Chapter 3
in the infinity between worlds three songs stood prominent,
The song of 2 moons and a blue child chasing each other felt unharmonic and it felt linked to a much larger threat of a burning legion. I wanted to explore not battle again.
The song of a dark hand chasing a singualr golden ring felt too small and I felt it wouldnt be long before he would have to leave again.
Finally the song of a mask with a crown of blades was becoming clearer and it took the appearence of a Pale lady wearing masked crown of blades. This song was complex and had depth to it that the others did not. I choose the first song.
The transition between worlds felt like being unmade and remade in the same instant. Reality twisted, folded, compressed into a single point of brilliant light before exploding outward again. I stumbled as solid ground materialized beneath my feet, my divine essence flaring instinctively as foreign energies pressed against me.
The winds from the blind eternities. I recognized them from Michael's memories, whispers of pure entropy that dissolved mortal minds and unraveled the fabric of lesser beings. They clawed at my form, testing, probing, seeking weakness.
My divinity held. The fusion with Michael's soul, that strange otherness now woven into my being, created a buffer I hadn't expected. The winds skittered across my essence like water off hot bronze, unable to find purchase.
I opened my eyes.
"By all the Fates," I breathed. My divinity here felt different and slightly constrained, I would have to discover the difference. The city sprawled before me in the shape of a five-pointed star, walls of grey stone rising in perfect geometric precision. Buildings clustered within those walls, but something was wrong with them. Not wrong, different. They shifted. As I watched, a three-story structure on my left dissolved, its materials flowing like water into a new configuration, rebuilding itself into something taller, wider, fundamentally changed.
The city was alive.
Olympus and Earth, my entire reality, existed somewhere impossibly distant now, separated by the barriers I'd just walked through. The ring on my finger hummed with warmth, its runes still glowing faintly.
Movement caught my attention. A figure rounded the corner ahead, barely reaching my chest in height. Pointed ears and sharp nose with weathered clothing practical in design. The proportions were distinctly non-human. A gnome. Michael's memories supplied the information immediately. I'd never seen one before, not in millennia of existence, but I recognized the species like I'd known them all my life and that was going to take some getting used to.
The gnome glanced at me, nodded politely, and continued on their way.
I started walking, following the flow of foot traffic toward what Michael's memories suggested would be the city center. The streets hummed with activity. More gnomes, yes, but also humans and creatures I had no names for. A being made of what appeared to be living crystal haggled with a vendor over a basket of fruits that glowed with internal light. Something with too many arms and eyes that existed in colors I'd never seen juggled what looked like compressed starlight.
This place was magnificent. Buildings leaned at impossible angles, supported by nothing visible. Bridges arced between structures without anchors. A tower in the distance appeared to be constructed entirely of frozen music, its walls rippling with captured sound.
I needed to understand how all of this worked.
The crowd thickened as I approached what had to be the central plaza. Five-sided, naturally, tiled in alternating gold and purple like a massive checkerboard. Stalls and booths packed the space, vendors hawking wares that ranged from mundane to incomprehensible.
"Fresh phase-shifted vegetables! Won't rot in any timeline!"
"Genuine demon-forged steel! Straight from the battlefields of the Blood War!"
"Maps to the nine layers! Accurately updated within the last decade!"
I wandered through the loud shouting, drinking it all in. A merchant sold bottles of compressed laughter. Another offered contracts written in languages that swirled and twirled around. A third displayed what appeared to be portable truncks similar to bags of holding from micheals memoreies.
"Excuse me," I stopped a passing human carrying an armload of scrolls. "Where am I?"
The man blinked at me, taking in my appearance. My travel-worn clothing and the pack I'd manifested probably marked me as just another planeswalker. Anonymity suited me better than divine recognition. "Tradegate, friend. Gate-town to Bytopia. You new to the Outlands?"
"Very new."
"Well this is Tradegate, obviously." He shifted his burden. "Best marketplace in the Outlands. Second only to Sigil itself for variety. If you can't find it here, it probably doesn't exist. Or it's illegal. Sometimes both." He eyed me again. "You looking to buy or sell?"
"Learn, mostly. Where would I find unusual crafting materials? Exotic metals, rare components?"
His expression brightened. "Ah, craftsman? You'll want the merchant quarter, southwest section of the plaza. Look for the sign of the crossed hammers. Old Torben runs the best metalworking supply in three planes." He paused. "Fair warning though, I get a cut for eveyone I send to him and the prices here run steep. Everything's in gold or equivalent trade."
I patted the dimensional storage ring on my other hand, feeling the weight of countless treasures stored within. "I think I can manage."
The man nodded and continued on. I stood for a moment, orienting myself, then spotted what I was looking for. The sign of the crossed hammers hung above a shop front built from dark wood and reinforced with bands of unfamiliar metal. seems this place was majority human and gnomes but there was still a lot of other races. I was excited to see more.
