Sigil: City of Doors

Vorgazar strode through the streets of Sigil, his body heavy and exhausted. Passers by gave small waves and nods of acknowledgement, others had the gall to dare to pat him on the back.

The orc was in a half haze of walking sleep and depression and it all just washed past him like obstacles and disruption to his stupor as he headed towards the mortuary.

Â…

The door of the Mortuary flung open and his towering form passed through.

Down the stairs he half fell and clambered before finally coming to rest near the bodies of the orc losses.

The chief collapsed down on his backside next to the linen wrapped form of Kurrock, one of the ogrillion brothers, two orc pirates and a couple of orcs and half-orcs.

His exhaustion finally took him and he lay himself down next to the dead. He lay there some time staring up at the ceiling, drifting in and out of consciousness.

His ears twitched and listened as he heard the animated dead move around him packing the orcs into coffins for their trip back to Nishrek.

Hours passed and Vorgazar did not move.

Eventually he fell into a sleep and again the dream came, the recurring dream that had plagued him for the last couple of weeks.

In his dream he was in a wood and the woods were beautiful and sunny with pretty flowers and light mossy ground. In his hands he held a small white, fluffy, baby bunny rabbit. The cutest and weakest thing you could possibly imagine. Occasionally he snuggled the bunny to his face and nuzzled itÂ’s little bunny nose.

As he walked through the woods he began to see cats walking around. Big fat cats, over fed and snooty looking, all content and comfortable in their woods. If cats could smile these cats were. Fat greedy bastards, Vorgazar would like to stretch a few of them he would.

Suddenly the bunny jumps out of his hands and runs off into the long grass and shrubs.

“No!” Vorgazar cries and all around cats come leaping and bounding in, all diving onto the bunny. Small pieces of white fur litter the place.

He reaches down and tears off cats, throwing them up into the trees behind. He cares not for their fate and he hears only their cat like wails as they fly through the air and hitting branches before they drop to the ground. One final cat, a real big plump cat with snow white fur and touches of pink rabbit blood around itÂ’s mouth and nose. He grabs it by the neck, itÂ’s claws scratching his arm and itÂ’s hind legs kicking out, shredding under his forearm. He cared not for the pain. He crushed and crushed the catÂ’s neck until it moved no more and then he dropped it lifeless to the floor.

The orc looks down, his eye welling with tears as he looks upon the broken bunny. The poor little thing is covered in blood and breathing its last breaths.

Slowly he picks it up and cradles it in his hands before walking on into the woods, a now dark and deathly looking place.

“Vorgazar.”

The orcÂ’s eye opens and heÂ’s lying on the mortuary floor again. As his eye focuses in the dark he sees a womans face looking down at him. Red hair hangs from her shoulders.

“Vorgazelle?” He says as his eyes try and focus.

“Ha, no no silly, it is me.”

Vorgazar squints and sits up, his eyes finally coming into focus as he sees his mother stood beside him.

His arms reach out and she comes in giving him a hug. Vorgazar sat there for a few moments, his mother knelt down holding him as he breathed heavy sighs of sorrow into her shoulder.

The human woman stroked her fingers across his bald head and kissed him once.

“Mozgul has prepared the burial grounds for your champions.”

Vorgazar wiped his eye and smirked slightly.

She smiles back. “It’s good to see you’re not completely like your father.”

The half-orc bumped heads with his mum.
“We have a fookin good piss up for dems yuss.”

“I just ordered thirty kegs of baatorian ale from Khazeet.” Said his mother with a slap to the back of his neck.

The warchief rose up and surveyed the coffins with a pained sigh. His mother beckoned a group of orc monks in, wearing charcoal black robes marked only on the back and front with a pair of white hand prints.

The orcs pulled up their hoods and collected the coffins carrying them out.

As Vorgazar emerged from the mortuary he began his walk past the orc cart laden with beer kegs and coffins.

Debris littered the skies above Sigil, a spell jammer tore through the orange clouds, burning and falling in a downwards spiral. Common folk of the hive were copying some of his orcs and steaking some dead shadow sworn. Vorgazar looked up with a smile.

“Fook I luvz dis town.”


*...and music*

Vorgazelle, feeling a bit disconnected from everything (and wondering idly if someone was eventually going to decide to kill her because the Shaper had made her - she'd seen how hostile some were toward Jiro when the Shaper saved him), wandered the streets of Sigil. She knew Vorgazar had gone to weep for the dead orcs, and part of her wanted to as well. But she didn't want to impose on his grief and besides, she felt... strange.

