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Fidrikon's picture
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Joined: 2004-12-19
I dont have a title

I was going to wait untill it was finsihed, but with everyone posting their storys I felt I had to chip in!
_____________________________________________________________

Prolog

He was swimming, no… floating in some sort of sludge. But the sludge wouldn’t stay still, it writhed and changed. At times becoming hard, and thick, at other times being as thin as broth.
Splashes of water, bursts of fire, clumps of dirt and pockets of air, all shifting and changing into one another, like all the elements being churned in some gigantic cauldron.
And then, he was standing on a rocky plain. The shifting sludge receding in all directions, forming a bubble of stability in the storm of chaos.
Suddenly, four men in robes walked onto his rocky plain. They each wore dull colored robes, and as they neared, he saw that their skin was yellowed, as if it was aged parchment.
The image blurred, and the last thing he remembered was an ashen colored face, its eyes aglow with malevolence, and tentacles hanging from its face.

Chapter one

He sat in his chair for a minuet, a puzzled expression on his face. He felt refreshed, as if a great burden had been lifted.
He looked into the cup, which was empty, and wondered if it had held whatever he had drunk.
He stopped. What was it he had drank? He decided to ask the bartender, and realized he had no idea who the bartender was. He hoped he had paid for the drink already, because he had no idea if he had any money.
As he pushed the tankard away, he noticed what he thought was a napkin of some sort was a piece of wrinkled paper. He picked it up and read it carefully.

Your name is J’aard.
“J’aard.” He said, testing the name. ‘Well, as far as names go I could have worse. Or could I?’ He thought to himself.
Just take a while to get used to your surroundings. Stay out of trouble.
‘That’s good advice’, he thought. ‘I wonder if whoever wrote this will tell me who the bartender is?’
Find Anson, he will help you get on your own two feet. He will let you stay at his kip for a while. Don’t leave Sigil.
-J’aard

“Oh. I’ll have to find out who the bartender is myself then.”
He looked around, and spotted a man half asleep next to him.
“Excuse me?” J’aard said. “But could you tell me what Sigil is?”
The man looked up, his eyes suddenly very wide, as if he wanted to make sure that he didn’t miss any detail on J’aards face.
“What are you rattling about?” He said, his words slurred.
“Uh, Sigil?” J’aard asked again.
“Oh yea, great place. Great place. Greatest place in the soddin multi verse!” He yelled the last part, raising his empty glass in a toast, only to find it empty. He looked at it mournfully, as if expecting it to refill itself. When it didn’t he set it back down, turned to J’aard and asked “So, what about Sigil? Talk quickly, cause I gotta get my… my kip a’fore the bub kicks in, and that’s not too long off.”
“I just was wondering, is this bar is Sigil?” J’aard asked.
The drunk looked at him like he had sprouted a horn. “Yeh daft? Sigils out there.” He said, lifting a lazy arm and pointing at the door. “This… “ His eyes roll back, and head starts to droop. He suddenly snaps awake again. “This is the Wandering Corpse Bar.”
“Wandering…corpse?” J’aard asked.
“Yep. Wandering Corsp. Four, no… five years? Years ago, there used to be a floating dead mage over there.” The drunk said, nodding in the direction of a large steel vent built into the floor. “Can’t remember how he got there, but he just floated. And burned. Boy was he a’burning bright. Then one day, everyone just drikin their bub, and some scar covered freak wanders in, thowes a bottle of water at the poor sod. Guy wakes off and he just floated …away!” the drunk stood up at the last word. He looked around the room, as if scanning a crowd. He took a step toward the door, stumbled and fell over, landing with a thump.
J’aard heard the man mumble a curse before passing out.
J’aard looked around the room, wondering if anyone had seen that.
“Well, I guess that means I can leave the bar.” He thought.
J’aard stood up, stepped over the body of the drunk, and walked across the room toward the door.
As he stepped out into the cool night air, he looked up and saw the sign that said “Wandering Corpse Bar” the word ‘Wandering’ had been written above another word, which had been scratched out. He looked closer and saw the scratched out word was ‘smoldering.’
J’aard looked at the note again, and looked around. It was as he was wondering what to do that he caught he first real glimpse of Sigil.
“Oh…” He said, backing up against the wall.
The city he was in stretched to both sides of him, but rather than ending in a horizon, it rose up, forming a loop, and coming down the other side. He could barely make out a few building across the expanse, but it was all blurred by a layer of smog.
Although still trying to make sense of how the ring was wherever it was, something told him that this was perfectly normal, for Sigil anyway.
“You there, good sir!”
J’aard directed his attention back to the street in front of him. A man wearing brown leather pants and vest was calling to him. As he walked closer, J’aard attention was drawn to three, blue circles tattoed onto the mans forehead.
“You defiantly look like someone who could use a guide this night. Where you trying to go, cutter?”
“Um, do I know you?” J’aard asked.
“No, I wouldn’t think so. I’m a tout. And you look like someone who needs a room. Do you have any jink? Because if you don’t I’m afraid I can’t…” J’aard cut him off.
“I need to find Anson.” J’aard said.
“Anson?” The tout asked. “As in Anson of ‘The Planar Road’?
“I… don’t know. Is there another Anson around here?” J’aard asked.
“Not really. So, Anson’s it is. That’ll be four copper pieces.” The tout said.
J’aard stared at him blankly. “For what?” he asked.
The tout stared at him. “Are you serious? I’m a… I’m a guide for hire, I don’t do this for free.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Of coarse. Um… hold on.” J’aard rummaged through his pockets, and found a small silver coin.
“Will this do instead?” J’aard asked.
The tout stared at the silver coin for a moment, and them returned his attention to J’aard. “Oh, that’s about the right price, give or take a few coppers. Just consider it a tip for friendly service.”
“Okay.” J’aard said, handing him the coin. “Take me to Anson.”
_____________________________

