Sigil: City of Doors

Eighteen bodies lay around the ogre, one wrapped in a grey woolen blanket and separated from the others. He pulled out from one of his his magic bags seventeen of the threescore spear he'd brought with him, and laid the loose bundle on the ground, and cinched up the bag. His eyes scanned a short circle around him, judged his reach, and for the better part of two hours went about driving the spear shafts into the ground in the form of a circle.

Seventeen stripped bodies lay around him, still and stinking of death. Armor and personal effects had been left behind in a pile by him at the crypt where the recently slain had been performing their last rites. He grabs them one by one, careful to leave attached the bodies that had been nearly severed by him, and drives them onto the extruding spear points, one body per spear.

He then takes a center spot within the circle, takes out his greatspear, drives it blade first into the ground to his left, and attaches a white cotton flag to it. To his right, he drives one of his magic glowing blades into the ground. This one's name is Devil's Throat. Its bright pale blue light bathes his side, leaving half his frame consumed by shadow.

To the front left and right corpses facing the village, he unsheathes a dirk and stabs them through their mouths, piercing the backs of their necks. He then drives torches through the mouths of these priests of Nerull. Satisfied at their balance within their new holders, he sets them aflame. He returns to the circle to deal with the other body.

He looms over the wrapped body and says, "I told you that you were my prisoner. The was a lie to ensure your cooperation." He says while lifting the body and cradling it in his right arm, much the same way a mother with an infant would. "Sssssh, Sshh, ssh, no tears. It's almost over. The worst is passed. I mean to talk with your people, but would they listen to an empty handed ogre? No. You are my best chance to reason with them. Your wounds are healed, and you're going home. No tears."

He waits as the murmer of the village turns to alarm. "By the gods! Ogre!! Intruder!!" His ears flatten as he watches the scrambling of men to find spears and form a rank standing some thirty paces from him. His hand tightens around the girl and the spearshaft next to him, and makes no move while pairs of spearmen start to flank him. He glances at them, his face twisted in contempt, and turns to face the mass in front of him.

"Who among you will respect this flag and treat with me?" He bellows out in perfect common.

An uncertain murmer escapes the crowd. Someone finds the courage to call back, "Since when do ogres treat?"

"Since when do they ask?" The ogre snarls back.

Another quiet titter erupts from the mass.

"Go away! We don't want you." A different voice calls out.

"I will not be slighted. I have done this town a service and demand an audience. I ask again, who will treat with me?"

"What service do you speak of monster? By that flickering light I see over a dozen of us no doubt killed by your hand." That same voice calls back.

"These are not your brothers, human. They are not your children, or your fathers and mothers. They are the cult that has been terrorizing you for many moons, the sworn followers of Nerull, and yes they are dead by my bloodied hand."

"I will speak with you ogre." The crowd parts for the source of that voice. A man, some six feet tall, dressed in glowing banded mail with a longsword at his hip, approaches the ogre's circle.

"Advance and be recognized human." The ogre says.

"My name is Leiff, son of Ulf, and someone respected in this town. State your business and begone."

"The approach in peace and hear my words. Good. Right there. Come no further." He instructs. "I have in my arm one of your own. Blossom is her name, and taken forcibly two days ago. She was marked for death as a sacrifice. She is alive and unharmed now, I saw to that. And in two hours time I will pass her to you for a small price."

"Ransom, you mean? You mark us for wealth we do not possess. Look around you." Leiff says.

"No, not ransom. Words. Words that will carry more from you than me." The ogre replies."

"Words?" Leiff mocks. "What words? Perhaps you want me to tell the rest to bend our knee to you, to trade those damnable priests for the mercy of an ogre?"

"No, only that you, the lot behind you, and the girl in my hand were saved from those priests by a lich." The ogre hisses.

"Yet it is your hands and your blade that are blood black."

"And it was the lich who hired me, a lich that could have easily sent me after your town."

"A lich who CAN STILL easily send his pet after our town."

"I am noone's pet, human. Curb that sharp tongue of yours. One less villager will not a tyrant make. Your would not have been of interest to him had it not been for that cult. You have been freed and he will watch closely, from a distance, to make sure you are safe from reprisals. That is it. Make them believe those words and in two hours and the girl is yours, and I walk away."

"Why then two hours? Why not now?"

"You will be told in two hours. If you find these terms acceptable, rejoin your people and stand guard with them."

"Your terms are acceptable if you tell them true. I will let them know AFTER the girl is safe with us." He walks back to join his own people.

After a tense two hours, Leiff approaches the ogre. "The hours are up, do you mean to stay true to your word?"

"While you were standing here, your savior was searching the crypt for whatever it was he desired. He assures you that your own dead were not disturbed by him, and any undead raised there were by the priests of Nerull. They have answered for those crimes. You may search the contents of the crypt, and reclaim what is yours. Here is the girl as promised." He hands over to Leiff the girl and backs up three paces.

"Go in peace ogre. I will forever think of your kind differently." Leif says, barely containing his sneer.

"You would be a fool then. Until my people are civilized, kill them as you must. They will do the same."

