Sigil: City of Doors

The room is filled with overturned furniture, and the walls are soot colored by various scorch marks. A single candlestick resides atop a splintered, worn table, the flame waning in the crisp, underground air. The sparse light refracts off the hunched posture of a short figure draped in tattered robes. He sits uncomfortably in a wooden chair pouring over the contents of a heavy leather bound tome. Beside it are assorted documents and an empty bottle of Abyssal Ale. The figure has matted white hair caked with dirt and grime, and his hands are wrapped tightly in blood-soaked rags. He has blemished dark skin riddled with small gashes, and has a crude blindfold made of brown cloth tied around his head. He sits silently with his right hand resting on the upper right hand corner of a page stained with dried blood from his bandaged hands. The silence is broken by his voice sounding strained and raspy as he speaks in Drow.

“Have you yet to finish this page?”

A series of frantic squeaks follows his inquiry and then silence once again.

“Well, hurry it along.”

The squeaking starts up again, and he lets out a heavy sigh as he turns to the next page. A large brown rat resides in his lap resting its forelegs on the edge of the tome. Its dark, beady eyes denote a hint of intelligence. The rat examines the current page, and after glancing up at its master squeaks impatiently.

“Check the index!”

His comment is accompanied by a long squeak as he grumbles and flips to the index page. This continues on for several minutes as the master turns the page after his familiar has finished reading. Upon reaching the half hour mark, the master stands up hastily and fiercely overturns the table. He cries out in rage, his voice echoing off the rafters of the ceiling.

“There is nothing left. The slick bastard destroyed all of it.”

He falls to his knees, and frantically searches through the scattered documents littering the floor as the fire from the candle catches a piece of parchment on fire. The master in his haze grabs a hold of the flaming scrap, and quickly jerks his hand back with a loud groan. The rat, having recovered from the sudden outburst calmly skitters over to the document and puts it out with a ray of chilling magical energy. Veldrin crumbles into a heap of sighing and mumbling. He clutches at the cloth blindfold as if he intended to claw out his own eyes. After a moment, he climbs to his knees, and with his hands resting on his thighs, he lowers his head. Tears streak his face, and the occasional droplet seeps into a tiny gash, and he winces.

“You coward, we could have saved her. You miserable wretch, we could have done more if you hadn't taken a dip in the Styx. We would have had enough power to face them, but you gave it up, and for what? For peace!?” He breaks out into a sob, laying his head in his lap and he wraps his arms around his legs. The rat views his master for a second, and then skitters over toward his direction. Before he makes it across the room, something catches his eye. The rat turns and faces a rolled up scroll bound by a leather holder. It examines the symbol for a moment, and then grips the leather casing in its teeth, and drags it over to Veldrin. The rat carefully moves the scroll next to his master's thigh, and then squeaks excitedly.

Veldrin lifts up his head, and focuses his attention on the rat. After a few seconds, he feels around for the scroll, with the rat nudging his hand in the correct direction. Veldrin removes the leather casing, and scroll. About this time, a ring tumbles out and dings on the floor. He sets the scroll aside and picks up the ring. He runs his fingertips along the head of ring, it appears to be some sort of a signet ring. After some debating with the rat, the symbol appears to depict a wickedly curved dagger with bat wings placed over a dragon's tooth. An expression of confusion crosses his face. The rat wanders over to the scroll and examines it. It starts squeaking again. Veldrin tilts his head and mutters the phrase to himself.

“Jaezred Chaulssin?”

The back wall of this ransacked room has a column design partially rising from it, and underneath the upper beam is a discolored slab of wood nailed into the wall. The slab contains two wall mounted brackets connected to sturdy looking chains ending in manacles. A figure that appears to be a hobgoblin is shackled to the wall, and has a slumped posture, its upper torso heavily leaning forward. The corpse of some poor Orcish sod dangles by a noose in the center of the room. Another figure sits in a relaxed position in front of a busted shelf with books scattered all around him. He is exuding plumes of smoke from a lit pipe while he casually observes as the only source of light in the room is blocked by the back and forth swinging motion of the corpse. He glances down at the coils of rope residing underneath the three legged single bed. His gaze then falls upon the hobgoblin in chains, and he halts his smoking for a moment to ponder something.

“Forgive me friend, I just have to get something off my chest. It has been bothering me for weeks. Why are you working for a tiefling necromancer?

The hobgoblin makes no audible response.

“I could never figure out why a bunch of goblins would want to associate with a Tiefling let alone be at one’s beck and call. You know what Tieflings are?”

Once again, the hobgoblin gives no discernible answer.

“Demon blooded humans, or Baatezu blooded, but who gives a shit?”

“That means they inherit the traits of both. Most tend to gain the obnoxious traits if you ask me, the meddling bits of humans, and the chaotic or lawful bits of their ancestral antecedents. That can make them fairly unpredictable, but it just makes them more of nuisance cause they can never make up their minds. Does that kind of uncertainty bother you?”

Silence fills the room.

“I suppose you have a point there. Some of them are ferocious in the sack. I can attest to that fact friend, I managed to ensnare one a few weeks ago. No wait a moment; she might have been a half fiend. I can never tell these days.”

“What was it like? It took me back, that is for sure. Been so long since I last laid with a demon that I almost forgot the sensation. Did you know they have a spicy after taste?”