“This is it.” The tout said. “The Planar Road. You’ll find Anson in there.”
“Thank you, um… tout.” J’aard said, unsure what to call his guide. “Thanks.”
“Oh no, thank you sir.” The tout said. He patted his pocket, which jingled. “I’ve got all the thanks I need.” And with that, the tout turned, and walked down the road, scanning the street for anyone else that looked lost.
As the tout rounded the corner, J’aard inspected the Planar Road. The building itself looked sturdy, if a bit old. Its rusty metal roof curved up at the center, forming an edge. At the end of each edge, a stained steel spike protruded at a 45 angle upward. A wooden sign hung from the spike that hung over the front door.
The sign sported a recent coat of blue paint, and gold letter’s read ‘The Planar Road.’
J’aard walked up to the door and knocked. After a few seconds, he knocked again. He heard a muffled yell, and a few moments later he heard someone unbolt the door. The door opened, revealing a brass box with two legs, arms, and wings. On the front face of the box was a green tinged face, its eyes huge, and its nose nonexistent.
“Greetings.” The box said.
“Are you Anson?” J’aard asked uncertainly.
“Negative.” The box replied. “Enter, please.”

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Joined: 2004-12-19
I dont have a title

Chapter 2
Anson woke with a start, and instinctively reached for his knife. His hand on the hilt, he looked around, seeing no immediate threat. As he puzzled as to what had woken him up, he heard a knock at the door.
“Oh, by the hells. Sprocket! Get the door!” He yelled, sheathing his blade. As he pulled on his jacket, he wondered as to whom would come to him at this time of night.
He entered the front room just in time to see Sprocket ushering in a Githzeria, who looked around the room, smiling slightly.
Anson stopped in his tracks. The Gith in front of him ha vibrant blue eyes, an a head that seemed just slightly larger then it ought to be.
There was no mistaking it, J’aard was back.
“J’aard, haven’t seen you round the Cage in months!” Anson said, doing his best to seem welcoming. “Sprocket, do we have any more fey wine from our last trip to the prime?” Anson asked, sitting down at his desk.
There was a whir and a click “Approximately 2.89 liters remaining.” The rouge Modron bleeped.
“Well, don’t just stand there, lets have it!” Anson said.
“Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve had enough to drink tonight.” J’aard said, sitting down. The wooden chair under him creaked under the weight.
“Bar that, Sprocket.” Anson yelled. He turned his attention back to J’aard, his face turning serious. “Now look, I know that your late arrival has given plenty of time, but I still don’t have the full amount yet. If you’ll wait until tomorrow afternoon, I have a few debts I can call in, and you’ll have your platinum, with interest.”
J’aard was confused. “Um, how much money are we talking about here?” he asked.
Anson looked at him suspiciously. “You know, the money you lent me and Otto a few months ago.” He said.
“Ah, yes. Otto. I remember now. Its just that, I have leant out platinum to several people across Sigil here and there, I forgot how much I…” J’aard was cut short as Anson drew his knife. “Um, what?”
“I don’t know who the hells you are, or where you got the nerve to try and peel me, but I do know that if you I don’t see you out that door in three seconds, I’m penning you here and now.” Anson said, a wild gleam in his eyes. “There never was an Otto. J’aard would know that.”
