The Great Foundry hums around me, a living, breathing beast of iron and fire. Every clang of hammer on metal is a heartbeat, every hiss of steam a pulse that I’ve come to know like my own.
When I look at myself, I’m not sure if spending so much time here awakened some remote trace of Fire Genasi lineage in me, or if the Great Foundry itself somehow altered my very being.
I should feel pride—there’s honor in being a craftsman here, a member of the Believers of the Source, shaping something real out of raw potential. I’m immensely lucky that they believed in me—believed in my potential for greatness.
Growing up alone in the Cage brought me plenty of trouble, and I have no magical aptitude like the matter smiths do. All I’ve got are quick fingers and wits. They used to call me “Smart Rat,” though I haven’t heard that name in a while. These days, the factotums call me Firemind.
But what matters lies in front of me, not behind.
Chime and my tools are laid out before me. Over my shoulder, my mentor watches, silent but steady, his gaze grounding me. I pick up the thinker’s tools, my hand trembling slightly, and press them into Chime’s eyes, working with all the care I can summon. This mimir, this echo of its creator—a brilliant, optimistic Sensate—is all that’s left of her. She was a bright star in a world full of shadows, and keeping Chime running is my way of honoring her legacy, her voice, her memory.
I lose focus for a moment, glancing around as memories flood in. My mentor senses it and gently brings me back to the task. “Focus, Firemind. Remember why you’re doing this. Let your heart guide you.”
Our philosophy is to improve with each step, to make every experience count. And this work—this labor of love—is different. It’s special. I feel my hands moving with a life of their own, like a Cipher in a trance, pouring my whole self into the work. Hours slip by. Sweat stings, my muscles cramp, hunger and thirst gnaw at me, but I press on, feeling the quiet determination of my heart. The night fades into dawn. Maybe another night passes, too—I lose track, lost in the rhythm of my task. All I know is that, finally, I’m done.
The pink mimir, veined with golden cogs and scattered with musical notes, lights up. Chime comes to life, its voice greeting me in its usual cheerful tune. “Hey, Firemind! Good to see you again. What’ve you been up to? You look terrible—like you’ve been working harder than a modron on overtime!”
A smile breaks over my face, joy welling up as tears fill my eyes. It’s back—She’s back. My friend, my companion. I don’t know how I’d survive without her. She’s the reason I can keep going, a small comfort in the vast emptiness of my life.
---
But as the days pass, the Foundry’s hum shifts around me, becoming less a comfort, more a warning. The clang of hammers, the hiss of steam, every sound around me feels... wrong, tainted somehow. It started with whispers, with knowing glances and hollow reassurances. I’m a craftsman, not a fool. I feel it in my bones: I’m being watched.
My mentor comes to me with promises, telling me I’ve been chosen for a special project “for the good of Sigil.” He says I’m doing something noble, that this device I’m building will protect us all. But the more I work, the more my pride sours, twisting into something bitter. A device to channel Sigil’s latent power? It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t smell right. And yet, I try to believe him, try to trust in the ideals he preaches.
Then the Dabus begin to appear, gliding through the Foundry like silent phantoms, symbols floating around them, their meanings elusive but unsettling. The Dabus don’t come without reason, and each time they pass, a cold chill runs down my spine. They’re warning me, I realize too late. Warning me that I’m being used.
The realization hits like a hammer blow. I piece it all together—the whispers, the looks, the deception hidden in every promise. He didn’t want me for my skill; he needed someone to blame if things went wrong. He used me, manipulated me into building a machine that could drain Sigil’s power, all so he could cheat his way to godhood.
I try to shout, to call out the truth, but the words stick in my throat. Before I can speak, I feel it—a crushing weight in the air, pressing down on me, stealing my breath. The crowd parts, their heads lowered, and I turn to see her: the Lady of Pain, her blades gleaming coldly in the Foundry’s light. Everyone around me averts their gaze, backs away in silence. And as I stand there, frozen, I know she’s here for me.
