Return to Fell's Tattoo parlour - Handout 9

I remembered Barkis, barkeep at the Smouldering Corpse Bar, mentioning a tattoo parlour near the bar. He had said the proprietor dealt in special Tattoos. He might know something about the tattoos on this arm. He might even have done them. I decided to pay the shop a visit with Morte, leaving the rest of the party behind.
The sign outside had said “Fell’s Tattoo Parlour.” The cool, dry air was ominous in the tattoo parlour. Beneath the sweetness of the incense smoke, the musty scent of old leather had been intertwined with the slightest sour hint of meat gone bad.
All about the shop, intricate designs had been inked on sheets of leather and parchment. They lay about haphazardly, but by the lack of dust there seemed to be an odd order to it all. It was as if Fell worked in a meticulous but fickle hand.
A Dabus stood in the center of the room... but something about it struck me as odd. It had the same shock of white hair, the same greenish cast to its skin, the same pair of goat horns... until I suddenly realized this one was walking on the ground, not floating. For some reason, that made me uneasy.
I blinked, looking to Morte, “Uh...Morte. You said dabus float, right? This one’s walking on the ground.” Morte glanced at the dabus, and his eyes widened. “Ah-ha! I knew you goat-heads could walk! I knew it!” Morte turned gleefully back to me. “Ha! This one must not be aloof enough to get off the ground.”
The question froze on my lips. As I was about to ask the dabus as to who he was, I suddenly realized I already know the creature’s name -- ‘Fell.’ It wasn’t the sign or the obvious fact that he was acting as a shopkeeper. There was something deeper in his name, and it echoed in my skull. As if in response, the dabus inclined his head slightly, and a lone symbol appeared above its head. It was blurry at first, then resolved into a white oval with a black lightning bolt through it.
“I feel like I know you, Fell,” I said, slightly disoriented.
Fell bowed reverently, and a stream of symbols swirled about his head, rotating clockwise, then counterclockwise. It took me a moment to translate: This is the first time and not the first time you have come to this place.
“Do you know who I am?” Another series of symbols materialized into focus above Fell’s head. This time the translation came to me just as quickly and sharply as the symbols themselves...as if I had translated the exact same string many times before. Yes. But I am not permitted to tell your story.
“Why not?”
For a moment, there was no response from Fell, then a stream of rebuses appeared, as if trickling out of Fell’s mind. My apologies, I cannot. I cannot change the nature of a man.
The last sentence sent a crawling sensation through my skull. The words rattled in my brains, biting deep into my mind like an itch just out of reach. I clawed at the musty spot in the dim fold of my consciousness. It was a flicker in the corner of my eye, gone when I turned to face it.... change the nature of a man... I twitched. “‘Nature of a man?’What does that mean?”
The symbols that appeared above Fell almost mirrored the previous stream. My apologies. I cannot say.
I grumbled and turned around in a circle, displaying the map of scars and scratches as well as the tapestry of ink on my flesh.
“Can you tell me anything about these tattoos on my body?”
Fell studied my body for a moment, walking around me. The soft patter of his heels against the squeaky floorboards made me shudder. There was something wrong about him. Above his head, Fell mirrored each symbol as he examined it, then returned to face me. I know them. None are by my hand.
“Can you tell me about some of them?”
Fell nodded, symbols appearing around him like fireflies. The ones upon your back were scribed with a careful hand and are directions for a mind that forgets itself. The symbol that lies upon your left shoulder is the mark of torment.
I fought the tremble that wanted to shudder through me as I looked down at my arm. The word was like a set of iron claws scraping against polished shale. That wound deep in me throbbed with the word.
“Torment?”
The symbol sharpened, gaining edges that were almost painful to my eyes. It is torment.It is that which draws all tormented souls to you. Fell nodded at my left arm, at my shoulder. The flesh knows it suffers even when the mind has forgotten. And so you wear the rune always.
I scratched my shoulder idly. It had suddenly felt very itchy, the mark unwelcome. “You say you’ve met me before, Fell...do you know how I died?”
For a moment Fell did not respond...then slowly, menacingly, three symbols materialized above his head, each of them casting a long shadow. Shadows.
“Shadows?”