“No! Wait, I am J’aard. Please let me explain.” J’aard said, jumping out of his seat. “I don’t know what’s going on, but the last thing I remember is sitting in a bar with this note!”. He fumbled in his pockets and tossed the crumples nod onto the desk. “Please, don’t kill me!”
Anson picked up the note, and read it, his eyes constantly switching between reading the page and watching J’aard.
“You do realize this proves nothing.” Anson said, tossing down the note.
“But, it’s the truth!” J’aard exclaimed.
“What’s the truth?” Anson asked.
“That’s the problem, I’m not exactly sure.” He said.
Anson stared at him for a long moment, as if searching J’aard for some flaw in the disguise.
“Okay, you don’t seem to be lying, but even if this is true, what am I supposed to do?” Anson asked, setting the blade on the table.
“Just let me stay here for a night or two, until I can get my bearings, and a place of my own. If you just let me stay here until I can get a place of my own set up, I’ll consider the debt paid in full.”
Anson thought it over for a moment. “Deal. And I’ll hold you to your word. But if I find you getting into anything you shouldn’t, you’re out of here, with one less hand, got it?” he said.
“Perfectly.” J’aard said. “Um, where do I sleep?”
“Whatever floor space suits yeh. I don’t care. I have an extra blanket if you think you need it.” Anson said.
“A blanket would be nice, thanks” J’aard said, trying not to sound disappointed.
“Sprocket?” Anson asked.
“Hall shelf, top drawer, beneath the package of spare rope.” Sprocket answered. “Query: Self will go get blanket?”
“Yes please.” J’aard said.
As the Modron clanked his way to the hall closet, Anson asked. “So, what’s the last thing you remember.”
J’aard recounted his story, starting with the empty mug at the bar. When J’aard told Anson how much he had paid the tout, Anson burst out laughing.
“Oh,” he said. “You must have made that tout’s night.”
“I take it a silver piece is a lot more then the four coppers I owed him?” J’aard asked.
“More then double what he wanted.” Anson said. “I’m sorry, please, go on.”
As he finished, Anson replied
“Sounds to me you drank a draught from the River Lethe. At first I was thinking Styx wash, but if it was Styx wash, you’d be feeling a far sight from refreshed.”
“What’s the Lethe?” J’aard asked.
“The Lethe is a river that runs through multiple planes. I can’t remember exactly which planes, but I think I have a book on it somewhere. Sprocket, what happened to the planar waterways book?” Anson asked.
“You sold it to a merchant in the Clerks ward for exactly twelve gold and three coppers.” Sprocket said, entering the room. He handed the blanked to J’aard, who looked around the room for a comfortable looking area.
He yawned. “I really appreciate you letting me stay here. Thank you.”
“It’s a hell of a lot cheaper than paying you forty platinum.” Anson said. “Tomorrow well see about getting you a kip, and I’ll talk to some friends of mine in the market ward to see if they know anything that can help you with regaining your memories.”
“Anson?” J’aard asked.
“What now?” Anson asked in return.
“Why would I drink anything that would make me forget?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone slipped it into your drink, but with that note of yours, I doubt it. My guess is, there was something you wanted to forget. Forget badly enough that you’d sacrifice all your other memories to do it.”
“Now, if you don’t any more questions, could I please go back to bed?” Anson asked in an exasperated voice.
“Sorry. Sure.” J’aard said.
As Anson left the room Sprocket hunkered down next to the back wall, staring blankly at the front door. J’aard rolled the blanket around himself, and lowered himself to an area of the floor beside the fireplace.

