Sigil: City of Doors

Vex sat straddling a chair obscenely amid the tavern proper, with her knees splayed wide and her chest made plump against the wooden backing she rested upon.

Her thumb dragged slowly over a goblet on the table, pushing a droplet of wine around the brim of it. Pressing too hard against it, the bead broke and crimson liquid scattered from it into the cup again.

She looked up, attentive, and set her golden eyes on the space across the table.

There, a nameless cutter sat, eying her with a predatory look. He licked his lips and made a vulgar catcall under his breath, thinking himself so very charismatic. So obligingly, she lifted her chin, exposing the length of pristine skin over her throat and chest. A dark smile decorated her lips as she set a smokey gaze upon the stranger, beckoning him with a curl of her tongue.

The man chuckled, then rose a glass in toast. He drank his wine with flourish and a gruff swallow, causing the stubble over his jaw to prickle in the low light. Following, the legs of his chair grated jarringly over the the floor and provoked a delicate shiver down her spine. Already, Vex could smell the intoxication on his breath, and lowered her head again to watch as he rose and circled to her.

"Evening, stranger."

---

The provocative smell of sweat clung to her skin, and she grimaced.

Time passed, and Wyatt awoke to find himself plunked down in a puddle with his eyesight gone hazy. He could hear something dripping nearby--and the splash of something else. Was it feet?

No matter. Last thing he could remember was some silken woman-thing putting his head to rest atop a sprawl of ratty cotton sheets. She was a lustful thing; all sweat and and passion and rhythm. He could still taste her on his lips.

Unfortunately, he couldn't remember the "fun part." But he didn't mind letting his imagination fill in the gaps, and it didn't take much. Though it did little to explain his current location.

Lurching forward, Wyatt squinted into the mist. Everything looked grey, and each time he tried to turn his head, he could feel his brain swim around his skull. Maybe he was still drunk.

---

The portal rippled and snapped shut as two robed figures stepped through, garbed in high hoods and careful expressions. Together, the pinprick figures strode out across the Grey Waste, gliding across it's horizon like sails over the sunset ocean. Footprints speckled their wake, then blew away as a cold breeze whispered up the dunes.

---

Ugh. The floor was wet. The walls were slimy. How did he get stuck in this birdcage? He could make out a cave, but his thoughts were so addled, it was difficult to get oriented and logic out something more definite.

Up ahead, a pair of voices--one, that of a familiar woman, and the second, the wheezy rumble of an old man.

Well at least he wasn't alone.

Pushing himself up from the wall, he staggered forward toward the pair, breaking with a grin.

"Heeeeey..." He could feel the word sluggishly roll from his mouth, and though feeling disconnected from gravity for a moment, but felt it soon enough as he careened toward his visitors with feet as heavy as lead.