My heart pounds, my body locked in place as her gaze pins me. The world shifts, the ground falling away, everything around me blurring as I’m pulled into the silence, into the maze. My last thought as reality tears away is a desperate, silent scream: I was innocent.
And in an instant, I’m ripped apart from reality itself. Erased in a single breath.
---
I feel it—the faintest tremor in the fabric of my prison, like a loose thread hidden in the weave. After years of endless corridors, shifting walls, and twisting paths, I've learned to sense the maze’s pulse, to understand its rhythms, though I don’t fully know how. She trapped me here, sealed away in this silent, living prison for a crime I did not commit. I was close to the truth, close to exposing the dark ambitions of my mentor—the one I thought was my protector, my savior from a troubled childhood. What a fool I was. Played like the perfect pawn.
It feels like I’ve been here for lifetimes, counting days that blur into one another. But I didn’t stop, I didn’t let go. I learned to fight my own mind, to press on, to survive. And through it all, I had Chime—the joyful voice in the endless dark, her spirit and endless patience saving me from despair, from madness. In the silence, her words would echo, her presence a reminder of who I was, of what I was fighting to return to.
Today, something’s different. I test the walls, pressing into the fractures I’ve discovered, their edges so thin they almost cut my fingers. I’ve found an imperfection, a flaw in this perfect prison—a crack small enough to slip through, but big enough if I push with everything I’ve got. I don’t know if this is the break I’ve been searching for or if I’m finally broken, but I don’t care. This might be my only chance. So I press forward, my whole being straining against the resistance, every ounce of strength I have left poured into that fracture, daring it to give way.
The walls shudder, bending inward before shattering around me. Light floods in—real, blinding light, brighter than anything I’ve seen in years. I stumble forward, stepping onto cold, unfamiliar ground beneath my feet. My body is weakened but hardened by survival, changed in ways I barely recognize.
I’m free. The air smells...sharp, foreign, alive. Somewhere, faint but strong in my memory, I think of Sigil, of the Great Foundry, of the life I was ripped away from. I thought I’d forgotten, but it all comes rushing back—the betrayal, and the false smiles of my mentor who manipulated me into creating something dangerous, something meant to steal Sigil’s power. He used me as a pawn in a plan to ascend to godhood, then threw me away when I got too close to the truth.
And now, a single question claws its way into my mind, just as I take my first breath of freedom: did I really tear my way out of the maze? Or did something open it for me? Did I become innocent at last, like a flood washing away my guilt, or is there something darker behind my escape?
I don’t know. I don’t have the answers. But I know this—I’m free, and I am not the same man who was thrown into that prison. Whoever I was before, that man is gone, tempered into steel and sharpened by an unyielding patience. The maze didn’t break me; it forged me, stripping away weakness until only purpose remained.
In the endless silence, I convinced myself that the maze was no mere punishment but a crucible, a trial meant to bring me closer to godhood. To transcend, to endure beyond the limits of mortal strength—that was the true test. Now, I will find out why I was released, why the maze let me go.
I have returned, and I will confront those who betrayed me, tear through their lies, and watch them face their own ruin.
The multiverse stretches out before me, vast, dangerous, and full of secrets waiting to be uncovered. And whatever the truth may be, I will find it out myself. I step forward, letting the planes swallow me whole, a craftsman without a home, but with a purpose that burns brighter than ever.
From a combat perspective, Godsmen probably have the best weapons but Sensates teach the Sensory Touch (a weak healing ability). Both have their own store but the Sensate store is definitely more spell oriented.
From a roleplaying perspective, whichever you like more but leave room for visiting both so that you can finish the game. You'll need access to both factions to move on with the main quest. If you find yourself stuck, you can lie to the Sensates with high Charisma about being a member and you can get a delivery receipt from Giltspur for the Foundry. This is important because outside those you might be denied access to the grounds as a non-member. https://19216811.cam/
"But I guess there’s not really any other way to play TNO is there?" Does mage count as a melee character? I guess it still uses a knife...(You can change your class at the Ragpicker's Square)
This post is part of Firemind’s Thief Handbook: 2024+ Edition—a comprehensive guide for the Thief subclass.