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Joined: 2004-12-19
I dont have a title

Chapter 3

In the far reaches of the Astral, a lone Alhoon made contact with his second, who was already on the field. His skin was a light gray, and in a corner of his left eye the bone poked through the skin.
“Go now.” He said. “The spell will not remain active for much longer. You have your orders.”
_____________________________

Floating in the Astral, sat the Githyanki fortress of Galsinmar. It had several Githyanki patrolling its walls, and yet not a one of them saw the army.
Not a single Githyanki saw the hundreds of creatures sneak into the fortress, until they were on almost every floor.
The Githyanki of the fortress continued about their work. Unaware of the forces around them.
When the small army was in place, its swords already drawn, the second in command gave the order.
And over a hundred enemies struck the unaware Githyanki in their throat, most of the victim’s heads completely severed. This, of coarse, broke the invisibility spell around them.
Dyenin, a Githyanki who had just exited the bathroom, saw the whole thing.
The hallway was almost empty, a few Githyanki simply going about their daily routine. Some were polishing armor, others recounting tales of battles past.
And then, suddenly, they were there.
Several of the armed Githyanki rose up in a short, garbled cry as a sword, axe or mace sprouted from their head. The air shimmered, revealing a creature unlike any Dyenin had ever seen.
At first he had thought is was a Githzeria, but then he noticed the milky white eyes.
And the beard of thin tentacles that sprouted from its face.
It was a combination of everything Dyenin despised and hated. And it was in his home.
Dyenin drew his silver sword, which squirmed in its lust for blood. He charged the nearest creature and with a flick of his wrist severed the creature spine, bringing his sword up to counter a blow from another of the creatures.
“Come to me, you abominates filth!” he challenged as he ran his blade through the creature’s gut. As it collapsed to the floor, he kicked the creature in its mass of tentacles, knocking it out long enough for the loss of blood to do its work.
As he turned to face another of the creatures he felt one rake claws across his side. He growled in rage and answered in a devastating blow to the creature’s head.
He was alone in the hallway now, and he ran to the next intersection in search of more of the … things.
He spotted a group of them running down a hallway to his left. He did his best to remember where that led.
Suddenly he remembered.
They were running to the portal to one of the nurseries outside the Astral.
He ran after them, making sure to make as little noise as possible. As he reached the group of creatures, he yelled a battle cry and leapt onto the back of the one nearest him, driving his sword into the back of its head. As he brought up his blade to continue his attack, he felt something smash into the back of his head.
The last thing he heard was the sound of his silver sword hitting the floor.
____________________________

As the Alhoon entered the fortress of Galsinmar, he looked around at the mass of bodies to his sides, and felt pride in the success of his plan.
The Gith’ilid had done better then he had ever dreamed. In the entire extermination of those within the fortress, little more then twenty Gith’ilid out of two hundred had been killed.
As he joined the bulk of his attack force near the portal, he sensed a still living Githyanki.
He looked down, and saw a gash at the back of the creature’s head. Dying quickly, but still alive.
“Go through. Kill every Githyanki you find, no matter of age, and feast.” The Alhoon commanded. As the first of the Gith’ilid shimmered and disappeared into the portal, the Alhoon bent down and wrapped his tentacles around the Githyanki’s skull. He squeezed, the skull soon buckling under the pressure. It was delicious.

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Joined: 2004-12-19
I dont have a title