A couple of those orc boyz had been good for some boshnagz, but most of them she only knew because Vorgazar had known them before she was made. She had a very strange existence. More and more she felt herself growing distant from the "self" who was Vorgazar and searching for someone who was Vorgazelle.

Some gnome bumped into her leg as she passed (okay maybe she nearly trampled the gnome - she hadn't even seen him) and the next thing she knew she was snarling and fighting some mechanical contraption the gnome had produced from somewhere. When it was finally a twisted heap of metal and leaking fluids, she grinned at the gnome. "Was a good fight. Fanks, gnome, I is need dat now." The gnome looked disgusted and Vorgazelle simply wandered off.

Her wounds from the battles with the Shadowsworn were aching. Some of them hadn't healed quite yet and that little dustup with the mechanical thing hadn't really helped. But she wasn't about to admit any weakness. She was an Orc!

Finally she found herself wandering into Khazeet's. She ordered a beer and pie. A white haired tiefling looked at her and spoke, wondering what she was.

That was a good question.

Vorgazelle gave him the only answer she had: "I is Orc."

The rest of the day went much more pleasantly, even if she lost quite a bit more blood. But damn the boshnagz was worth it.

*Fargul returned from Toril, having felt actually quite Great. The invasion had been repelled and the admiration from some of higher ups, was truely a blessing for his scarred soul. There was even some time for him to visit the grave of his recently deceased wife. However he quickly entered Sigil again, just to find his home lying war torn before him.

After he had sobered up again, he made himself a picture of the complete extent of the damage: His orphanage had not been spared of the mayhem. About three dozens of the kids fell prey to the invaders until they had been repelled by Harmonium and volunteers. Another 50 were injured and all of them were scared. The cutter, that Fargul had hired to warn them in time before the Shadowsworn would enter, had been killed on the way to the Orphanage and the people were taken by surprise. An entire wing had been bashed and a big hole in the side of the building, opened the court up. Fargul closed that part off by setting up wooden walls in these corridors. He then held a long and disturbing ceremony with piles of small coffins being sent away to the Dustmen. The voices of the children crying, echoed in his head even when he walked around the city, trying to find new orphans. Maelfina was right: He had to be straight in his mind now he was not allowed to lose his cool. He built a bigger sleeping room where all children would stay inside and for hours he just sat in there. The smaller children crawled up to him first.. At some point everyone in the hall had gathered around him, trying to find safety in their "One-Eye-Dad"... And all because he did not set his priorities straight. He should have never gone to Toril in the first place.

And the anger inside him rose up to a point, where he believed he could spit it onto the ground and it would manifest as a beast that could get rid of all those who deserved it. But it stayed just where it was. The worst was that it wasn't only himself he was angry about. . .*

The Nishrek Portal exploded open and through it flooded over twenty orcs in aprons with tool belts on. Each one carried boxes and bags of iron cubes and other building resources.

Vorgazar came plodding over the bridge from the Bazaar, having spoke to Fargul earlier he had promised some aid with the orphanage.

"Whutever himz is ask, youz does and no eatin any kids! Fookin orcs..."

Purity had arrived back from a party she had been requested to attend in Asgard. Freya had asked for her favourite Valkyrie to attend and she couldn't really say no to her Goddess.

She arrived back in Sigil very late extremely drunk and crashed at the Inn without noticing any of the damage.

The next day upon rising she entered the Bazaar extremely hung over and headed over to Khazeet. It wasn't until a dwarf pointed out all the destruction to her that she noticed what had happened.

Later when she had regained her wits and strength she walked around Sigil healing and giving words of comfort to those who needed it.

She did get some useful information out of it though. The Huntress still lives! A soul in need of comforting and salvation, staying at the house of the six fingers apparently. Purity hopes she can meet with the creature soon, to once again offer her freedom and ascension. She fingers her Sacrificial Blade of Freya and prays for the soul of the Huntress once again.

"Don't worry" she whispers to herself "I will set you free. You will fly again"

Deep in the bowl's of the Spell Jammer. The scraping of metal upon metal is heard. The forgotten construct lays dormant in the darkness. It will awaken eventually.

Aleandrea at various times walking around sigil, had stopped and looked around. Any who had seen her would notice her eyes going a flat glowing green comonly associated with the fey, any time she spoke while this had happened her vioce would, go flat and rather weird, one time watching a clean up crew she had an entire conversation with herself, which the few he may have heard random drunk workers talk about it would have heard rather varied conversations along the lines of, how sad/stupid "mortals" are, and her normal voice defending "mortals".