"How did the gate get tipped like that?" Joel wondered.
"Judging from the land about us," Jedidiah replied, "I'd say it's the natural state of things."
Joel surveyed the world he'd just entered. "The natural state of things" seemed to be quite unnatural. It was as if some god had strewn the geographical features about at random. Tall, spindly mountains rose from perfectly level plains without a hint of a foothill about them. A stone ledge, wider than the base of the peak it surrounded, jutted out like a shelf mushroom on a tree. Several peaks bent over and downward, like trees growing on a windy slope. Rivers originating from nowhere meandered about and ended without outlet; one stream even circled back on itself. Lakes dotted mountain plateaus. A swamp grew out of a hillside. Fields had been tilled in serpentine squiggles. Trees were planted to spell out entire lines of unknown script.
The colors of the land were unusual as well-pale and indistinct. When Joel focused on any one feature of the landscape, its color seemed to blur with the background.
"Painted by a mad and myopic god with a muddy palette," Jedidiah joked. "Or maybe it's just faded from a thousand too many launderings, eh?"
Walinda, who had joined the priests at the railing, soon turned away, looking disturbed. "It's horrible," she said.
"It's not that bad," Joel replied.
"There is no order, no reason," Walinda insisted.
"But it's so interesting, so… wild," Joel argued.
"Forget it, Joel," Jedidiah said. "You'll never get a Banite to appreciate the beauty of chaos."
"It's a beautiful sky," Joel pointed out to the priestess. "Bright and blue."
"There's no sun," Walinda said. "It's broad daylight, yet there is no sun."
Joel searched the sky and the horizon carefully. Far off in the distance, a great brown spire rose from the horizon, reaching so far into the sky that clouds obscured its summit. But Walinda was right. There was no sun.
"Well, the air is good," Joel said. Indeed the air felt fresh, as if it had just been created and never breathed before by any other living creature. It made his skin tingle. At first he thought he was just noting the different between the hot, dry air of the desert and the cool, moist air of the Outlands, but the sensation persisted. There was a vitality to this plane he could sense.
Walinda shrugged, indifferent to the air. "My lord Bane said there are gods who make their homes here. Why would they choose such a place?" she asked.
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Jedidiah said. winking at Joel. "In this case, the beholder would be Gzemnid, god of the eye tyrants. He makes his home in this plane. Judging from the chaotic landscape, I'd guess we're not too far from his realm. Other parts of this plane are very different. All the outer planes have at least one gate leading to the Outlands. The area surrounding each gate takes on characteristics of the plane to which it leads. For instance, in the far-off city of Rigus, there's a gate to Acheron, where your lord Bane made his home before he became a corpse floating in the astral plane. Everyone in Rigus has a rank: slave soldier, citizen, private, sergeant, lieutenant, captain, general. You'd feel right at home."
The ship drifted downward, settling in a rocky field where the ground was ridged and uneven, like a frozen, choppy sea.
The banelich came out of the cabin and walked toward the bow. It stopped at the railing and flung one skeletal arm in the direction of the great spire that rose beyond the horizon. "Lo!" it bellowed.
"Hello, yourself," Jedidiah replied with a grin.
The banelich ignored the taunt. "There," the creature announced, "is our goal. Upon that peak rests the city of Sigil, wherein is hid the Hand of Bane. We will besiege the city to reclaim what is mine, and with it, my power."
As if on cue, the clouds about the spire drifted outward, revealing the spire's summit. Floating above the summit was a huge circular ring.
Jedidiah guffawed.
The banelich frowned and wheeled about to face the priest.
Jedidiah continued to laugh, long and hard, clutching his side.
"I said nothing amusing," the banelich declared coldly.
Jedidiah took a few deep breaths and managed to control himself. He wiped a tear from one eye. He had to stifle one last giggle before he finally became serious once more. "No," he replied at last. "Of course you didn't say anything amusing. I was laughing at your folly."
Walinda glared at Jedidiah as her master kept a stony silence.
"I don't suppose you'd care for the benefit of my counsel?" Jedidiah asked.
"Proceed," the banelich ordered.
"There are so many things wrong with your plan, I hardly know where to begin," Jedidiah said. "I suppose we could start with the least of the problems. Sigil is called the City of Doors because everyone comes and goes by magical portals. There are hundreds of them. You can't besiege a city unless you can cover all those doors. Next, the population of Sigil is at least twice that of Waterdeep, with ten times the number of powerful beings. At least. Not even you could conquer a city that size. You'd be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of people who would stand against you. Then there's the mazes. Anyone considered a serious threat to the peace and security of the city finds himself trapped in amaze and shipped deep into the ethereal plane."
The banelich nodded. "So we need to approach the city by stealth, after dark," he said, "and search for the Hand of Bane in secret."
"Well, that's another one of your problems," Jedidiah said. "You can't approach the city at all."
"What lies you speak!" Walinda snapped angrily. The city is right there," she said, motioning to the torus above the spire. "We can see it directly ahead of us. We simply head for it." She looked at her master for approval, but the banelich remained silent, waiting for Jedidiah to explain himself.
"Just because you can see it doesn't mean you can reach it," Jedidiah said. "Some scholars say the spire is infinitely high and the city is merely a mirage, a projection of the real city over the spire. Other scholars claim you do indeed see the city, but magic cast on the spire limits your travel upward by half the distance between yourself and the city, so that you can go halfway, then three quarters of the way, then seven eighths of the way, then fifteen sixteenths of the way, and so forth. But no matter how close you come, you never actually get there."
Walinda's expression became confused for a moment, then she shook herself, and her angry expression returned. "You are babbling philosophical nonsense. My lord Bane, why do you allow this fool to continue?"
"You're free to fly there and test what I say," Jedidiah said to the priestess with a sly grin.
"We shall!" Walinda insisted.
"Though this ship and your master are likely to fall apart long before we even get close. The closer one gets to the spire, the more magical powers fail. As we approach, our most powerful magic will be neutralized first. I recommend we don't fly too high, because at some indeterminable point, the spelljammer's helm will cease to function. Still farther in, the most powerful spells granted by the gods to their priests shut down. That would include, I suspect, the forces that animate baneliches. You'd be reduced to a pile of bones and ragged flesh. Closer in than that, minor gods cannot use their power. At the base of the spire, there is no magic whatsoever. No heal spells, no light spells. No god's power works; not even Bane at his height could wield power there."