Chapter 4

J’aard woke with a start. He yelped and grabbed his hand, which burned.
“Oops. Sorry.” Anson said, holding a pan over the fire in a gloved hand. “That’s what happens when you sleep too close to the fire.”
As the grease in the pan popped again, J’aard unraveled himself from the blanket.
Anson looked at him for a minuet, and said. “ You haven’t had a chance to get much of the Planes in you yet, so lets call it pork and leave it at that.” He picked up a plate from his side, forked a few strips of meat onto it, and handed it to J’aard.
“Dig in.” He said.
J’aard picked the hot piece of meat of the plate with his fingers, and bit a piece off the end. The meat was overflowing with juices, and tastes sweet.
“Thank you.” J’aard said, the sentence half mumbled through his full mouth.
“ I might’a come off a bit of a hard-ass last night. No hard feelings, eh?” Anson said, breaking into a smile.
J’aard just stared at him. The grinning man in front of him seemed so unlike the veteran planeswalker he had talked too the night before.
Wait, who said he was a planeswalker?
Anson scooped the last few scraps of meat onto his plate and sat at the table. As J’aard finished his breakfast, he asked. “Anson, are you a planeswalker?”
Anson looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Aye, and what if I am?”
“Oh, nothing. Just a hunch I had.” J’aard said.
Anson thought on this for a moment, and then asked. “Your memories starting to return?”
“Don’t know. I don’t think so. Most of it is a mess. A bit of comprehension here and there.” J’aard answered.
“Well, at least that leaves you a little better off than the clueless, although not by much I’ll bet.” Anson said.
“Who are the clueless?” J’aard asked.
“They’re no one in particular, you see. The clueless are primes who wandered into a portal and wound up in Sigil. These Primes haven’t even heard of the Planes, much less seen em.” Anson explained.
Anson looked out the window, into the streets of Sigil.
“Your lucky.” He said. “It’s a good day to be out and about in Sigil. The smog was downright unbearable a few days ago. But yesterday it seems to have cleared out.”
“Is that unusual?” J’aard asked.
“Not really. But that reminds me, if you plan to stay in the city of doors, we need to buy you a bottle of air. That way, you don’t have to deal with the smog.”
“Smog?” J’aard asked.
“Yea. Usually, Sigil is full of the stuff. Some of it comes from the great foundry, in the lower ward. But most of it comes through portals, maybe from one of the inner planes, maybe from some lower plane hell, but a little bit follows the traveler through. Or at least that’s what I hear.”
“C’mon.” Anson said, standing up. “We better get going soon, if were going to scout out a kip for you. And unless some prime basher gives you a good whack to the head, I’ll have to go about teaching you the basics of living in Sigil.”
Anson walked over to the still hunched Sprocket and knocked on the top of his head. The Modron blinked, and stood up.
“Good morning.” The Modron bleeped.
“J’aard and I are heading down to the Lower Ward. If any customers show up, send the mephit.” Anson said.
“Order logged.” Sprocket replied.

________________________________

As Anson lead the way to the Lower Ward, he explained the basics of living in Sigil to J’aard.

“Okay, first off. Sigil’s a big ring. That floats way above the spire. Although you can’t see the spire from Sigil, it’s there.” Anson explained.
“Now, Sigil is ruled by the Lady of Pain. Rules concerning her: don’t insult her, don’t pray to her, and don’t challenge her power. Doing that is likely to get you mazed or flayed alive, neither is a good option.”
“Mazed?” J’aard asked.
“Yea, in other words, she throws you into a maze that’s hard as the hells to get out of. Although, I hear that every maze has an exit, no matter how hard it is to find, its there somewhere.”
“How many people get out of the mazes?” J’aard asked. It seemed horribly inefficient to maze someone if there was a way out.
Anson looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “What’s with all the questions about mazes, you planning to get mazed anytime soon? Cause if your having a any thoughts about the Lady, I don’t want to be in the same ward as you.”
“No, I was just curious.” J’aard replied hastily. “Please, go on.”
“Okay, second, you got the Dabus. They’re the servants of The Lady. They do her will around the city, mainly construction work. And they always speak with rebuses, these damn picture riddles. Not too difficult to figure them out, but they’re sodding irritating when you’re in a hurry.”
Anson pointed to a horned creature wearing green robes that was hacking at a patch of black vine with a hatchet. The created floated just a few inches above the ground.
“That’s a Dabus.” Anson said.
“What’s it doing?” J’aard asked.
“Oh, that’s razorvine. Nasty stuff. Some merchant brought in to Sigil a long time ago and the damn thing spread like a plague. Its everywhere and sodding difficult to get rid off.”
“Just don’t touch it, it’s like reaching into a bag full of broken daggers.”
“Okay.” J’aard said. He moved a bit farther away from a patch of the stuff that clung to the building at his side.
Anson let out a laugh. “It won’t reach out an grab you, just don’t rub up against it, that’s all.”
Anson continued to explain to J’aard about Sigil, its portals, and some of Sigil more influential groups. But J’aards attention was continually drawn to the crowd around them.
He saw groups of humans, humans with pointy ears (both tall and graceful and a few that were half his size) and several humans that displayed distinct fiendish heritage, Anson told him that they were Tieflings.
But every so often, J’aard would spot someone in the crowd that looked like him.
Githzeria.
He didn’t know what a Githzeria was, and while he knew he looked like one, it always felt wrong when he though of himself as a Githzeria.
Why am I not a Githzeria? He asked himself. There was no response.
As a ditch full of dirty water came into view ahead of him, Anson pulled out a pair of dirty pieces of cloth.
“Put this on.” He said, wrapping his around the lower half of his face, and tying it at the back.
“What for?” J’aard said, doing the same.
“That’s the Lower Ward up there.” Anson said, his voice slightly muffled. “The airs full of smog up there, I find that this helps keep the worst of it out of your lungs.”
Anson lead J’aard into the lower Ward, weaving around the crowds of people like it was second nature. Even with the mask on, J’aard found the air hard to breath. Like he was being suffocated by a poorly trained assassin. Finally, Anson stopped in front of a shop. He took off his mask, and motioned for J’aard to do the same.
Anson started to cough as he took a breath. “It’s a bad idea to go into a shop wearing a mask.” Anson said, a joking smile on his face.
J’aard took a quick look at the sign before following Anson in.
The sign read ‘The Friendly Fiend.’

