Dialogue & Exposition

Hoy, berk! Best take a few steps back and get yerself outta that alley; that brush there will cut ya up good.

 

Now, pardon my mentioning, but ya a seem a bit... lost. Lemme guess; ya were mindin’ yer business when “Bam!”, flash of light, buildings are all different, air’s all off, and ya don’t recognize anything? Thought so. Well lemme be the first to welcome ya to Sigil. Looks like ya might be in need of someone to give ya the dark of this place, like the Rule of Threes and how it applies to yer luck just now. One, yer lucky I happen to be such a guide. Two, yer lucky I can spot a dead-bound clueless. Three, yer lucky I stopped ya from walkin’ into that patch o’ razorvine. That’ll put ya in the dead-book faster than a baatezu with a horn-ache.

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Consider that ‘lil bit free; a sample of services, as it were. Now, for five silver I can answer the questions I can see ya got rattlin’ about yer brainbox. Ain’t got the coin? Tell ya what, I’d hate to see ya get peeled by the first conny to come along, so how about the copper ring on yer right hand and we’ll call it square? Bound to lose more without the help of a blood like me anyway. Whaddya say?

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Nice toss, and a smart move, cutter. Let’s give this place the laugh, I’ll give ya the chant. Name’s Lucian Frisk. Professionally, I’m a tout; a blood who knows the dark of this place more than most. I help clueless like yerself. Ah, no offense, clueless is just what newer berks are called. It’s a term of endearment really...well, sorta.

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Now bein’ as ya smell of the Primes, yer kind typically call this place Sigil, City of Doors. Planar beings, when ya can understand them, call it somethin’ like the Nexus. Planewalkers call it the Crossroads. Point is, others give it those names ‘cause ya can get anywhere in the multiverse from here; from the peaks of Olympia, to the Clockwork Halls, to the bottom of the Abyss. There are Doors all about that lead everywhere.

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Us locals, however, call it the Cage. ‘Cause that’s what it is to most of us. It confines and protects the cutters, clueless, primes, planars, and everyone else who live and pass through here. And our warden and ruler is known as The Lady 'o Pain. She keeps the city free from politics and wars of the other planes by havin’ exclusive control over the creation and destruction of The Doors; the only ways in or out.

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Tryin’ to walk out won’t do you good; look straight up. See those upside-down buildings in the clouds? That’s the far side of the city from here. Travel half a day in either direction, look up again, and ya’d see where we are now. Neat, huh? Say, ya look sick. Ya gonna be ok? Maybe ya need to sit for a bit.

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Sorry to tell ya, berk, but I don’t know what Door brought ya here. It just happens from time to time, specially with primes. One moment yer exploring some ruins or rummaging through a wizzy’s stash of magic rings and, oops, ya activated a Door.

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Good news is there’s likely a hundred different Doors to take ya back. Bad news is ya may not be able to afford the dark on how to open one. For that, a cutter’s got to use their brainbox, ask around, maybe spend a little jink in the right places.

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Ah, heh, no, forget about asking the Lady. Rule of Threes again. First, no one knows where to find Her. Second, she don’t talk. Third, no one wants Her attention. If ya got it, likely be 'cause ya crossed her. If Her mere presence didn’t drive ya mad with all those knives and blades, Her Mazes surely would, and a body Mazed by the Lady don't make it out the same.

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Yer far better off seekin’ help elsewhere, The faction houses might help, but with all their machinations, yer likely to end up in their pocket. Suppose that’s inevitable though. Sooner or later, clueless always end up in someone’s pocket. Best ya can hope for is that ya end up in the right pocket. One that will get ya home before ya get scragged runnin’ one of their “favors.”

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Now before ya get all down and write yer name in the dead-book with yer own pen, it’s not impossible to get home. I’m just tryin’ to keep your expectations level and keep ya from getting bobbed straightaway by some basher who’ll see you as easy jink. If yer keen on giving this city the laugh, ya just need to find the right Door and its Key. Though truth is Doors and Keys could be anythin'. Could be what ya need is a key-shaped Key put into a door-lookin' Door all neat-like, but could just as likely be a loose brick put back after being painted red, a song whistled in a closet at midnight, or a teardrop of an angel placed into a puddle of wishes.

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Or maybe, just maybe, it could be walking into a patch ‘o razorvine wearing a magical copper ring? Hah, hey now, no need to get angry. I told ya the truth! I don't know what Door brought ya. The Key on the other hand... well, tell ya what, I'd happy to give your ring back... if ya can just do me this one favor first.