He shakes his head a few times as if acknowledging something.

“Of course friend, even when you go downstairs. Tastes like chaos, pure delectable chaos. Chaos, like so many things, can get old after a while.”

He quiets down for a while and searches around the room, and gives a disappointing sigh.

“I am so bored. What do you want to do?”

The hobgoblin slumps forward a bit but makes no verbal communication.

“Go up there? Nah, there’s a war going on up there.”

“Dead bodies showing up but coming back, it all seems rather pointless as everyone seems to want to murder the other. May only be a matter of time before they all end up dead.”

He turns to the hobgoblin as if anticipating a response then continues.

“That sort of makes that fella over there an overachiever right?”

He sucks on the pipe, and exhales a large plume of smoke.

“No wasted time, he just *snaps his fingers* did it and moved on. I can respect that, in fact, I encourage it.”

He reaches his hand out toward the hobgoblin. There is a noise resembling a sharp knife sawing through flesh accompanied by a sickening tear as his hand pulls away. The sparse light pouring in from the patterned hangmanÂ’s swings reveals dark droplets of blood that dot the path between his hand and the hobgoblin. He brings what appears to be a hunk of meat to his lips and takes a huge bite.

“It was very considerate of you not to use poison. I hate poisoning deaths; it ruins the flavor.”

He leans forward and continues speaking while he animatedly gestures with his hands to describe his speech occasionally smacking his lips on leftover bits of flesh.

“There are always exceptions to his rule. Poisons based on actual edible, well edible to humanoids, food can actually actuate the taste. That phrase, edible to humanoids. It sounds so arrogant for them to say such things. That is a bit of a pet peeve of mine when it comes to humanoids, especially humans. Oh believe me, they are the absolute worst when dealing with this sort of thing. What to know what really gets on my nerves? When a humanoid tries to impose their will on another it irks me to no end. It is always one of those self-righteous angel *** licking cultists. Why is it never a group of Sunites, or Loviatar? Oh, hold on a second…”

He takes another juicy wet bite, running his tongue over his lips to catch any tiny chunks. He grimaces in disgust as he catches an unpleasant taste. He starts hacking, and then spits out of a piece of phlegm that launches across the room onto the hanging corpse. It lands on the corpseÂ’s right thigh and burns through the clothing, flesh, and bone before falling out the other side landing on the rug scorching the material.

“I met this one acolyte, oh was she a real piece of work. Her claim was that she represented an organization specifically tasked by numerous deities of good to search out and destroy corruption on the planes. Her group would go into a plane like the Beastlands for example, do an investigation to see if there was any corruption, and then exterminate the source.”

He pauses a moment for dramatic effect and then breaks out into laughter.

“I know, is that not the stupidest idea you have ever heard? It was so presumptuous and naïve that it borderline being pathetic. I pitied the poor dear, such arrogance and ignorance.”

He turns to the hobgoblin, and feigns shock at an imagined slight.

“What? I am allowed to express compassion when it suits me. I am not completely unethical.”

He nods back and forth as if agreeing with the hobgoblin.

“I cannot fool you can I? You know me all too well. Of course she was attractive, at least for a rivvil, I mean human. She had a slightly tan complexion with red hair, and she wore owl eyed glasses. Yet she had the most amazing figure, and wore tight explorer’s clothing that emphasized every curve, especially her ass. I thought I was going to take her right there at the table, but I had to restrain myself.”

He nibbles at the meat before continuing.

“She mentioned her name was Laura, I believe. My apologies, I can never keep track of these things. Memories are so fleeting nowadays. Either way, she was an appetizing morsel. You want to hear something funny?”

He turns to the hobgoblin as if expecting approval.

“I was turned down by a blind bard. Yep, a stunning little thing with creamy skin, and dark black hair in scantily clad robes.”

He takes a long drag on his pipe, and exhales it slowly as if lost in a trance.

“Sorry, where was I? Oh right. She was some sort of dragon disciple I believe, might have relied on her dragon gifted senses to be her sight instead of her eyes.”

He mulls over his statement for a second.

“Yes, I am deeply aware of the irony.”

He lets out a deep sigh, and finishes off the last bit of meat.

“I was extremely charming. You would have been impressed. At least I assumed she responded well to my advances. I was so close, and then it was snagged from me at the final moment.”

He glances over at the hobgoblin for a second, and then socks it in the shoulder causing it to shift in the chains.

“That was not funny. All right I admit, it might have been a little funny. Phew…”

He leans his back against the wall, and starts chuckling.

“Ah, no matter how old I get, I am never too mature to enjoy crude jokes. Perhaps one of the few mercies that fate has bestowed upon me.”

The hanging corpse continues to dangle in the center of the room, the occasional flicker of light from the dim candle resting on the nearly untouched liquor cabinet shining through. A fraction of light escapes pass the corpse and shines on the figure sitting in darkness. Two gleaming emerald eyes with diamond slit pupils poke through the darkness, and a mouth lined with razor sharp teeth chew on the tip of a lit pipe. He picks at his teeth with a clawed fingertip capped with scales that gleam with the deep purple luster of an amethyst gem. His hand shifts replacing the scales with smooth, obsidian colored skin. He takes a drag off his pipe once again.

Veldrin then turns around to face the dead hobgoblin once more, giving a wide grin dripping acidic saliva.

“Did I tell you I received a promotion today?”