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Joined: 2004-12-19
I dont have a title

Chapter 5

“Ah, come in, come in.” A raspy voice said. “And what can I do for you today.”
J’aard stepped out of the doorway, and saw the shopkeeper.
The Shopkeeper was a fur-covered creature with the head of a jackal, a patch of black fur around its eyes, like a mask. It wore a robe of teal and gold, which was oddly fitting. Despite his otherwise disturbing appearance, the shopkeeper sported a wide, friendly grin.
The room itself was full of shelves. And in turn, each shelf was cluttered with the strangest looking objects. From carved, rune engraved rocks, to tiny clockwork contraptions, to pieces of jewelry that radiated power.
“Morning A’kin. I was actually looking for…” A’kin cut him off.
“Ah, J’aard. I didn’t expect you to be back so soon. Find what you were looking for?” A’kin asked.
“You know J’aard?” Anson asked.
“Yes, he visited here just yesterday. I’m sorry, I cut you off, didn’t I?” A’kin said sheepishly.
“No problem, actually, It’s because of J’aard that I’m here…” Anson began.
“What was I here for?” J’aard asked.
“You were looking for a vial of water from the Styx. Nasty stuff. I didn’t have any but I told where to find mister Cupgrass. I don’t deal in potions. But if your looking for a trinket…” A’kin let the question hang.
“No thank you, at least, I don’t think so.” J’aard said.
A’kin looked at J’aard for a moment. “You drank it, didn’t you? I hate Styx wash. It’s so sad when people seek to drown their memories. And if you find yourself in need, there are so many better ways to relieve the weight of the past.”
“No, I don’t think I drank Styx wash, Anson says I drank water from the Lethe.” J’aard said.
A’kin brightened noticeably. “Truly? Well, good for you. It’s such a much better alternative then the Styx. Less traumatic.”
Anson cut in. “You said Cupgrass, as in Wooly Cupgrass?”
“Yes, one and the same.” A’kin said.
“Thanks A’kin.” Anson said, turning to leave.
“Going so soon?” Akin asked, he sounded disappointed. He reached into a bin at he side, and pulled out two trinkets. He tossed a ring to J’aard, and a small blue ball to Anson.
“On the house.” He said.
“What is this?” J’aard asked.
“It’s a ring of counterspell, already full I’m afraid.” A’kin said. “It makes the wearer immune to basic fireball spells, or so I’m told.”
“Thank you, but I don’t need this.” J’aard said, handing back the ring.
A’kin crossed his arms and smiled. “It’s yours, keep it.”
J’aard smiled in return. “Thank you.”
Anson tipped his hat as we walked out, with J’aard right behind him.
“The sign doesn’t do him justice.” J’aard said.
_____________________________________

