Back in 2001, I ran a Q&A with Zeb Cook [read it here], much like I did with Gary Gygax around the same time (found here Part 1 and Part 2). These interviews were lost to me for many years, until I ran into them last year (2010) and posted them. The Temple of Air was also lost to me… until yesterday. While browsing some of my old sites via the Wayback Archive, I ran across it – something I had completely forgotten about. This piece was related to the interview, but followed the next day (if I recall correctly). He had mentioned the temple and when pressed for more details, it is the piece below that he shared. He indicated at the time (in 2001) that this piece was never published for Planescape, so I assume it’s probably not published anywhere else, but I could be wrong (he could have put it up somewhere online for all I know). With that said, I hope this is something new for you to enjoy, but if it has turned up elsewhere and you have read it already, I apologize. Either way, here it is…

The Temple of Air

David “Zeb” Cook

Not all the temples found in Sigil venerate the powers of the Great Ring. There are more than a few beliefs that transcend the simple limits of orthdoxy to embrace the abstract. The Temple of Air is one such place. The Breathers hold that the very air of Sigil is imbued with holiness. Sigil’s air is the breath of centuries, bottled within the Cage. Each breath is the breath of someone who came before. A man breathes the taste of his wife, his uncles, and grandfathers and they have tasted the breath of fathers and lovers before them. The very air is what binds generations together.

So the Breathers, as most cutters know them, hold the very air of Sigil holy. It is the link to one’s ancestors, the receptacle of everything that has ever been. Breathing is more than living, more than art; it is a divine act. As such, it is not enough to inhale; the worshipper must learn to be conscious of every breath and to feel the essence of the past as it passes through his lungs. Breathing without understanding is futility.

The Breathers gather at the temple to learn the fundamentals of breathing. As such the grounds are not at all like a normal temple. There are no impressive displays to some mighty power, not even a modest house of worship. The temple is nothing but a simple compound wall laced with razorvine. Beyond the iron gate is what seems a garden with a circle of pillars. In truth it’s the entire temple – a polished marble slab ringed by pillars of Bytopian ivory, valuable to be sure but too massive to be the swag of any but the most gigantic knight of the post. On most days and in all weather a few worshippers sit on the stones, serenely communing with the air and all the spirits it contains.

The high priest of the temple, Grand-Duke Comolo, uncle to His Majesty Emperor Sindsaris of the House of Clouds on the Plane of Air, lives in a small set of apartments built into the far walls of the temple compound. He is attended by a modest staff of servants: a valet, two gardeners, a housekeeper, two maids, several spit-boys, and thirteen guards, all genasi of the air blood. He is hardly the image of a priest, barely atttentive to his own duties.

The Chant: Word to be had from the Miracle Man is that the duke’s in exile, cast out of the Airy Realm for his part in the Innsurection of the Strati. The guards and the servants are not his and the duke lives a virtual prisoner within the walls. It may be that among the Breathers are agents loyal to the duke, passing messages back to fellow plotters on the Inner Planes.

Marston Mouse-Ears believes there’s a vault beneath the marble slab where temple treasure is hid.

The Dark: The Miracle Man’s information is true; the duke has been banished to Sigil and his guards are his wardens, though not that he complains. He was a reluctant revolutionary. Of late, agents of the Strati have been joining the cult, intent on drawing the man back into their rebellious plans.

Marston is wrong. There is no treasure