The lower ward of the dimensionally impossible city of Sigil was heavily shrouded in the smoke rising from the foundries, hiding the lights of the city overhead. At least that was some comfort, for the City of Doors was built within the circle of a torus. This there were technically no upper or lower areas. Many gates leading to the lower planes gave this quarter its name. They did not help increasing the quality of the air either.
They did, however, increase the chance of meeting fiends with nefarious intentions. It did not have to be a pit fiend, one of the most powerful and feared inhabitants of the nine hells of Baator?
Hiding in the the next doorway, hoping it is not a portal to a more hostile place, for which you accidentally have the key, you hope it does not see you. Baatezu mostly interacted with mortals by tricking them to sell their souls, rather than living of fear, as their mortal enemies, the tanar'ri, did. Looking frantically for a way out, your eyes move among the blades overhead and dark wet walls, until they come to rest on a sign almost overhead. "The Beheaded Fiend Inn," it reads, flanked by the skull of a balor on one side and that of a pit fiend on the other, their gazes locked in undying hatred even beyond death.
Sigil was the ultimate crossroads of the multiverse. There were places catering to the needs of every kind of creature in the multiverse. The last thing you need right now is stumbling into a yugoloth hangout. Listening at the door, you only hear the sounds of mortals eating drinking and making the noise, they make when talking with some bub in their veins. Celestials would not display the gory trophies at the door. Carefully you open the door.
A red-golden beam of flickering lights falls on the moist cobblestones of the street. Shadows flicker in the unsteady reflection of firelight, as though the beam itself was alive. Peering through the gap in the door, you realise, this place is frequented by creatures from everywhere. The first to catch your eyes is a toad-like slaad, set against the cubical form of rogue modron. Slowly your eyes move towards mostly human guests, most of which seem to have some planar blood in their veins, continuing to see some lesser celestials, even a few fiends, but they seem fearful and out of place.
A scantily dressed pale-skinned woman with black leathery wings sprouting from her back serves here. She is not a fiend, because she lacks the infernal diabolic emanation, you always sense, when dealing with creatures of the lower planes, even if they are disguised. There is something oddly dark about her, as though she was surrounded by an almost tangible shield of entropy. The colour of her pale skin is more reminiscent of a corpse, maybe of a vampire. Slowly you begin to feel an aura of Death surrounding her.
Shrugging of the strong feeling of mortality, your gaze is drawn to a tall and attractive woman behind the bar, surveying the scene with watchful eyes. The wall behind her is adorned by a huge bastard sword of unreal rosy steel, emanating destructive power. Remembering the skulls grinning evilly at you overhead, you realise, they are trophies from the barkeep wielding that sword. You step over the sill and close the door behind you.
The place is crowded, but there is a circular empty area in the centre of the room, where no tables or chairs are. It takes you a dozen steps to cross it. Looking at the bar and the tables, you wonder, where to find a place to sit down. The barkeep smiles gently and points at a table, were only a single person of unidentifiable race and gender sits. The being turns its head and looks towards you with a neutral face.
You feel strangely attracted to that person. Wondering, if that is a good, or a bad thing, you make your way between several chairs, carefully avoiding a bladeling and sit down. You look at the mysterious person and find a highly attractive member of your species and the opposite sex (or the same if you are so inclined). "Stay for a while," the mysterious person said. "I am known as the Mystical Old Bard. You may share the tales of your adventures with me? I may have a few tales to share with you in turn."
The Bard locks your gaze with bright golden eyes, hinting at great power and insight. You feel as though the person was gazing right into your soul, reading your innermost wishes and desires, but it is impossible to turn away. Slowly you wonder, if he is one of the true fey, strange creatures created by the power of dreams. Finally he turns away. You feel a sense of relief, but also an unexpected sadness. There is power beyond your comprehension in the nameless Bard.
"Why don't you stay for a while?" the bard asks with a melodic and pleasant voice. You can imagine it singing beautiful and captivating songs. "The food and lodgings of the place are excellent. There is little trouble here, not even brawls. The reputation of Tandra and her team is to fearsome. She is called the Fiendslayer with good reason, for her names strikes fear into the hearts of all creatures of the lower planes. If you listen carefully, much chant can be gathered here."