Salt: Stories of Salt

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Stories of Dry Blasted Planewalkers

Salt Cavern, by Roy Random

PTC Report (by Monte Lin)

Authored by Dashel Firbern, Independent Consultant

Hereby begins my report to the Plane Trade Consortium...My attempts to explore the so-called alternate multiverse have proved less than absolute. Whether or not these multiverses are merely alternate Primes with different physics and environments, or true alternatives to our belief-based reality is not a matter for this report. I am here to report the facts, and to do so in relation to the Consortium.
My explorations have sent me to the Plane of Salt, as rumors and various sources point in that direction. There I hoped to find signs of salt based lifeforms, not manifestations of the plane itself, but the remnants of perhaps a whole elemental, Prime, and belief system based not on flesh and blood, but of salt.
There, I was confronted by a very secretive people, with a yellowish and pale skin, and no hair. They dressed not in leather or cloth, what we consider once live material, but in mineral and metal. I made the mistake of touching one and found that my skin and theirs are mutual destructive. I suffered burns not of fire, and that would not heal easily. The creature suffered the same effects.
They were very hostile, and immediately captured me to determine my danger to them. They refused to answer my questions, and I was forced to eavesdrop to determine who they may be. These people come from a plane where all life is salt and mineral based. They are semi-solid crystals, with a liquid-like substance similar to ooze. They tend to be slower metabolically, and water breaks down their crystalline structure, hence the mutual burns I suffered from them.
Their world had fallen apart for one reason or another, and they migrated to the plane of Salt. Their loss, as well as the close proximity to the Negative Material Plane, has colored their outlook on life. They tend to be very xenophobic, selfish, and slightly evil. Their population consists of warriors and priests, though I know not what power(s) they worship. They have a few mages of minor power, perhaps they do not have the energy to work more powerful magic.
As a people for trade, I cannot recommend them until they have become less hostile to water based life such as us. As you can see, they revel in our pain, and the burns I have suffered will never fully heal. Thus I end my report, and will not be able to return to active duty at this time.

