to rest, exhausted by it's own frantic movements, it allowed to be recognized as short, thin drow. Flat chested, judging by lack of bulges on the breastplate of chainshirt, but obviously a woman, as can be surmised from looking at face filled with sugar rush energy and long hair put in the bun tied with ribbon.

Approaching the first desk in really fluid fast motion, the woman started to ramble on and on. Very fast, very gibberishly, it spoke of many things, inconsequential, like how she got that 'tia' drink today just how she like it.
Or, how her blade got chipped at the wrong time and how she had to go fins someone to repair it.
Or, how she got her foot into slag hound poo and had to get buckets of dog blood to wash off the smell.

And other many unimportant facts of her life that would make a rubbish of biography. But there was one phrase that would be considered more important than the rest.

"I want to work in your News!"

[*Midnight]

The desk is occupied by a balding, over weight middle aged man of dubious personal hygiene. His shabby suit is torn in patches and shows signs of much repair, the shirt stained with food and a day's worth of stubble rests on his face. As the small whirlwind of drow energy enters the office he sits asleep feet up on the desk, which is littered with papers and scrapy notes. The remains of a dog eared hand rolled cigarette smoulder in the ashtray the smell filling the room. He wakes with a start.

"Blade chipped you say? Oh no. Get it fixed? Yeah good idea. Stepped in what you say? Oh? Oh yeah nasty."

At the last statement he takes his feet of the desk and looks the drow over with red shot alcohol clouded eyes.

"Then what are ya standin 'ere fur? I got a gap on page seven the size O yer little jumbled 'ead. Go get me a story to fill it."

[*Rainbow Prism]

Several days later, the repaired door is smashed again, the huffing small drow entering into editor's office with a manuscript in hand.

"Hey, boss! I got the news scoop with all the dirty details! It's about that paladin who was arrested for murder."

[*Midnight]

The hyperactive drow returns to the office. As she opens the door she is hit by the alcohol fumes and dirty brown smoke which causes the wall paper to stain curl and peel. The man behind the desk takes her story and flicks through it.

"Paladin.... murderer.... assassins.... Mercykillers. This aint bad. Alright we'll run it. If you are up for it I have a real job for you."

[*Rainbow Prism]

"What you got, old fart? I am eager for action!"

Sillxhi enjoyed this facade, unlike the previous actions she made since coming to Sigil. This work at newspaper was new to her, but it gave more than a pay check. Therefore, the mirth and energy she shown in offices was most pure.

[*Midnight]

The man smiles.


"There is chant that The Hardheads are putting the squeeze on the indeps in the Bazzar. Now that aint news, but I have been told they've been doing more than that. Arresting or killing the ones they don't like and replacing them with the ones they do. Now everyone wants to believe something bad about the Hardheads. The Dark of that, thats a story."

[*Rainbow Prism]

"I'll check it out. BerightbackassoonasIdone!"

Quickly, the black lightning named Sillxhistraja went out of the office, and soon, out of the Undersigil...