Reference Level 1 Character Sheet
Backstory: Planescape
The Great Foundry hums around me, a living, breathing beast of iron and fire. Every clang of hammer on metal is a heartbeat, every hiss of steam a pulse that I’ve come to know like my own.
When I look at myself, I’m not sure if spending so much time here awakened some remote trace of Fire Genasi lineage in me, or if the Great Foundry itself somehow altered my very being.
I should feel pride—there’s honor in being a craftsman here, a member of the Believers of the Source, shaping something real out of raw potential. I’m immensely lucky that they believed in me—believed in my potential for greatness.
Growing up alone in the Cage brought me plenty of trouble, and I have no magical aptitude like the matter smiths do. All I’ve got are quick fingers and wits. They used to call me “Smart Rat,” though I haven’t heard that name in a while. These days, the factotums call me Firemind.
But what matters lies in front of me, not behind.
Chime and my tools are laid out before me. Over my shoulder, my mentor watches, silent but steady, his gaze grounding me. I pick up the thinker’s tools, my hand trembling slightly, and press them into Chime’s eyes, working with all the care I can summon. This mimir, this echo of its creator—a brilliant, optimistic Sensate—is all that’s left of her. She was a bright star in a world full of shadows, and keeping Chime running is my way of honoring her legacy, her voice, her memory.
I lose focus for a moment, glancing around as memories flood in. My mentor senses it and gently brings me back to the task. “Focus, Firemind. Remember why you’re doing this. Let your heart guide you.”
Our philosophy is to improve with each step, to make every experience count. And this work—this labor of love—is different. It’s special. I feel my hands moving with a life of their own, like a Cipher in a trance, pouring my whole self into the work. Hours slip by. Sweat stings, my muscles cramp, hunger and thirst gnaw at me, but I press on, feeling the quiet determination of my heart. The night fades into dawn. Maybe another night passes, too—I lose track, lost in the rhythm of my task. All I know is that, finally, I’m done.
The pink mimir, veined with golden cogs and scattered with musical notes, lights up. Chime comes to life, its voice greeting me in its usual cheerful tune. “Hey, Firemind! Good to see you again. What’ve you been up to? You look terrible—like you’ve been working harder than a modron on overtime!”
A smile breaks over my face, joy welling up as tears fill my eyes. It’s back—She’s back. My friend, my companion. I don’t know how I’d survive without her. She’s the reason I can keep going, a small comfort in the vast emptiness of my life.
---
But as the days pass, the Foundry’s hum shifts around me, becoming less a comfort, more a warning. The clang of hammers, the hiss of steam, every sound around me feels... wrong, tainted somehow. It started with whispers, with knowing glances and hollow reassurances. I’m a craftsman, not a fool. I feel it in my bones: I’m being watched.
My mentor comes to me with promises, telling me I’ve been chosen for a special project “for the good of Sigil.” He says I’m doing something noble, that this device I’m building will protect us all. But the more I work, the more my pride sours, twisting into something bitter. A device to channel Sigil’s latent power? It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t smell right. And yet, I try to believe him, try to trust in the ideals he preaches.
Then the Dabus begin to appear, gliding through the Foundry like silent phantoms, symbols floating around them, their meanings elusive but unsettling. The Dabus don’t come without reason, and each time they pass, a cold chill runs down my spine. They’re warning me, I realize too late. Warning me that I’m being used.
The realization hits like a hammer blow. I piece it all together—the whispers, the looks, the deception hidden in every promise. He didn’t want me for my skill; he needed someone to blame if things went wrong. He used me, manipulated me into building a machine that could drain Sigil’s power, all so he could cheat his way to godhood.
I try to shout, to call out the truth, but the words stick in my throat. Before I can speak, I feel it—a crushing weight in the air, pressing down on me, stealing my breath. The crowd parts, their heads lowered, and I turn to see her: the Lady of Pain, her blades gleaming coldly in the Foundry’s light. Everyone around me averts their gaze, backs away in silence. And as I stand there, frozen, I know she’s here for me.