The metalworking supply shop was exactly what I needed. The moment I crossed the threshold, my divine senses cataloged everything within sight. Ingots of materials I'd never encountered, arranged by properties I didn't understand yet. Olmypus did not have a race of dwarves although there were dwarf-like creatures. A dwarf, stocky and bearded in the classical style Michael's memories recognized, worked at a small forge in the back, hammering something that rang with tones that he didn't recognise and as the god of forges he was familiar with all known earthly metals.
"Be with you in a moment!" he called, not looking up.
I didn't mind. The displays held my complete attention. Iron infused with elemental chaos. Steel tempered in the flames of Gehenna. Bronze mixed with something that made my divine senses itch, reality itself folded into the molecular structure.
"That's baatorian green steel," the dwarf said, suddenly at my elbow. I had heard him approch but let him," Mixed with essence harvested from the screams of the damned. Holds an edge like nothing else, but it's temperamental. Likes to bite back if you're not careful in the forging."
I picked up the ingot, feeling its weight, its essense. The metal hummed with trapped malevolence, anger formed into physical form. "Interesting. The molecular structure is unstable, and actively malicious"
The dwarf's eyebrows rose. "You can sense that?"
"I work with metals. You learn to feel their nature." I set the ingot down carefully. "And this?" I gestured to a silvery substance that seemed to exist slightly out of phase with normal space.
"Astral driftmetal. Solidified thought from the Astral Plane. Weighs almost nothing, cuts through magical defenses like butter, but it's a right bastard to work with. Temperature's critical. Half a degree off and it evaporates back into pure astral." He studied me with eyes that had seen too many centuries. "You know your materials. What's your trade?"
"Blacksmith and Craftsman. I work with metals and magic, though the magic where I'm from operates differently than here."
"Don't it always." He extended a calloused hand. "Torben Ironfoot, originally of Nidavellir before I got bored and wandered the planes. Landed on this plane and got shrunk and I got caught in a portal that threw me here. Haven't found a way back since. You've got the look of someone who knows which end of a hammer to hold."
I shook his hand, careful to use mortal strength. "Heph. Recently of... elsewhere. I'm new to the Outlands."
"Heph. Simple name for a craftsman, I like it." He returned to his forge, gesturing for me to follow. "Most folk from distant realities are too busy trying to conquer things to explore. You are not running from something or toward something are you?"
"Toward," I said. "Definitely toward."
The forge setup impressed me. The dwarf had compensated for limited space with ruthless efficiency. Every tool had its place, every material organized by some system only he understood. The forge itself burned with something hotter than normal fire, flames that existed in various colors.
"What's your fuel source?" I asked.
"An Elemental fire was bound and contained and sold to me. Expensive as sin but worth every copper." He pulled his current project from the flames, a blade that glowed with internal light. "When working on so many different metals regular flames are not enough for example, working on a commission for some adventurer heading to the Abyss and she needs something that won't corrode in demon ichor."
I watched him work. His technique was solid and looked refined over centuries, but limited by mortal constraints. No divine enhancement, no ability to perceive the molecular structure as he shaped it. Just skill, experience, and an intimate understanding of materials. Maybe I could-
Respectable, in its way.
"Tell me about this place," I said. "Tradegate, the Outlands, how it all connects. I'm trying to understand where I've landed."
Torben glanced at me while hammering. "That's a broad question, friend."
"I'm willing to make it worth your time." I reached into my dimensional storage, considering what to reveal. Not too much, nothing that would mark me as something other than a well-traveled craftsman. "I've got materials from my home reality. Rare stuff. Give me information about the area, the local customs, what I need to know to survive here, and I'll give you a sample to study. No cost."
The hammering paused. "A sample of what, exactly?"
I pulled out a small ingot, no larger than my thumb. Black as night, but with a strange depth to it, as if the darkness went on forever. The metal drank in the light around it, creating a subtle absence in the air.
Torben set down his hammer slowly. "What in the name of the Forgefather is that?"
"Where I'm from, we call it Stygian iron. Forged in the deepest reaches of the underworld, quenched in the waters of the River Styx. It's similar to what you might know as abyssal iron, but stronger. Much stronger. Holds enchantments better, never corrodes, and it's particularly effective against... let's say, beings that exist partially outside normal reality."
The dwarf reached for it, then hesitated. "May I?"
"Carefully. It's harmless to living beings, but it has peculiar interactions with certain forms of magic."
Torben picked up the ingot with the reverence of a priest handling a holy relic and the love of someone who loves his craft. His fingers traced the surface, testing weight and balance. "The density is wrong. This should weigh several times what it does. And the way it's absorbing light... I've never seen anything like this. Abyssal iron is vicious stuff, all rage and entropy. This is cold and controlled. This is like death itself condensed into metal."