Xib the Bleaker, a Tale (by Phill Howard)
I pray to whatever powers may be watching over my poor hide that some cutter finds this and uses it to keep himself out of the dead-book or worse... my name is Xib, and i am a planewalker. to use an obscure prime term I picked up a ways back, I've been on walkabout for quite a while - recording the darks I see in many a backwater prime world and lost corner of more planes than I care to remember.
This brings me to my current situation - I was runnin some crates of something for this aasimar blood I know back in the cage to a small town on the slopes of Gehenna. What the berk didn't tell me was that the crates were paid for by a yugoloth high-up and another one of those flamin fiends didn't want it to get there, and so on and so forth - you know the story. Anways, I was stuck in this burg, trying to wait out an insurrection of the locals against their overbearing, maniacal, fiend-backed deacon, another familiar story for any berk who's ever been to Plague-mort. Things are going well, I'm staying in the shadows, right nice and tight, ready to fly my cage once the moment presented itself.
Then the damn slopes melted.
Seems the mountain had chosen that exact moment to erupt underneath the town, and I'm scrambling to the top of this case I'm staying at in order to avoid the burning miasma of magma and earth. I'll pause now to agree with my bleaker philosophy that there ain't much point to living, but then again cutters, there ain't much point to gettin scragged in the lower planes, either. Needless to say, I was lookin for a mighty quick exit to my current locale. The building starts to go out from under me, and I hop from roof to roof, using some extra jumping power in the shoes I picked up from a sod somewhere - thank the powers I did, because the jumps were easily 30 feet across from building to building. I'm tryin to outrace the flow of the mountain, and as I do so, I notice another bunch of unlucky sods like me on a building close by. Then I see something that really interests me - the berks had a portable portal, but like something I'd never seen. They musta been some high-class cutters 'cause it wasn't any second rate gear that was workin for 'em. They dropped a couple o' stones down into this open hatch on the kip they were standing on, and then there's a portal open - but somethin ain't exactly kosher with it - it keeps flickerin and changin scenes from what I could see as I ran over to 'em. They disappeared through it right as I got there. Then the whole damn world started shakin and the building next to me collapsed, sending a spray of lava hurtling towards me. I didn't have time to see where I was going, I dove in head first as the portal closed and the lava dragged the rest of the building down into the inferno.
I wish I had looked, though.
I came to and it was really, really dark and dry. I lit a match from my special stash and looked around. I was in a huge, crystalline cavern, with some of the most incredible formations I had ever seen. The rocky walls were like snow, and they glittered and shone like I never seen anything do - not even the jink I got from the Acheron run looked half as beautiful. The floor was all curvy and it looked like it had been etched by water a long time ago, because there was a thin layer of dust on everything. Everything, except for the footprints that stretched off into the darkness before me. Singeing my pegs, I dropped the match and busted out my torch, prepared for a little look-see. I walked along the walls, running my hands along them - parts of the rocky crystals broke off, and my hand looked almost as fragile as the walls because of the flaky residue - on a sneaking suspicion, I put one of my pegs in my mouth - dammit, I was right. I was in a baatezu's bath now - I had narrowly escaped certain death on Gehenna to find myself safe in certain death on the negative elemental plane of salt.
Joy.
I quickly took stock of how much water I had, knowing that I would probably need every last succulent drop to make it out of here to any place other than the plane my maker was on.
That was two and a half weeks ago.
I am sitting here, with my back against the wall of my salty coffin, my water exhausted four days ago, my food gone last week, staring at the spot where the footsteps in the dust vanished without a trace. I have written this, entire semi coherently, wandering in and out of dementia brought on by the glittering facets of the walls, at least while my torches held out. Since last week I have been wandering around in the darkness, though I discovered that if I squinted just right I could see faintly, as though the salt was bioluminescent or something. A bit like those deep sea fishes that lure their prey in and eat them with huge teeth... sorry, I was running my bone box again.
I do that more and more often now.
So I am signing my last, licking my dry, cracked lips with a bloated and swollen tongue, running my flaking pegs over my stretched and sallow skin. Wondering if there ever was anything ever known as moisture. Wondering why it has been so long since I watered the dragon. Wondering if anyone will ever find my salt encrusted body and this manuscript in this gods-forsaken pocket of the plane of salt. I swear I'll never pour salt on another slug again. Good night, good night, parting is such salty sorrow.............
*Ink spilled on page*
Not so fast there, berk.
I made it out. heh heh heh, looks like this tiefling has a few more tricks up his sleeve than nicks in his ear. Just as I was about to pay the music and shake my death rattle, a violent dry heave sent my keg straight into my inkbottle. Well, in addition to wasting 20 silvers worth of good ink, the ink just happened to activate a portal that took up the entire diameter of the smaller tunnel I was in, right where the feet disappeared. Call me lucky, call me blessed, call me happier than a modron with an oil can and steel wool - call me out of that salty hell. I crawled through the flickering light into, of all places, the skylight of iarmid's other place, right above their pool. The shock of all that water damn near killed me too, but I'm a tough cutter, or so I like to think. So after a week or so makin my kip at a small hole nearby, I was ready to go again, back to my old schedule of drinkin and makin runs for high payin bashers with goods to move.
I don't take salt on my food anymore, though.
[Author's Note: Kegs are hands, Pegs are fingers, and Baatezu's bath is of course a figure of speech.]