The three symbols swirled about each other, each leaving a faint black misty trail about them. They took on a ragged edge, like teeth and talons and multiplied...where there were three, there became nine, nine became twenty-seven, until the room was a swarm of shadows. Many shadows. They streamed from the darkness, swarmed you, then left you to die.
Dak’kon touched the hilt of his blade while Morte’s teeth chittered. “Uh-ch-chief? Maybe we should leave...”
I faced Fell. “Why? Why did they kill me?”
The shadowed symbols swirled into one, then dissolved to be replaced with a simple symbol. I do not know.
After we regained our nerves we browsed the store, eyeing scraps of flesh carefully etched with black patterns and symbols. Looking at them with the eye of a mage, I noticed they thrummed with power: a resonance to them that distinguished the symbols from your everyday tattoo. One was the mark of a warrior, granting greater strength. Another was a symbol that granted insight. Yet others told tales as bards would gathered about a fire.
As I explored the store, Fell patiently sorted his parchments, setting them here and there knowingly even if there was no apparent pattern to his actions.
Curious with the enigmatic creature, I took the opportunity to brush past the curtain into the back room. I wish I hadn’t. Long frames stretched out and laid against the walls adorned the room, with human skins stretched across like leather being tanned. Scrawled across the torn and distended flesh were tattoos, artful designs that seemed to tell a dozen stories of triumph and tragedy. Pain and delight. I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to know how Fell had collected these.
He stood calmly, watching me as I stumbled back into the main room. I coughed, embarrassed. “What are those frames in the back room, Fell?”
A caravan of symbols slowly materialized around Fell, one by one. It is my gallery. Your discarded skins are my canvas. I admire you. I am saddened for you.
I shuddered at the thought of all those pelts. Were they mine or was Fell exaggerating? I didn’t want to know. “Saddened for me? Why?”
Another train of symbols formed around Fell, this time forming a circle. The mark of torment lies upon your flesh. Tragedies and loss have built themselves upon it, like stones upon a foundation. You have endured great pain.
“What do you mean?”
A long string of rebuses appeared above Fell’s head, then surrounded his arms like manacles. I admire you because you have never surrendered to the weight of these losses, despite the fact their chains hang on you still. A string of rebuses coalesced yet again, then drifted down, covering the dabus like a cloak. These losses blanket this life and all of your past ones. You shed lives like a molting serpent. You are exploring the infinite paths of life.
More rebuses appeared, then fell suddenly to the floor, streaming out behind him like a shadow. Take with you this warning: each of your lives casts a shadow on existence. You must travel to a place where these shadows have gone mad and regrets have scarred the earth.
Deionarra’s words echoed as if they were freshly spoken from her ethereal lips. “You shall come to a prison built of regrets and sorrow, where the shadows themselves have gone mad. There you will be asked to make a terrible sacrifice, my Love. For the matter to be laid to rest, you must destroy that which keeps you alive and be immortal no longer.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
A brief series of paper thin rebuses appeared in an orderly row next to Fell, then vanished into glowing motes. Do not sign anything.
I nodded. “Very well.”
Another series of rebuses appeared, forming a spiral -- they had the texture of a question about them. Do you feel complete?
I closed my eyes, searching deep inside me, caressing that scar that had been cut deeper than any of the marks that tickled my flesh. “I...don’t. In fact, ever since I woke up in The Mortuary, I feel like something’s...missing. Something inside.”
Fell nodded, and a series of symbols materialized in a halo around him. You are strong. Keep faith, and you shall become whole again.
We poked about his wares a little longer, purchased a few that looked useful, and eagerly left.
“Chief, I say this with all sincerity I can muster, but we really really should leave that goat-faced berk alone.” He looked over the fresh tattoos on our arms. “I’ve never been happier over the fact that I don’t have skin.”
Dak’kon shook his head as we walked, “This Fell knows you in ways you do not. He would be a most useful ally. His knowing will complete yours.” I looked back over my shoulder. “I have to agree with Dak’kon on this one, Morte. Fell knows something about my past...it’s something I need. Maybe if I talk to him I might remember something.”
Morte shook his head, muttering. There was almost no humor in his voice. “There’s a reason the guy has to open up shop in this dingy corner of The Hive, chief. There’s a reason he doesn’t float like those other piking hornheads do.”