My heart pounds, my body locked in place as her gaze pins me. The world shifts, the ground falling away, everything around me blurring as I’m pulled into the silence, into the maze. My last thought as reality tears away is a desperate, silent scream: I was innocent.
And in an instant, I’m ripped apart from reality itself. Erased in a single breath.
---
I feel it—the faintest tremor in the fabric of my prison, like a loose thread hidden in the weave. After years of endless corridors, shifting walls, and twisting paths, I've learned to sense the maze’s pulse, to understand its rhythms, though I don’t fully know how. She trapped me here, sealed away in this silent, living prison for a crime I did not commit. I was close to the truth, close to exposing the dark ambitions of my mentor—the one I thought was my protector, my savior from a troubled childhood. What a fool I was. Played like the perfect pawn.
It feels like I’ve been here for lifetimes, counting days that blur into one another. But I didn’t stop, I didn’t let go. I learned to fight my own mind, to press on, to survive. And through it all, I had Chime—the joyful voice in the endless dark, her spirit and endless patience saving me from despair, from madness. In the silence, her words would echo, her presence a reminder of who I was, of what I was fighting to return to.
Today, something’s different. I test the walls, pressing into the fractures I’ve discovered, their edges so thin they almost cut my fingers. I’ve found an imperfection, a flaw in this perfect prison—a crack small enough to slip through, but big enough if I push with everything I’ve got. I don’t know if this is the break I’ve been searching for or if I’m finally broken, but I don’t care. This might be my only chance. So I press forward, my whole being straining against the resistance, every ounce of strength I have left poured into that fracture, daring it to give way.
The walls shudder, bending inward before shattering around me. Light floods in—real, blinding light, brighter than anything I’ve seen in years. I stumble forward, stepping onto cold, unfamiliar ground beneath my feet. My body is weakened but hardened by survival, changed in ways I barely recognize.
I’m free. The air smells...sharp, foreign, alive. Somewhere, faint but strong in my memory, I think of Sigil, of the Great Foundry, of the life I was ripped away from. I thought I’d forgotten, but it all comes rushing back—the betrayal, and the false smiles of my mentor who manipulated me into creating something dangerous, something meant to steal Sigil’s power. He used me as a pawn in a plan to ascend to godhood, then threw me away when I got too close to the truth.
And now, a single question claws its way into my mind, just as I take my first breath of freedom: did I really tear my way out of the maze? Or did something open it for me? Did I become innocent at last, like a flood washing away my guilt, or is there something darker behind my escape?
I don’t know. I don’t have the answers. But I know this—I’m free, and I am not the same man who was thrown into that prison. Whoever I was before, that man is gone, tempered into steel and sharpened by an unyielding patience. The maze didn’t break me; it forged me, stripping away weakness until only purpose remained.
In the endless silence, I convinced myself that the maze was no mere punishment but a crucible, a trial meant to bring me closer to godhood. To transcend, to endure beyond the limits of mortal strength—that was the true test. Now, I will find out why I was released, why the maze let me go.
I have returned, and I will confront those who betrayed me, tear through their lies, and watch them face their own ruin.
The multiverse stretches out before me, vast, dangerous, and full of secrets waiting to be uncovered. And whatever the truth may be, I will find it out myself. I step forward, letting the planes swallow me whole, a craftsman without a home, but with a purpose that burns brighter than ever.
From a combat perspective, Godsmen probably have the best weapons but Sensates teach the Sensory Touch (a weak healing ability). Both have their own store but the Sensate store is definitely more spell oriented.
From a roleplaying perspective, whichever you like more but leave room for visiting both so that you can finish the game. You'll need access to both factions to move on with the main quest. If you find yourself stuck, you can lie to the Sensates with high Charisma about being a member and you can get a delivery receipt from Giltspur for the Foundry. This is important because outside those you might be denied access to the grounds as a non-member. https://19216811.cam/
"But I guess there’s not really any other way to play TNO is there?" Does mage count as a melee character? I guess it still uses a knife...(You can change your class at the Ragpicker's Square)