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The Great Modron March

Choo Choo

Choo Choo

THE GRIEF TRAIN HAS NO BRAKES
Location
Sweden -> California
Pronouns
She/her
The grand city of Sigil is a study in contradictions, as can only be expected of the center of somewhere as barmy as the Planes. Known both as the Cage and the City of Doors, it sits on the inside of a torus wrapped around the top of the infinitely tall spire sitting smack dab in the middle of the Outlands. Official Harmonium measurements state that the city's got a diameter of five miles and a twenty mile circumference... but that doesn't matter none, since the Lady can enlarge or shrink the city as she wills, when she wills.

The point is that while Sigil's huge, it ain't infinite; the city is overwhelmed, barnacled and encrusted with buildings. Almost anywhere a cutter stands, if they look up, they'll see buildings as the city curls in on itself above them. 'Course, smoke and distance obscure the view across the center, creating a gray haze with only a few dim lights from the other side shining through.

Despite the city's massive size, it always seems crowded. Every square inch of the place is occupied, if not by a confusing jumble of buildings then by a confusing jumble of people; and nowhere in the city is busier than the Market Ward.

It's three hours after peak, and this vast district of shops, stalls and roaming peddlers is bustling furiously with activity. While the Great Bazaar is always a madhouse no matter what the time of day is, it's busiest in afternoons like this. Everyone is out at this hour, after all - common folk going about their everyday business, touts guiding some new bunch of Clueless around the city, hawkers yelling at the top of their lungs to promote some store or other, knights of the post looking for a quick peel. Races from almost all the Planes are represented here, too, from malicious tanar'ri to noble archons, and everything in-between and above and to the side. Not even the fire giant trampling his way through the streets raises any eyebrows. The crowd just casually shifts to accommodate him and to avoid being crushed underneath his huge feet.

And then there are five cutters about to get going on the barmiest ride of their lives - they just don't know it yet.

@Firnagzen, @Mister Bad Guy, @NormalSightMan, @Krecart, @FlatlineAskari, @Gadjo
 
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"'Jink?'" The screeching query would have turned heads were it not for the massive ambient din. "What in the Nine is 'jink'? I have no 'jink'!"

Kurmyt reaches a scaly, clawed hand into his robes and fishes out a pair of silvers. "I have coin. Say it with me. 'C-o-i-n'. Oh, don't give me that look, you overgrown space heater. I'm trying to instill in you a respect for language, but it seems you are intent on spurning my generosity. Fine! Just take my money and give me the goods!"

Kurmyt pushes his way through the bustling market district, his precious cargo clutched close to his tiny chest. For all he hates about his culture, he is rather grateful that his kobold physiology gives him the ability to digest almost anything. Food is expensive in Sigil; everything edible is imported...except rats.

And rats are on the menu tonight, just like they were every night for the past year. During that time, Kurmyt was able to deduce which stalls made the best rat for cheapest. He also developed an intense dislike for the local slang. Yes, he knows he's considered a "cutter", but would it kill these degenerates to use more well-established terms? "Journeyman" is a single syllable of extra effort, but that's apparently too much to ask.

Tossing a rat into his crocodilian jaws, Kurmyt ruminates over how he's going to spend the evening. Will he splurge his savings on a trip to the Library of the Guvners? Perhaps he'll go to the courthouse and do some more freelance work for the Fraternity of Order. Either way, it promises to be a relaxing evening without any unexpected, unwanted encounters.
 
A lithe, black haired tiefling made her way through the market crowd, markedly ignoring the stalls and the peddlers. Though her form was mostly hidden under a drab, dusty cloak, one could still see a thin tail swishing left to right under the fabric, the tip dancing from side to side just above the stones of the street. A pair of intelligent red eyes peeked out from underneath her hood as she carefully scanned the throngs of people.

That berk looks like he's got some jink- might be a good mark. Cager like me should be able to peel him easy.

Lelista smiled as she stalked up behind a particularly ostentatious clueless. A kobold would be a bit of a challenge though. A bump and grab would never work on them- too short. Couldn't try to pick it as she passed- She'd be made on the spot if she leaned down like that. Best not to get caught by someone so loud- a body would be rattling the birdcage making stupid mistakes like that. Crowd like this'd make doing the bolt difficult.