“Did you do the tattoos on this dismembered arm I found, Fell?”
Fell examined it for a moment, tracing the patterns with his finger. He then looked up, and a series of rebuses formed, hazy at first, then came sharply into focus. The arm is yours. The tattoos are mine. One tattoo speaks of a time when your path was shared by four others.
“What four others?”
Four strings of symbols swirled from Fell’s head, matching the pattern upon the dismembered arm. They speak of four. Shall I tell you their hearts?
I motioned him to go on. The symbols swirled before me, and I pieced them together.

• One unloved who loves one who does not love.

• One who does not see what others see and sees what others do not.

• One who is familiar and bound with duty.

• One who is a slave and his chains are words.

As I finished translating, the four strings seemed to form themselves into links, and they merged into a chain... the chain bent until it was a symbol I recognized, the Symbol of Torment on my arm.
“You mentioned that there were other tattoos on the arm? What others?”
Fell examined the arm again, tracing the other faded tattoos upon its surface. As he did, they each appeared as a symbol above his head, hazy at first, then coming into focus sharply. He turned to face me. Ones forgotten, now remembered. You may wear them again if you wish.
Fell’s special talent allowed him to make magical tattoos, which could be worn or taken off at will. Besides his stock of ready made tattoos, I found he could make new tattoos based on my experiences, and from the dismembered arm I had brought. He showed me in his picture-language the tattoos he could create based on the arm, and explained them to me.
A tattoo which he termed the Tattoo of the Lost Incarnation told of the experiences of one of my past incarnations... the symbols and tales were unfamiliar to me, but it seemed to tell of a time when I was lost and abandoned on the streets of the Hive, barely able to make a living robbing and stealing from others I encountered. The crimes the lost incarnation committed eventually drove him to seek shelter in the Weeping Stone Catacombs, where he survived for almost a year.
Another, the Tattoo of Wasting Darkness, from the same time, told of when I was seeking shelter beneath the streets and was forced to live as a shadow might, hiding from detection by the Sigil authorities and trying to conceal myself from the more dangerous inhabitants of the Weeping Stone catacombs.
The last which told of this time was the Tattoo of the Weeping Stones, when the catacombs beneath Sigil’s streets were my second home. It told of my travelling down into the tombs, living in darkness, and coming to learn the nature of why the stones beneath Sigil weep.

I showed him the hideous mask ( Mask of the Shaper ) of stiffened tattooed skin we found in the sarcophagus of the Shattered Crypt.
He turned to Esmae. She seemed to instinctively understand his speech. Fell touched her temples and they both closed their eyes and ‘fell’ into a form of mental communion. It lasted for a long time.
When they opened their eyes, she gestured for the group to leave. Her eyes seemed far away and it ...*smelled* ...like a storm was brewing over the horizon.
Later she would say only that it was mainly snippets of dreams over a long life being born and Reborn on a distant world known as Athas –so distant that it was sealed from the Gods in a tragedy that occurred during the Dawn Wars.
The mask is a relic of the ancient spell-shapers of that land that weaved the magic of earth, water, and life.