Sting in the Tail (by Tom Bubul)
So you're going off to Salt; aren't you an intrepid basher? I'll tell yer about Sting in the Tail, a town that was there in my time and that you're bound to come stumblin' through, for a bit of the old jinky wink. Yah, thas' nice 'n generous of yer. It's a cagey little town, Sting in the Tail. You'd think every berk there has fleas - but they're a jumpy lot for good reason, I found out.
I was new on Salt at the time, fresh in from Sigil to find a bit of natrium for some friends back home. Salt isn't a very nice place to visitors, to begin with - it's a harsh plane that'll sterilize a berk until there's nothing left of him but bones if the proper precautions aren't taken - but Sting in the Tail is worse than the rest of it. It's a well-off little town that sits on a portal to Sigil, and has its own water source, so a cutter'd think the locals have nothing to complain about - but apparently, they do.
I came through from Sigil at night, and looked about to get m'bearings. Just as soon as I'm through and the dizziness from portal travel is worn off, all of the locals are around me with their torches and silver-edged swords glimmering. One basher walks up to me, puts the point of 'is sword up to m'neck, and drops a handful of salt in me 'and. 'Toss it over your shoulder,' 'e says from behind 'is clenched teeth. As barmy a request as it was, I toss it over m'shoulder, an' everyone drops their weaponry, gives me a nice hello, and goes back to their kips without another word about it.
The next morning, I come downstairs from my room in their hostel for breakfast, before going out to find my natrium. Everyone around greeted me with all sweetness and light, like I'd been there forever. I made small talk with the owner while I ate my eggs, an' eventually came to the question of the salt getting thrown over the shoulder. He glared at me, and didn't answer.
I left the town all waves and smiles, and came back with a small amount of natrium expecting the same. Again they were equipped for the kill, and hand me the salt. 'Toss it over your shoulder,' says the same burly sod. 'What for?' I asked him. 'Jus' do it, it's nothing,' he says, drawing a drop of blood from my poor neck with his sword. I tossed it over my shoulder, and he nodded. Moments later, there was a flash of light and another sod came through a different portal across the square. The burly cutter lowered his weapon, and the townsfolk all ran over to the new arrival. They all threw salt over their shoulders as they ran - it was a barmier site than a pack of slaadi hopping through Limbo's soup. As soon as they started their salt slinging, the newcomer from the portal freezes up and starts to have a seizure. When asked to throw salt over 'is own shoulder, his skin peels off and he starts getting horned, and tentacled - the beast lashes out and screams, the people continue throwing salt over their shoulders, and they start to stab it. Looking more like a fiend's worst dream than a planewalker, the sod fell back through the portal, screaming in pain. It wasn't a pretty sight.
'What was that thing?' I asked. 'Idle superstition,' was the only response I was able to get as the townsfolk dispersed without another word.

Expeditions (By Belarius)
From the journal of Araelin the Shifter, found in the wastes of Pelion
Day 32
I've had good fortune thus far. The radiant quasielemental proved much easier to charm than expected. My guide through Air warned me that Salt's opposing position to Radiance would be my downfall - he's surely wrong. As 'intelligent' as I'm warned the denizens are, I doubt they've ever seen normal light, much less pure radiance. I will give this no more thought.
The Chiseled Estate is an impressive place - the delicate architecture is beautiful. Cryonax's cronies accepted my tribute greedily, and in return I have been allowed to rest here. The Cloak masks my body heat, so Cryonax probably won't even know I'm here - at least, not before I'm long gone. Soon, the real challenge - stealing an icebarge from a paraelemental lord.

Day 34
I've done it! The edge of Precipice is now out of view, and my radiant and I are sailing through the Frigid Void. The paraelementals didn't expect resonant magic, and three were shattered before they could react. My radiant managed to hold them off with concussive damage while I prepped the icebarge, and we were off. For good measure, I torched their remaining barges, though it cost me a spell key. The chase that followed was almost comical: a flurry of ice mephits - the only things that could keep up with us - flew after us, only to be partially melted by my radiant's rays. Within an hour, we were off Precipice's edge, and plummeting through the border of Vacuum.
My radiant now scans from the bow to spot the salt flats, while I get some much-earned rest. Soon, I will reach Salt.