Well, Andrew has his method...

Andrew was a smart cutter. Maybe not as smart as herself, Lelista presumed, but the man had a certain charm to him. Never played bump and grab, never did the bolt- barmy cutter would just talk to them while he had his finger rattling through their jink. Lelista hadn't tried it before- after all, what kind of thief needs to do that?- but it had a certain allure here. Besides, she figured, never a bad time to try new things.

@NormalSightMan

Lelista awkwardly put her hand on the kobold's shoulder, not pressing very hard. It was obvious she wasn't at all comfortable with the idea of physical contact with the reptilian man before her- out of nervousness more than anything else.

"Hello there! You seem like a cutter with some worms in his brain-box! Peddlers not having any luck separating you from your hard earned jink are they?"

Lelista smiled widely. It was an unsettling smile- not because of the razor sharp teeth it exposed- but because it was so obviously fake. Her free hand hung awkwardly at her side, her dexterous and carefully chosen motions instantly rendered unnatural and nervous as she tried to read the berk for an opening. How did Andrew do that?

"So! What's a cutter like you doing about the Cage? You look tired. Here, I'll show ya a good oasis. You can fill your belly up with some bub, hear the chant- there's one good place right over there, actually."

Lelista pointed off at a run-down bar on the other side of the street, eager to get the berk looking away long enough to bob him and hide in the crowd.
 
Kurmyt twitches at the sudden physical contact and the subsequent stream of Planar Cant spouting through the Tiefling's fangs. His irritation is soon replaced by confusion when he realizes how fake the woman's mannerisms look. It looks practiced. Forced. That can only mean one thing.

"You are, without a doubt, the worst tout I have ever encountered," Kurmyt says, somewhat harshly. "I would be annoyed at you for accosting me without solicitation, but I am so embarrassed for you; so chagrinned at your ineptitude as a guide, that all I can find within myself is pity. Congratulations."

Unfolding his sack, Kurmyt pulls out a freshly roasted rat. He holds it up to the tiefling.

"Given your complete incompatibility with your chosen trade, I assume you are hungry."
 
Grey skies over Featherdale, heavy with the promise of rain. Elwin ambles on, humming softly to himself; unconcerned, intent on a file of deer tracks - no more than a couple of hours old, by his reckoning. So focused that he doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary, until -
- a flood of sound and smell, unmistakably, overwhelmingly urban, foreign -
- sudden disorientation, dislocation, the vertiginous horror of stepping forwards into empty air -
- far too late, he grabs wildly for a branch -
- which isn't there -
- tumbles out of an inexplicable window, falls for just long enough to start considering screaming, bounces painfully off an indeterminate big shiny thing, and lands heavily, covered in what promise to be some really unfun bruises.
Cold cobblestones.
He lies there a moment, then for want of alternatives takes a look around; a street full of miscellaneous persons slash beings, who'll merit further attention once he can focus on them properly, bustle by as if ballistic druids were an everyday occurrence. There seems to be something badly wrong with the sky, almost like … no. Another matter to file away for later examination; more immediate concerns to deal with. He recovers his staff, starts making halfhearted attempts to get up, and looks blearily in the general direction of the tall (tall, wow tall) figure in impractical full-plate who helpfully broke his fall. And, by the feel of it, possibly also some of his less important bones.
"mrrrrgh ow. Ow. Sorry. But what? And how? More to the point, where …?"
(@Krecart)
(- and, the breadth of a moment away, peace returns to an empty glade, an arch of boughs swaying in a gentle breeze).
 
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The warforged known as Haul wanders aimlessly though the streets of Sigil. A confusing place. He had been walking for nearly a solid day since being relieved of duty, and had yet to reach the end. Cities were supposed to end eventually, weren't they? He's seen maps. Places have edges.

Then something crashes into him, sending the construct sprawling. He prepares to lash out with his hammer, in expectation of another squishy trying to steal his things. They kept doing that for some reason. He'd even seen one attempt to pry away his shiny plating when he had stopped, motionless for nearly an hour, to consider his lack of orders.

...but this squishy was asking questions. Questions were sort of like orders. He can even answer some of them.

