Planescape RPG

The sulfur-heavy smog of the Hive clings to your throat like wet wool as you stumble out of the shop, the bells on the door jingling with a mocking, tinny cheer. Behind you, the shopkeeper—a spindly Tiefling with trembling hands—bolts the locks, his eyes still wide with the horror of seeing a man whom the Mirror of Truth refused to acknowledge. In your palm, the jagged silver shard pulses with a cold, rhythmic light, reflecting only the hazy, inverted rooftops of the city curving miles above your head. You stand in a gutter choked with discarded scrolls and rusted iron shavings, a "clueless" soul in a city that eats the weak. Around you, the dregs of Sigil move like shadows: a group of Dustmen hauling a corpse-cart, a flitting imp haggling over "fresh" memories, and the distant, looming shadow of the Lady of Pain drifting silently over the jagged spires of the Clerk’s Ward. You are a hole in the multiverse, a blank page in a book of secrets, and the city is waiting to see what—or if—you choose to become.