Day 45
A close call today, followed by unending frustration. My radiant awoke me abruptly, and just as I was going to punish it for its disrespect, it shined its rays off the bow, making a small white circle in the sky. It took me a moment to register that we were crashing toward the Salt Flats at breakneck speeds. The barge, made of ice, was already starting to disintegrate the cold of Vacuum being the only thing that kept it from instantly evaporating in the water-hungry emptiness. I quickly prepared a *feather fall* spell, which allowed me to descend safely to the surface, my radiant floating behind me. There was, of course, no noise when the barge crashed - and I doubt there was much vibration either. The barge seemed to fragment and vanish at the moment of impact, with only a shallow dish in the salt as evidence that it has ever existed at all. If, for some ridiculous reason, Cryonax wants revenge for the destruction of his icebarges, my tracks will be well covered.
Adding insult to injury, I discovered that everything not stored under the Cloak, including the ink that the merchant in Air assured me would remain liquid even in dry Salt had hardened into a coal-like lump. I must use a variant of dictate to keep this record of my progress. I'm glad it occurred to me to memorize it, just in case.
Divinations pointed us toward the Crystal Range, where this mad quest can finally be completed. We shall set off tomorrow.

Day 50
A strange creature attacked us today. Unlike most denizens of Salt, it was not in the least crystalline. It was black, and almost impossible to see, even with the glow of my radiant to guide me. The few glimpses I got shows a sleek, muscular form. It was not stealthy - had it been, I would surely have fallen to its talons. Using bladed boots (or perhaps bladed feet?) it sprinted across the landscape at remarkable speeds, leaping just as it became visible. My reflexes save me - the tar-black blades it was using to run could have sliced my head in half. After vainly trying to fight the murderous thing off, I finally sealed myself in a wall of force and waited for it to leave. The thing slammed into my impenetrable dome in a very satisfying way. I was struck with the intelligent manner by which it investigated the wall, and I got a much better look during this time. It was roughly humanoid, though it's whole body was distorted for near-constant running - I doubt it could stand up without moving forward. Its head was particularly alien in shape. After an hour of systematic checking for holes in the dome, it left, and once my radiant announced that the coast was clear, we got underway again. I have seen no more of these strange beings, and I hope not to.
The terrain is becoming hillier. Though this slows our progress - salt-dunes are no easier to climb than sand dunes - it is a clear sign that we are approaching the Crystal Range. With luck, we will soon be near enough for me to use more practical means of travel.

Day 60
The darkness overhead has become even more oppressive than before, and the dunes have turned to steep hills. This must be the Crystal Range, the border between Salt and Negative Energy. Were it not for my all-protecting Cloak, I would surely be dead now. My radiant is not well - the negative taint in the environment has weakened it, and I fear it may not survive this quest. No matter - it will last long enough to get me to Citadel Sealt.
Few places have the sort of desolate beauty of this place. Elaborate crystalline structures stretch into the vacuous blackness, more complex than any mortal structure. My radiant scouts ahead of me to find easy paths and it casts strange shadows on the deep ravines and jagged peaks. I must say, the technique I'm using is rather ingenious. One of the Dead gave me the secret for the construction of 'wings,' made of a fabric that is pushed by life force instead of wind. As such, I can glide long distanced on my own power, cutting the time needed to travel across this terrain. Those who say the Dead lack creativity haven't seen the clever things they can accomplish when given a challenging task.
I must say, I'm becoming a little stir-crazy. I haven't heard a single voice since I escaped the Chiseled Estate. As long as I can keep my composure, the Cloak will do the rest - those Sinkers won't know what hit them!

Day 72
I have finally arrived at the Citadel. The foolish Doomguard accepted my petition - they think I'm one of theirs! Granted, the Cloak makes me seem exactly like their precious candidate for the Entropy Championship, and I took the proof of my intentions from the very berk's stiff fingers. The Doom Lord here is too impulsive and violent to take to proper precautions - dangerous for someone who lets fiends call kip in his Citadel. As soon as I have what I came for, I can escape.
This place is truly a marvel, carved entirely from the tip of one of the tallest spires in the Crystal Range. It's said that at the very top of the Citadel, a body can leap directly into Negative Energy, leaving the borderlands behind. What amazes me is that this place can stay standing, what with the wear and tear of people walking around. It seems unlikely that the Doomguard of all factions would cast 'preservative' spells on something. Perhaps there is a natural force at work.
The fiends are a trump card I hadn't expected. I knew (and banked on) the fact that the 'Salty Sinker' were among the most violent and entropically 'progressive' of their thought guild, but to openly deal with both sides of the Blood War! Never mind that no one can figure out how the Sinkers get from Sigil to here (obviously via portal, but no one knows where they are or what the key is). This is impressively daring of them. I may be able to use a scuffle between the devils and demons to cover my escape. We shall see.

