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