After venturing to the Mortuary and 'talking' with Zombie 331, the whole Ka-Tet returned to Fell's parlour, along with Annah.
Annah stiffened when she caught sight of Fell. “We'll draw the Lady’s gaze if we stay here, we will.”
I asked her what was wrong...
“Are yeh daft?!” Annah turned to me... and I suddenly realized she was frightened. “Are yeh so pig-eager to dance in the Lady’s shadow yeh'll bandy words with this one?! Let’s give this place the laugh before we get penned in the dead-book!”
I was surprised to see her usual canny self-reliance so suddenly pierced, and asked again what was wrong.
“It’s Fell.”
Annah threw a fearful glance at Fell. “Let’s be away, aye? No good'll come of being here, so it won’t!”
“He’s a dabus who’s not a dabus, aye? He walks on the ground...”
Annah’s voice dropped to a whisper, and she started trembling. “No more questions, let’s give this place the laugh, aye?”
When I didn’t immediately move towards the door, she continued, “Fell’s a dabus who angered Her. It’s said he’s a dabus who isn’t a dabus, and the time’s close when the Lady’s gaze'll fall on him, so it will.”
“You mean the Lady of Pain?” I realized what was the source of her fear.
“Aye... and heed yer tongue.” Annah made a semicircle in the air in front of her as I mentioned the Lady’s name. “The dabus work for the Lady, an’ she protects them... ‘cept Fell.” She shuddered. “Let’s be away, aye?”
It was importantI speak to Fell; I couldn’t stop just for Annah. I told her I just needed a few moments to talk to Fell.
Annah grabbed my arm. “Please, nay, nay! No good'll come of it —anyone speakin’ ta Fell could draw the Lady’s gaze. I donnae want t'die, I don’t!”
To my surprise, Annah looked close to tears. I hesitated, wanting to hold her, but afraid I would be rebuffed. I settled for trying to comfort her using words. “Annah, no harm will come to you while I'm here —I promise. I just want to speak to him for a moment.”
For a minute, Annah just looked at me. Then, something in my gaze seemed to calm her, for she steeled herself. “I donnae why I...” She shook her head. “Go on, then, talk ta him! I donnae care!” There was an undercurrent of fear in her voice.
I pretended that the last time I was here I could barely understand Fell, and asked Dak'kon to translate for me. I asked Dak'kon to ask Fell if he had done the tattoos on the dismembered arm I had found.
Fell repeated what he had said before, that one tattoo spoke of a time when my path was shared by four others. Dak'kon, rather than translating, remained silent. When I pressed Dak'kon, all he would say was that Fell said the arm was mine, the tattoos his.
I pressed Dak'kon, asking if he had said anything else. Dak'kon was silent for a moment... and suddenly, instinctively, I knew Dak'kon was lying to me.
He continued on with a dead-level tone.“The rest of the symbols are not known to me.”
For Dak'kon to lie to me hurt. I had thought I was getting to know something of him, of the honourable ways of the Githzerai; more, I had trusted him. I saw this as a betrayal, and asked, bluntly, why he was lying to me.
Dak'kon fell silent again; he did not turn to look at me — he seemed to be staring at something leagues away. “The symbols... there is no good in knowing the answer to what you ask.”
“Since when has not knowing the truth of something ever really helped anyone, Dak'kon? The counsellor who councils ignorance betrays his station.”
“There is truth in your words. That truth... should be known to me.”
Dak'kon was silent for a moment, then he turned to me, his eyes hardened. “The symbols speak of four you have travelled with in the past.”
The symbols swirling about Fell formed a pattern I had seen before, describing the four who had travelled with me.
Dak'kon, however, continued without looking at Fell. “The tattoo speaks of four minds. One was a woman, who loved a man who knew her and knew not love. The other was a blind man, who saw things no mortal eye could see. Another was a familiar, a mage’s pet, bought and bound. And the last was a slave.”
“Why did you not want to tell me this?”
“The four are bound with a symbol that is known to me.”
A symbol of torment had appeared above Fell, which Dak'kon elaborated on, “The symbol is torment. He says that you have always worn it, for the flesh knows that it suffers, even when the mind does not.”
Dak'kon refused to say any more about the four, at least not in front of those I hadn’t chosen as companions.
I consulted with Fell to purchase some tattoos, but Annah was still very nervous, her eyes darting about as if expecting the Lady to break through a wall at any moment, so I cut my bargaining short.