@FlatlineAskari
"Sigil." Haul grates, getting to his feet and checking his body for dents and scuffs. Still shiny. Good. "This place is called Sigil."

"How? Hrrmm..." Haul raises a hand to his chin, and strokes it with his thumb and forefinger. He'd seen his previous commander do this often when the wizard was thinking about things. The wizard was very smart and thought about lots of things, so it must've helped. The man also had a beard, and wasn't made of metal which would explain the lack of horrid metallic scraping that Haul is generating.

"You fell on me." Haul says with a tone of revelation, green construct eyes focusing on the damaged squishy.

"Are you from up there?" the warforged asks, pointing up at the lights where the torus city wrapped around itself. "Don't know how people stay up there."
 
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Tout!? This barmy berk thinks- wait, well. I suppose I can use this. Just accept the rat. Chat over food. Maybe he'll get comfortable? Never had rat before.

Lelista took the rat somewhat graciously- never a bad time to try something new, after all- and took a ravenous bite, her razor sharp teeth easily ripping the crispy critter into bite-sized shreds. It was almost edible. She'd have to remember this if she were ever unfathomably desperate.

"...Y-Yes. You... you caught me." Lelista made a show of being downcast, breaking eye contact and staring at the ground. "How about I... show you 'round the cage? Give you the chant? I've... I've got to learn sometime..."

Lelista looked up through the tops of her eyes, watching the kobold's reaction.
 
Kurmyt huffs out his nostrils. This is not how he wanted to spend his evening. Still, he's in a sufficiently charitable mood that he can indulge this strange person. Heavens only know he's had to deal with worse company. "Fine. Show me your routine, and I will offer constructive criticism when I have it. Which I expect will be often."

He narrows his orange eyes at the tiefling. "I don't do favors often, so consider yourself lucky."
 
A construct capable of holding down a conversation? This is ... novel. Normally, the operative term would be 'alarming', but these aren't normal circumstances. Besides, he (it?) seems friendly enough.

Elwin regains his feet, and glances cautiously up at the distant, yes, inhabited ceiling - which he was really hoping to avoid doing, in the vain hope that things might start making sense if left to their own devices. His grasp of the wider human geography of Faerûn is a little shaky, but he's dead certain he'd have heard something if there were a spatially unconventional metropolis anywhere near his neck of the woods.

@Krecart
"No, I'm not from anywhere around here, ah ... got a name, tin-man? Mine's Elwin."

In his opinion, a pattern's beginning to emerge. Unstable portal left lying about? Probably some passing mage. Intellig- apparently sapient animated armor-golem-person? Definitely magic. Underground(?) city lacking in dimensional common sense? This bears all the hallmarks of pointy-hatted meddlers.

"Who runs this place? Wizards? I think I might be in need of their expertise."

After all, he reasons, even on the offchance that this isn't their fault and they don't need a lecture on recklessly interfering with the fabric of reality, they're bound to know more about all this than he does. They might even be willing to help out. He's got no great desire to see any more of this place than strictly necessary to get away from it, ideally in the direction of home. Sigil. Sigil. Somehow, even the name manages to be unlikeable.
 
The squishy also wished to leave? In his mind, Haul tentatively moves Elwin from the 'squishy' category to that of 'ally'.

@FlatlineAskari
"I am Haul, Ally Elwin." the warforged replies without visibly emoting.

"Wizards could lead this place..." Magic would explain the buildings on the ceiling and the apparent lack of edges. Mages could do many things. Targeting enemy casters first was standard battle doctrine for a very good reason. Perhaps finding one would allow him to return to the creators for redeployment.

"...but I do not know Sigil's chain of command." Haul continues, voice full of excitement at the prospect of a new objective, "I am also not from here."
 
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Suddenly, the organics all feel a curious sensation in the back of their brain-boxes, like a cross between a tickle and an interrupted sneeze; for Haul, it's as if some mild corrosive acid is pooling in some hollow space in there, eating away at metal and wood. These sensations rapidly grow stronger and more painful, as if there was a massive hand squeezing their brains, as if Haul's entire head was dissolving into nothing, and it's all any of them can do to keep from passing out. Despite the crowd rushing by, nobody stops to help them, not in Sigil; at the most, they get a few pitiful glances.