Anson was in the middle of describing the fate of Aoskar when they came upon Wooly Cupgrass’s lab.
“Try no to make any sudden movements.” Anson said. “Wooly can be a bit… odd.”
“Odd?” J’aard asked.
“Okay, he’s as paranoid as a prime in Baator. But he’s a nice guy, just don’t do anything to startle him.”
Anson knocked on the door, and waited. There was a muffled crash, followed by a few curses that were unfamiliar to J’aards ears.
Suddenly the door was flung open, and a man with the horns of a ram stuck his head out. A strange, exotic smell spilled out of the small building. It smelled like cinnamon mixed with oil, and a faint trance of… some sort of citrus.
“Morning cutters! Ah, Anson, isn’t it? Do come in, I just have to clean up something first.” As Wooly walked away, J’aard could have sworn he heard hooves on wood.
Anson turned to J’aard before walking in. “Oh, by the way. Almost forgot to tell you. Wooly is a Bariaur. Half man, half ram. Don’t stare, sometimes he can be touchy about that.”
As J’aard Followed Anson down the hall, the smell grew stronger. As J’aard entered the room, the smell expanded into several similar, but distinctly different, smells.
Wooly was busy wiping up a clear, sparkling liquid off the counter.
“I’m sorry if I startled you…” Anson began.
“No, it’s not a problem, it was a dud anyway. Although it had the most remarkable taste.” Wooly replied.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry cutter, what was it you wanted?”
“Actually, I was wondering if you had anything for a lost memory.” Anson said.
“Hmmm, A lost memory you say? No, can’t say I have one. I take it your looking for a draught from the River Euone?”
“Of course!” Anson cried, smacking himself upside the head. “The river of remembrance, how could I have forgotten?”
“So, who’s having the memory troubles?” Wooly asked. Before Anson had a chance to answer, Cupgrass quickly looked over his shoulder.
“Um, that would be me.” J’aard said.
The Bariaur whipped his head back around stared at him for a moment and said “J’aard? When did you get her, I didn’t see you walk in.”
“He’s been here for a while. Let me guess he came in here yesterday looking for a draught from the River Styx?”
“Yes, how did you know?” Wooly asked. J’aard noticed that Wooly was starting to fidget with his clothes. “I didn’t have any Styx wash, but I did have a vial of Lethe water, which I traded he for a simply wonderful potion of enhanced senses. Something tells me that one will be a tremendous hit at the Civic Feasthall.”
“Do you know where we could find some water from the Euone?” Anson asked.
“Yes, a friend of mine, Ensin, owns an apothecary near here. He and I do work together on occasion.”
At this point, Wooly had developed what could only be described as a twitch. Anson hurriedly asked for directions, and left with J’aard on his heels.
As J’aard and Anson left the lab, Wooly Cupgrass sighed with relief.
“Now, where was I?” He asked himself.

_______________________________________

As Anson lead J’aard to the Apothecary, J’aard had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
When he saw the building, and the rows of potions on its shelves, J’aard recalled being there the day before.
But, I had the vial of Lethe water, why would I come to the Apothecary?
There was no reply, as usual.
Anson entered the shop, unaware of J’aards recollection.
Ensin looked up from a book he was writing in.
“Ah, good morning, young masters. What can I do for you today?”
As J’aard walked into Ensin’s field of vision, the small man brightened up considerably.
“Welcome back master J’aard, need anything else I can help you with?”
“You know him?” Anson asked.
“Yes, he came in here just yesterday. Unloaded a pouch full of greens and stingers on my counters, and asked for every single potion of remembrance I had. Specifically any bottles of water from the Euone.”
“He bought *all* of them?” Anson asked. He turned to J’aard. “Looks like you wanted to have your angles covered. But, if you bought all of the potions of remembrance, why didn’t you have a potion with you at the bar?”
There was a pause before J’aard answered. “Don’t you get it? I broke all the bottles, poured out the potions. I didn’t want there to be any chance of me seeking out my memories. At least, he wanted to make it much more difficult.”
“Well, thank you for your help, sir.” J’aard said.
As he walked out into the street he saw a light in the street in front of him.
A ball of flame, rocketing toward him.

Fidrikon's picture
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wow, i just read through this, and I have really bad spelling

ven
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wow it's a good thing you dont have a title or i wouldn't understand this whole thing hey look over there --------->

Fidrikon's picture
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Sadly, no.

I've had trouble getting past a specific part in the next chapter. Although, I think I may have come up with a solution, but im going to have to think it out first.

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Hey, I almost forgot about this story lol... hmmm, have you managed to finish anymore of it?

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Awsome, maybe I could help with a Title?

*finishes reading the story*

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