“The Hive exists as an open sore upon the face of proud Sigil. And we, the better off residents of the Cage are like a bitter old woman, our years of glory beyond us now, but our vanity and pride still held high enough that we ignore the festering wound upon our countenance. We have none to blame for the very existence of the Hive but ourselves. Better off, we seem more apt to ignore it. Hide it from the light, seal it off and hope the problem, and the people trapped within its confines, simply vanish like so much cooking smoke. But like the smoke fires and belching pollution of the Great Foundry, it lingers in the air and permeates everything if ignored. It does not vanish, but spreads like acrid smog to blight us all, even in the high houses of the Golden Lords of The Lady’s Ward. Even as Sigil opens itself to every plane of existence, the Hive is secreted away, sealed off as if it weren’t truly a part of the City of Doors at all. Abandoned by all but a saintly few, it is cast aside with instruction to improve, yet with no way of bettering itself.
“A blind man cannot see nor a lame man walk of their own volition. The hand of an able passerby is needed for that inspiration or aid to return them to wellness so that they may finally fend for themselves. Too often we ignore them, and in our jaded hypocrisy expect them to walk unaided. The misery and human refuge of the Hive exists because we enable it to exist.” – Jeena Ealy, author of Of Darkest Sigil.
Life’s cheap, berk, but nowhere’s it cheaper than in the Hive Ward, a dismal collection of dirt-caked slums and battered tenements more fit for vermin than humanoids. Looking for honest work? Keep looking. The Hive’s a good place for cutpurses and gamblers, not so good for jewelers and art dealers. But it’s a fine place to be a Dustman - the faction’s headquarters, the Mortuary, is here, with corpses enough to keep its crematory blazing for the next couple of eons. And it’s a perfect spot for the Xaositect headquarters, also called the Hive (the Chaosmen ain’t known for clever names; why bother?). A tangle of safehouses and hideaways, it squats in the middle of the ward like a wart - make that a bunch of warts. The Gatehouse's here too, the headquarters of the Bleak Cabal; to prove that existence is a cruel joke, a Bleaker just points out the window.
Whoever planned the ward didn’t know the definition of a straight line, as the streets wind in every direction: Some end abruptly in blind alleys, others circle back on themselves like snakes swallowing their tails. With space at a premium, new structures are built on top of old ones, giving a typical building the appearance of a stack of boxes about to collapse. It’s a mess, all right, though a basher flying high overhead might make some sense of it. The cluster of marble buildings spikeward from the Gatehouse - called, appropriately enough, the Marble District - marks the best section of the ward, where it’s possible to find a few quality shops, the government centers, and a handful of bloods with serious jink. On the opposite end lies the smoky rubble of the Slags, all darkness and death. Residential areas are everywhere else, row after row of slant-roofed slums and belching smokestacks.
DMs Note: When making a thread anywhere in the Hive Ward, roll me a d100 and notify me of the results. This roll is for every player entering any thread in this district and is included with any additional rolls required for entering any other section of the Hive Ward.