And then all of them take an involuntary half-step forward. The pain diminishes ever so slightly, they find, as they move in that direction. Other than that, they don't feel any compulsion to move - just the lessening pain.
 
Kurmyt clutches at his scaly head, dropping his precious rats. He lets loose a string of epithets in Draconic before rounding on his new "companion".

@Gadjo
"This is your doing, isn't it?!" he screeches, only to realize the tiefling is affected just as much as he. "Bah, fine. I'm still holding you provisionally responsible until I have someone else to blame. But first thing's first!"

Without bothering to pick his sack back up, the wizard rushes in the direction that promised relief. "Come, you miserable excuse for a tout! I want to give you a good dressing-down when my brain doesn't feel like it's about to melt out my ears!"
 
"That's funny; not normal, is-?"
Elwin trails off, reeling, as the pain hits, narrowly avoiding getting intimate with the ground again. After a moment's thought, he takes a hesitant pace back, just in a spirit of inquiry, then immediately staggers forward wishing he hadn't as the agony redoubles. Gods damn it all.

@Krecart
"Don't suppose ow you've got any bloody ow suggestions? Other than going wherever we're aaaaa why this led?"
It's punctuated by a couple more, very reluctant, steps forwards. Even as he suggests it, disobeying the implicit command sounds futile – worse, it'd probably result in creative unpleasantness.
 
Lelista stumbled, clutching her head. What in the hells?

"I-I am not-" The tiefling cut off. She wasn't sure what was going on, but spoiling the game right now wouldn't help things any. She took off- wait. The sack. No sense in leaving something behind.

She picked up the sack, clenching her teeth at the sharp, unrelenting pain as she did so, and took off after the kobold, hoping she would soon feel like her head wasn't in a vice.
 
"I... do. Not." Haul growls, taking slow, measured steps away from the inexplicable pain in his head. The pain wanted him to walk, or his head would melt.

If he looked at it that way, it was a simple enough task. Why it had to hurt was beyond him. It was not a warforged's place to question orders...

...but his head really hurt.

"Ally Elwin, I suggest we move out."

Without another word, Haul sets off along the path of least discomfort. A firm objective in mind, the warforged plows through the crowded streets with relative ease.

The local squishies would move, or they wouldn't. Orders were orders.
 
The lessening pain leads the four through the streets, taking strange turns and short-cuts. Only following a very specific, winding path reduces the agony; any deviation and it begins to increase again.

They're walking through a nondescript alley in the outskirts of the Clerk's Ward when the pain vanishes completely, as if it had never been there. When it stops, they find themselves standing outside a narrow, two-story building with the name Jysson, Clerk written on a plaque on the front door.

The two pairs arrive almost at the same time.
 
Jysson? Berk better have a damn good explanation for that or he's gonna bite the iron.

Lelista raised an eyebrow at the other two thrown into this. Some berk that looked like he'd been rolling around in the woods for the last week- probably a crude- and some metal man. Cage never did cease to get weirder did it? Oh well.

"You... you two felt it too, I take it?" Lelista ventured, carefully. "Dunno who this Jysson berk is, but I got a hunch he wants to rattle his bonebox at us. Any of you know him? Can't think of what he'd want with me."

The tiefling is standing tall and confident now, one hand sitting in a pocket of her cloak.
 
Kurmyt gives the tiefling a sidelong glance. Where was this confidence before? There are going to be words...but later. There's something more pressing to attend to.

"Bonebox," the kobold sneers. "Why is 'mouth' such a difficult word for the people of this city? Isn't slang supposed to be a linguistic tool to increase efficiency in communication? You've doubled the number of syllables in 'mouth' just to add...what? Flavor? Texture? You've already confused the half-elf and his poor golem."

Kurmyt pauses his tirade to actually get a look at the newcomers. "Come to think of it, I've never heard of a golem looking confused before. You, with the twigs." He nods at the half-elf. "...Twigs. You just came from the Prime, didn't you? Unless you're from some forest plane...nevermind! Did you construct this golem?"
 