The ogre picks up his sword, but leaves behind the fluttering flag. Lumbering away, he says to himself, "Let them know that I leave my peace behind with me. Let them think twice of running me down. In fact, I pray they take a chance."

The travel to the Sigilian portal is uneventful. He checks into a room at the rendezvous Inn, and requests a bath be drawn. Cleaned and smartly attired, he seats himself at a table catering to those of his size, draws up a smaller chair, and waits for his contact.

Upon receiving word that Jarlz had returned to Sigil, Chardon closed up his shop and made his way to the Foul Olde Spirit. Chardon moved up to the table where Jarlz waited, tapping on the table and motioning for Jarlz to follow him to a private room. Chardon asked Jarlz to relay his report of the events on Oerth, listening closely and nodding periodically.

You're certain they were clear that a lich sent you? They understood that clearly?

"You askin' me if I know they knew what a lich is?" the ogre replies. "Got me. I told'em what you told me to tell'em n' I told it true. I told'em a lich saved their town, a lich saved their women n' children, n' a lich was gonna tuck'em into bed at night n' tell'em nighty night tales. I told'em what you told me to tell'em n' I got th' hellz outta there before onna them decided to get brave."

He leans back a moment in his chair.

"Why's it matter so much to you anyway? What're they to you? Pets you get to watch waste away? A village full of potential experiments? Doesn't matter. Just so you know, I got seventeen o' them. You come across any ledgers while you was lookin' n' rootin' 'round their cave? You find anything describin', I dunno, their actual numbers at the time they got..." he grins a wide, toothy grin, "surprised? I wanna make sure I was thorough before I bid you settle up with me."

Chardon considers the flippant ogre for a long moment before nodding.

"Fair enough. It's not terribly important whether you got them all or not. The reality of such is quite inconsequential at this point. Now then..."

The lich reaches into a small worked leather pouch fastened to his belt, pulling out a well worn leather bound ledger. Opening the ledger, Chardon quickly flipped to a certain page, sliding his finger down a list before tapping briefly.

"Now then, have you grown weary of my coin, or would you like a second helping?"

Sensing he might be pushing it, Jarlz leans back in his chair, winces, and rolls his neck.

"Aye, coin is good, though knowledge better. That staff we were discussing earlier should settle us on this account." He says. "I'm interested in books and maybe you might have some insight into the subjects. No, not magic, just hard truths. First, I'm interested in the agricultural practices of all the major humanoids. There are probably scores of books on the subject but I need someone to navigate the library for me. The aisles are too narrow and would you believe the looks I get every time I ask for a book that isn't scratch n' sniff or doesn't have big, colorful pictures? The book keepers and the sages won't help me, and it's better I don't suffer their mockeries."

He pauses to take a deep drink of his ale, grabs the beach towel-sized napkin, wipes his mouth, folds it, and puts it back on the table.

"So, aye, I think you n' me can do right by each other. Just one thing. I ain't well suited for diplomacy with humans. Maybe next time you got some work for me on Oerth, maybe you can, I dunno, send me with a better face, someone who might be able to talk with'em. My own kin? Yeah, I can speak a language they unnerstan' real clear." He grins. " I know why you can't do it yourself. You may have the most golden o' intentions, but you're death incarnate. Even if you don't stink of it, you look it, and that scares the hellz outta even me."

Chardon listens to the ogre while it responds, nodding slightly at the mention of the staff and nodding again at the mention of Jarlz need for access to a library.

"An ogre who wants to be a farmer...must be someone he ate." Chardon muttered to himself with a slight smile creasing the decayed flesh remaining on his face. "If you wish access to a library I'm quite certain I can work something out. The same libraries that ban you from admittance would likely disallow me from entering as well. You're in luck though. For quite a long time now I've been assembling a collection of any lore I can find on any subject, and have a great many tomes collected. I no longer allow others access, but I will have the library's keeper look through them to see if he can perhaps locate something of use."

Chardon then opened his ledger, flipping to a page near the end, sorting through various items before tapping something and closing the book. "There was another matter I wanted a bit of help with. You won't be doing public relations exactly. There is an item that I am trying to recover, and I believe others have found the location. A legend tells that a priest of Nerull walked the Gray Wastes of Hades, seeking to animate bodies lost in the Blood War and use them to launch an offensive against his enemies on Oerth. The priest did not know that the energies of the plane itself would subvert his attempts and the priest was no match for the army he had created after they turned on him. The legend exists as a cautionary tale to necromancers regarding the dangers of their profession. I'm sure the details bore you, but I've found references that name the priest as one Lochvang Niphril. That same name also appears in other texts related to an artifact called the Talisman of Krevell. That talisman is of interest to myself, and apparently to another group of Nerullite cultists. I have a yugoloth contact at their fortress of Khin-Oin who has informed me that they are also investigating this legend. I want you to travel to the Gray Wastes and see what the cultists are doing. If they find the Talisman, slaughter them and return it to me. If you deem them too powerful for you to defeat on your own, send word through the yugoloths and I will find others to aid you in this task.

Any questions?"