Day 75
I have it! Assuming their stronghold was impenetrable to all but the fiends, the Sinkers did not properly protect their magical texts. I now have the secret to creating Entropy Blades! From this I can extract a more general formula.
I'm safe for now. My radiant died protecting me from a fiendish onslaught, so it's glow can no longer give me away. Using my airy salt spell, researched especially for this quest, I 'swam' straight down through the walls of the Citadel (which were carved from solid salt) and into the heart of the plane. The Cloak hides my moisture from the water-hungry denizens of the plane, and the Doomguard can't follow my if I leave no path. I am safe. I now merely need to get out of the forsaken plane and back to Sigil.

Day 83
Lost. All lost. The Cloak of Forms is destroyed, the books of the Doomguard shredded, and I can hardly move. I must escape this place, find somewhere to hide out. Someplace lonely.
For a time all was well. Using my compass I oriented toward the Saline Sea where, gods willing, I could dodge the facets and escape into Water. Then, catastrophe struck. The locals (I know not how) discovered my presence and attacked. They were not a real threat, as the Cloak can deal with such minor attacks as they those they used. The threat was to the books I have spent the last quarter-year questing for. I could not remove my Cloak in the Citadel, or my ruse would have been discovered - so I carried the books in my rucksack, assuming they would be safe.
Fearing they would be destroyed, I fled the attackers. I must have been distracted, because I didn't notice the crystal veins weaving across my path. Salt hardened to unnatural levels, crystal veins are said to be sharp enough to cut anything. My leg and the Cloak that covered it proved to be no exception. The Cloak unraveled, sending wild gouts of magical force all about. The accursed salt-beasts were destroyed, but I was trapped in a maze of crystal veins, with decapitation looming at every limb. Further, the dehydration began to sap my fluids the instant the Cloak was broken. In mere seconds, the blood flowing from my hip has hardened into a rocky coating on my stump.
Delirious from shock and pain, I flailed about trying to escape. I lost three fingers, an ear, and everything in my rucksack.. Including the books. By some miracle I stumbled upon a colony of elves who, for reason I won't even begin to fathom, live in Salt. I fell onto the lawn they cultivated like a dead bird from the sky. They have nursed me back to consciousness. They do not seem to realize who I am or why I am in Salt. They have asked few questions indeed. As soon as I can move, I will escape this place, before they learn what I am! It is the Cloak, even in its destruction, that saves me for the time being. I am trapped in the body of the Sinker I was impersonating, and do not have my natural form. But the elves speak of casting a restoration spell on me! Such would bring me back to my true form, and I would surely die. I will escape when I can.

Day 90
I understand. The Crystal Triangle was the gate - now I'm in a much wetter desert than the one I left. It must be Pelion. The elves of Coriander are surely looking for me now. I must escape them, find a way off this accursed plane! At least I am no longer in the Inner Planes. But I must find civilization - without food, I will die.
I was so close! Perhaps those salt beasts were the bloodhounds of the Doomguard - it would explain how they found me. No crying over spilled milk now. I'll rest a while longer, then continue on. As for this journal, it has become too heavy for me, in my weakened state. I'll leave it here, to be buried in white sand, forgotten like everything else in Pelion. I'm out of dictate spells anyway.
Eh? Is someone there? Who goes there? No, I was so close, you can't punish me for trying, Nooooo!

Journal Ends

Copyright 2000, the Mimir Team
Layout by Jon Winter and Jeremiah Golden
Salt Cavern picture by Roy Random