Elwin, leaning heavily on his staff, the worse for having wound and woven and doubled back through what feels like half of this accursed city's streets, recovers his breath and turns to the newcomers. One's an odd little fellow of the reptilian persuasion, and apparently very inquisitive -

@NormalSightMan
"Afraid none of that means much to me. I'm from the Dalelands, Faerûn, Abeir-Toril. I tripped over a portal in the woods, maybe ten miles northwest of Blackfeather as the crow flies, found myself …"
He's got a pretty good sense of direction, but it isn't remotely equipped to handle Sigil's lack of urban planning, let alone its finite-unbounded geometry.
"... Somewhere 'round here, wherever that might be. As for the construct, I ran into him since then; nothing like any kind of golem I've ever heard of. I didn't build him, nor is he mine. Says his name's Haul, if that helps?"
Elwin gives the helpless shrug of one so far out of his depth that sunlight's a distant memory, and addresses the heavily-armed near-human.

@Gadjo
"Yes, we felt it, and no, I've never heard of this fool either. Anyone have any idea what we're dealing with, and feel like enlightening the rest of us? Do we knock on the door and start asking questions, or break it down and start punching people in the kidneys?"
 
Haul shakes his head as the kobold. Shaking your head was something you did at someone wrong. Yelling was also a reasonable response, but he was not the small squishy's commanding officer.

Haul nods at Ally Elwin, who was correct, before facing the demon-spawn... devil-spawn? Unimportant. He turns to the horned squishy using strange words.

"A 'bonebox' is a mouth? Why would Jysson Berk," he still wasn't sure what a berk was, but it seemed a common designation in Sigil, "rattle its mouth at us?"
 
Kurmyt gawks at the talking--talking!--construct. He stammers a bit, before deciding it best to leave questions as to these newcomers' origins for later.

@FlatlineAskari @Krecart
"I can only guess that you two are new here, given your general air of confusion and the fact that your speech isn't cluttered with Planar Cant." the kobold clears his throat and corrects his posture. "I also assume neither of you came here voluntarily. That is a thing that happens here. You are in Sigil, also known as the City of Doors. As its nomenclature implies, there are many doors to and from this place, but not all of them work reliably or predictably."

Kurmyt pauses and turns to the tiefling. "Are you taking notes, tout? Newcomers require context before you start with the impenetrable wall of jargon."

With a smug look on his face, he turns back to the half-elf and the sentient construct. "Speaking of which, prepare your ears for an assault of needless slang. 'Berk' in particular will be thrown your way ad nauseum. It translates roughly to 'idiot', and in a brilliant bit of linguistic recursion, it perfectly describes whoever came up with the term."

Satisfied with his own explanation, Kurmyt folds his arms and rests back on his haunches. "Now as to this Jysson fellow, I've not a clue who he or she--or it--might be. But I've a strong suspicion they are the one responsible for our sudden affliction." He looks up at the tiefling again. "You're off the hook, by the way. For now."
 
Lelista resisted the urge to roll her eyes until the anklebiter turned way again.

Why did I have to go with the "tout" excuse?

She didn't share the kobold's surprise at the "golem"- she'd seen stranger.

"He's got the right of it, you two. Welcome to the cage. Sorry, but no time for introductions. Now, I say we go in, hear what he has to say, then break his kneecaps if it doesn't satisfy. Sound good?"
 
"I like this plan." Haul says, readying his warhammer. "It is simple and kneecaps break easily."

Piece said and weapon in hand, he strides through the front door.
 
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Krecart said:
"I like this plan." Haul says, readying his warhammer. "It is simple and kneecaps break easily."

Piece said, he strides through the front door, weapon in hand.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
Lelista sprung in front of the metal man, holding her arm in his way, and whispered angrily.

"Don't start with your weapon out, ya berk! Worst comes to it we don't want 'em to know what they're up against."

The tiefling made a point of checking the rapier hidden under her cloak before walking inside. "Let me do the talking. Bunch of crudes are liable to get themselves in trouble 'round here."
 
Haul looks at the horned squishy, then down at his warhammer, and finally over his shoulder at the greatsword, longbow, and spiked shield secured to his back along with the pack that contained the rest of his meager belongings.

Slowly, he slides the warhammer back into the holster strapped to his leg.

@Gadjo
"I do not understand." he states, following after Lelista. "My weaponry is still visible."
 
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