Sigil: City of Doors

"There was a time, a beautiful time, once that I danced upon the clouds and gazed upon the stars. There was a time when I sat perched upon the heavens and watched the rise and fall of the empires of Man. Their lives so brief, their existence a mere flicker compared to the vastness of my life.

My name is Tyranthraxis, (Tier-Uhn-Thrax-iss) "The Tyrant King of the Clouds", as I was called in the tongue of Man. A "Cloud Dragon" they saw fit to call me, such a name was one I would not choose befitting my majesty. This was but one of many names I knew over the course of my life, each given to me by the mortals whose homes lie beneath my sanctuary atop the mountains. Ever vigilant did I gaze upon them, watching the insects scurry about with their insignificant little lives.

For centuries I enjoyed my isolation. The mortals did not bother me, nor did I bother them. Until one day, all of that changed. I was beset upon the mountain by a young mortal woman seeking my aid. She was fairly beautiful...for a mammal. She had climbed the mountain for over a day, her village had been ransacked by Orcs that had taken her friends and family (as slaves no doubt). She begged for my aid, begged for me to come down from my mountain and rescue her people.

The nerve of this insect to ask that I waste my time rescuing these mortals, these pathetic creatures. She offered herself unto me like a harlot...as if I had interest. She offered me Gold though I already had plenty. So I told her "No." The lives of mortals held no interest to me. I bore them no ill will, however, does one bear ill will nor pay heed to the insects upon the grass as they crush them under heel?

She called me a monster. Perhaps I was. She spoke to me in odd words I had never heard before...no doubt some mortal swear words that I'm far too dignified to repeat.

I replied, simply, "Get off my Mountain." She refused, until I offered my aid.

And thus, casting her aside as a piece of refuse from my hoard, I hurled her down the mountain. Indeed, it was humorous to watch her fall. Her fall, however, was not so simple as I imagined it would be. As she plummeted towards the Earth I saw her frail form begin to glow, resonating with a light as bright as gazing into the heart of a star. The orb of light streaked towards the heavens, and then descended from the clouds upon the summit of my Mountain. It began to take shape, into an all familiar form. With silver claws, and scales of the most pristine of Silver, SHE gazed upon me. A Mercury Dragon, whose form was as fluid as water, and as shiny as the most polished silver.

"Greetings, Tyranthraxis. You do not know me, but I know you. I have gazed upon you and watched you for the whole of your existence" she said with a toothy grin. "I am known as Hlal, the Jester. And I'll be frank with you, Tyranthraxis.....you're a jackass."

I didn't know whether to be horrified, to laugh at her impertinence, or to try and slap myself awake from some horrid nightmare.

"Excuse me!?" I said to her. "Just who do you think you are!?"

She grinned, before calmly replying "....A Goddess."

It was at that moment that I began to shrink, my form began to twist and contort, my beautiful form beginning to dissolve.

"You, you're killing me!!" I screamed, the air from my lungs seeming to be forced out.

"Not killing you" said She. "Teaching you a valuable lesson.."

"And what lesson is that, you witch!?" I growled to her, with utter contempt.

"Humility..." she replied. "To become the very thing to which you hold such contempt. A form more befitting your personality."

It was then that all went dark, and I slept. Whether it was for a day, or for an eternity, I slept, and I dreamt. Dreams of dancing amongst the clouds, dreams of all the times I had ignored those in plight. All of the times that I had shown contempt for the "pitiful mortals" beneath me. As I awakened, I felt upon my face, and leered from my cave. No longer did I feel my own scales, my wings....they were gone from me. I felt so small, so frail, so weak and helpless. I felt as a Newborn, with no mother, cast aside and forgotten. I had become an Orc-Kind. A "Form more befitting my personality"...according to the Jester-whore.

I had become ugly, smelly, weak and frail. The once great form that I knew was gone. Never again would I dance upon the clouds or smell the sweet scent of the incoming rain. No longer would I fly among the stars, or feel the wind underneath my wings caressing them as a lover upon bare skin. I was among the "insects" I had, in my pride, treated as an antfarm for my amusement. An Orc. Shunned, hated, not only would I be forced to live among the ants, but I would be the ugliest among them. My beauty gone, my splendor taken from me at the whim of a prankster who saw fit to teach me my lesson. I sank into despair and depression, I took up the mortal drink that they saw fit to use to pollute their minds and drown their sorrows.

Tyranthraxis, the Sky Wyrm, the Tyrant among the Clouds...reduced to this. Oh, how indeed the Mighty have fallen. But Sigil, Sigil is my hope. With all of the mages, with all of the God-like beings who have gathered upon this Infinite Spire, SOMEONE must know how to return me to my true form, to give me back the splendor I once knew. To return to me all I took for granted after the skies were ripped from me like candy from an infant.

And so, the journey begins...

One week. Tis such a short amount of time, for one such as myself who has existed since time immemorial. It has been one week since I was forced into this pathetic form, and already does it seem as though an eternity has passed. My mind is not as sharp as it once was, no longer can I perceive the cosmos as I once did, free of such handicaps as mortal sight and smell which are so limited in their scope.