"Accurate description," I said. Close enough to the truth without revealing exactly what I was.
"And you'll give me this? Just for information?"
"I've got more where that came from, and I need local knowledge more than I need one ingot. Fair trade, knowledge for materials."
Torben set the ingot on his workbench like it might explode. "Right then. You've got yourself a deal. What do you want to know?"
"Everything. Start with where we are and work outward."
The dwarf grabbed a stool and settled in, the eager light of a teacher in his eyes. "Tradegate's one of sixteen gate-towns that ring the Outlands. We're built around a portal to Bytopia, which is why most folk here are honest workers and traders. The town's shaped like a five-pointed star, constantly rebuilding itself. Buildings come down, new ones go up, nothing stays the same except the Parliament and the main plaza. your shop might be moved but not destroyed, it depends on if your late in taxes, although space changes it stays in the same place relatively unless a major renovation is happening"
"The Parliament?"
"The Ruling council and all are merchants, naturally. You need five hundred thousand gold to buy a seat, but once you're in, you've got say in how the town runs. They mostly handle trade regulations, keep the peace, make sure the portal stays stable." He gestured broadly. "Tradegate's neutral ground. We get traders from every plane, every reality. Fighting's discouraged, murder's punished, but beyond that, we let folk do business however they like."
"And the Outlands in general?"
"The center of everything, if you believe the philosophers. It's the plane of true neutrality, sits at the middle of the Great Wheel. Sixteen outer planes arranged in a ring, each one representing different alignments and beliefs. Tradegate connects to Bytopia, the plane of honest work. Glorium over there connects to Ysgard, warrior's paradise. Plague-Mort connects to the Abyss, which should tell you everything you need to know about that particular hell-hole."
Michael's memories stirred, confirming the information. The Great Wheel cosmology, a multiverse structured around philosophical and moral principles. Each plane embodying a different worldview, a different way of existing.
"And Sigil?" I asked. "People keep mentioning it."
Torben's expression turned complicated. "Sigil's... special. The City of Doors, floating above the Spire at the center of the Outlands. Connects to everywhere simultaneously. Thousands of portals leading to every plane, every world, every reality you can imagine. Run by the Lady of Pain, and nobody crosses her. Nobody."
"Who is she?"
"Nobody knows. Some say she's a god, some say she's something older. All anyone knows for certain is that she rules Sigil absolutely. Cross her and you get mazed, trapped in an extra-dimensional prison built specifically for you. Or you get flayed by her shadow, which is worse. She doesn't tolerate worship, doesn't tolerate violence against the city itself, and doesn't explain herself to anyone."
I filed that away for later consideration. A being powerful enough to intimidate gods, ruling a city that existed outside normal reality. Eventually, I'd need to see that. But not yet. Not until I understood more about how this reality functioned.
"What about magic here? How does it work?"
"Same as most places," Torben said. "Magic has few laws here and rules that govern its operation. Break them at your peril. Divine magic flows from belief and worship. Arcane magic is pulled from the planes themselves, shaped by will and knowledge. There's also psionic power, which is mind over matter, and a few other variants depending on which plane you're on."
"Can anyone learn it?"
"Arcane magic? In theory, yes. In practice, it takes years of study and most folk don't have the discipline. Divine magic requires a connection to a power, a god or philosophy that empowers you. Psionic talent is usually innate, though it can be trained." He studied me. "You asking because you want to learn, or because you've already got power and want to understand the local rules?"
Sharp, this one. I'd need to be careful. "Bit of both. Where I'm from, power works differently. I'm trying to understand the local here so I don't accidentally break something important."
"Yeah, you can cause real problems if you try forcing your reality's magic rules onto this one. The planes have a way of punishing that kind of arrogance." He stood, returning to his forge. "Anything else you want to know?"
"Where would I find information on magical theory? Item creation specifically?"
"Scholar's Scrolls, northeast of the plaza. Run by a tiefling named Kessandra. Brilliant mind, sharp tongue, doesn't suffer fools. Tell her Torben sent you, she'll treat you fair." He glanced at the Stygian iron ingot. "And Heph? I meant what I said earlier. If you ever want to collaborate on a project, I'm interested, I have been doing this solo for two centuries. Wouldn't mind working with someone who understands".
"I'll keep that in mind," I said honestly. The dwarf was talented, and more importantly, he respected the craft. That mattered more than raw skill.
"One more thing," Torben added as I headed for the door. "You've got that look about you. The one travelers get when they've left something big behind. Word of advice from someone who's been around: the Outlands has a way of finding what you're looking for. Sometimes it's exactly what you wanted. Sometimes it's what you needed but didn't know. And sometimes it's neither, but it changes you anyway."
I paused at the threshold. "Which one happened to you?"
He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "All three, at different times. That's the joy of the planes, friend. They don't let you stay the same."