The Hooded Lantern
In the smog-choked heart of Sigil’s Lower Ward, where the air tastes of sulfur and the soot never stops falling, sits a crooked, iron-reinforced tavern known as The Hooded Lantern. In a city defined by factions and philosophy, the Lantern is refreshingly honest: it’s a den of "knights of the cross trade" (the local slang for thieves) and sharpers looking to fleece the next "clueless" soul to stumble through a portal. It serves as an informal guild hall where the only membership fee is the ability to keep your mouth shut and your hands in your own pockets.
The Atmosphere
The Lantern isn't just a bar; it’s a fortress of secrets. The windows are thick, leaded glass that distorts the light, and the interior is a maze of high-backed booths and "quiet corners" shielded by permanent silence spells or simple thick velvet curtains. The smell of stale ale is punctuated by the sharp scent of ozone—a side effect of the various magical charms and wards the patrons use to prevent being scried upon.
The Code of the Lantern
- The Peace of the Pint: No blood on the floor. If you have a "rattle" (argument) with someone, you take it to the narrow alleyway outside.
- The Barkeep’s Due: You don't skimp on your tab. Old Larsmith doesn't take excuses, and he certainly doesn't take credit.
NPCs
- Old Larsmith: The Barkeep - A massive, scarred man with skin like weathered leather. He rarely speaks, but his gaze feels heavy, like it’s physically weighing your soul.
- Quiss "The Shiver": Information Broker - A twitchy Tiefling who knows the schedule of every Harmonium patrol in the Ward. She trades in blueprints and guard rotations.
- Hollow-Eyed Harkin: Veteran Sharper - A human who claims to have been "Mazed" by the Lady of Pain and escaped. He’s a specialist in magical security and loves a good con.
- Vexor The "Locksmith": A small, unassuming Modron that went rogue. It has dozens of specialized tools integrated into its chassis and can crack any mechanical lock in Sigil.
Rumors
The Great Old Wyrm
The patrons call Larsmith the "Great Old Wyrm" only when he’s well out of earshot. The rumor is that he isn't just a retired adventurer, but an ancient Gold Dragon—or perhaps something darker from the Lower Planes—polymorphed into human form. They say the tavern’s foundation is built directly over his hoard. While nobody has ever seen a single coin of it, the sheer weight of Larsmith’s presence is enough to keep even the most desperate cutthroat from testing the theory.
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