My senses, they are so dulled. Twas a time when I could hear the rainclouds coming from miles away, and smell the scent of lightning ionizing the clouds from a hundred leagues away. My soul is caged within this frail form...and I can't even end it. I have tried to end it...but I cannot. Every time I try, I am compelled to stop. Compelled to survive, despite that I beg with every waking moment to die and be rid this putrid mortal shell. Death would be a release, next to this travesty.

I have lost all hope, I see only the pointlessness of this mortal existence, I feel only despair. I feel the cold, the hunger, the base urges of this primitive Mammalian form as it's animalistic desires see fit to test my resolve. I am forced to subsist off of this mortal food, the very thought which is revolting to me.

The only reprieve that I have yet discovered, the only salvation to my sadness, is in a drink. The mortals refer to it as "Beer." "Bub" "Whiskey" "Hair of the Dog", I've even heard to referred as "Grandpa's Ol' Cough medicine" by one of the dregs of the region of Sigil that has become known as "The Hive."

It is my home now, I have found one of the old abandoned buildings that I have seen fit to make my new nest. Once upon a time, my Nest was covered in coins of Gold and Platinum, I rested upon treasures that most Kingdoms would siege war to claim. But now I sit as a cast-off, as unwanted and unnoticed as excrement upon the boot of society, as forgotten as the ages of old.

The scent is unbearable. How do humans live this way? Every day I see these Humans, such a proud and egotistical race, reduced to scrounging for scraps of food, scavenging and begging for whatever crumbs that societies "nobles" seek to cast aside.

I sit here in my alley, my home. My only haven within this foul city. I sip upon my drink, that I must hoard to myself to keep from the thieves and brigands that would take it from me. I have nothing here. I am nothing here. A Wyrm among worms...it is almost poetic in it's irony.

I have been offered "assistance" by a Winged One who calls herself "Zilvai." She seeks to "evaluate" me. I know this term. It is the word that is used just before the dregs of society are cast aside, thrown into straight-jackets, imprisoned within. I was once a God...and yet noone believes me. Is the claim so outlandish?

Or perhaps, am I indeed truly, as the mortals say, "Crazy?" Am I? Perhaps it never happened at all? Perhaps I never was a Dragon...perhaps I have simply been an Orc all along. An Orc with so much self-loathing and denial that my mind saw fit to splinter, to develop a new identity for myself to escape the pain of my own existence and my own hatred for the monstrous visage I was forced to wear.

No, no this can't happen. No, I will not have a crisis of identity. I am me. I am Tyranthraxis, the "Tyrant of the Skies", as Ancient and as Far-reaching as the cosmos...no, I am not crazy...


.... Am I?

"These....THINGS. They are choking me. Constricting. I've never felt so confined, so caged. They keep me trapped, I feel so helpless, so contained...

....I HATE wearing clothes!!

It's not fair! For MILLENIA I was content to walk around, naked, as the Gods had made me. Not constrained within these PRISONS that these mortals refer to as "Fashion."

Dear God, the inhumanity of it all! Walking through the Bazaar, I came across a merchant selling "exotic" wear, from all over the Planes. Out of necessity to replace the tattered rags I was wearing, I began to try on several different outfits. Every one of them more horrid than the last. As I stood, trying on the different clothes....I was receiving a plethora of exceptionally strange looks from the passer's by. I tried on several Robes, not unlike I had seen the Mages wear. They were odd, however, cut in a way to which I was unfamiliar.

As several of the mortals passed by as I casually tried on the clothing, I heard more than a few laughs underneath their breath. What was so odd, I question, about a man trying on different sets of shoes?

After I asked the young merchant what was so odd, she simply waved her hand at me. She then said something that I found odd..

"Ignore them, you Go Girl!"

...it was at that moment that I realized my folly. These clothing were designed for the females of the species..

...I had, in my complete lack of knowledge of Humanoid Culture, inadvertently just became a Transvestite.

Shit, I needed another drink...

As I spend my days among the mortals I find that some of my strength is finally returning, as is some of the Divine Power I once wielded before my metaphorical castration and being reduced to this pitiful state. I feel, for the first time, a small amount of Hope. Hope that I may one day reclaim that which was mine. It is a mere flicker compared to the Maelstrom of power I once possessed as a Wyrm. But it's there. As miniscule as a candle within a hurricane. But that candle has shown me the light, however faint, and it has showed me the path.

If I want my powers back, if I wish to reclaim that which was taken from me....I'm going to have to WORK for it. I have been cast unto the dirt alongside these mortal wretches.

I have witnessed the rise of man. Watched as these frail creature clawed themselves out of the dirt and stood upon two legs. Now, it seems, I shall have to do the same.

No more wallowing in self pity. No more despair. Tyranthraxis SHALL have his power back ...and then I shall find the witch that saw fit to do this to me and tear her still-beating heart from her chest.

Today, I begin my journey. Today, I reclaim my life...and may the God's have mercy on any who stand in my way.