Sigil: The City of Doors

It was a strange sight to see in Torch that morning. Not the Warforged or his construct so much as someone helping. A great deal of chaos, blood and bodies was nothing new, but what about a construct sorting for any survivors and... actually treating a few. Successfully. Ore wasn't a dummy, bringing his gear and armor but leaving all but 10 gold but giving out basic care and a healing spell.

And if that meant he was able to examine plenty of corpses for study then all the better.


D3 Light in the Torch - Medicine DC 17: 1d20+3 18

The worst of the flooding - and the worst of the death and destruction - happened at the base of Karal, the middle of the three eponymous mountains of Torch. People here were, at the best of times, used to being stepping stones - sometimes literally - for their neighbours. The ground here is sodden, nearby houses propped safely above the height of usual floods on stilts but not enough to escape this unusual flooding. Even now, sometime after the floodwaters had subsided, damage is obvious and many poor berks wander with eyes unrecognizing of their surroundings.

And, in the midst of all of this - a construct and his construct doing 'good.' That, most definitely, was drawing attention.

While others milled around, a young teal skinned boy with a pair of what could only generously be referred to as horns poking from his shaggy mess of hair sat nearby atop a frankly malodourous corpse of a yochlol, slicing smalls chunks off of some sort of (what one could hope was) fruit with a small knife and popping them in his mouth. He watched, giggling occasionally for a time, before shouting (mouth full of the 'fruit'), "Wastin' time, berk. None 'round here 'bout to gift for services."

"I have been told that some would consider performing good works to be something that is part of being inherently good. That by being predetermined, that their conduct is naught but a reflection of the that characteristic." Ore studies the young(?) being. "Others would state that a gift ripples outwards from the source, creating a cascading effect."

Ore squats down to a lingering body that is unclaimed, one that appears to be a dead fiend. "I am dubious on both counts."

Ore pulls out a dagger and creates an incision, trussing the being like a dead hunt trophy, the differences in internal structure causing a spark within the gemstone eyes.

"The gift I gain for the services is understanding to aid in a future goal. All of this destruction...it is to be in service to gods. The beings they supposedly created are the tools they use in their war. If the gods used their apothesis in their creations, is it reflected? Does it differ from others. Further study is warranted."

The teal-skinned being cuts off another chunk of the 'fruit' as the warforged works, putting it in his mouth and chewing slowly. As the words run through his mind, the young creature squints, watching the work, "Huh. That's a lot of words that I'm not sure I understand. Sounds a bit like barkle to me, really."

He squats down next to the warforged as he works, "Hmmm... mmmhmmm... mmhmm... anythin' int'restin'?"

[Religion or Arcana to get something interesting?]

[Either or; up to you - each will get different responses here.]

Religion check: 1d20+5 15

The body, half buried in muck, was once a vrock. A cross of a vulture and a humanoid, the creature reeks of death - of course, the warforged can't smell it. The young being next to the warforged, though, wrinkled his nose. Poking around in the body, it's very clear that something intelligent created the form these beings wear, a vicious mockery of other humanoid beings. Everything you find inside has a very clear purpose, though some organs beging to disintegrate as you poke your way past them.

But as you continue your work, you find a single golden coin buried inside the creature's offal. At a quick glance, it's hard to tell exactly where it originates from - but it seems to be a little too large to be currency.

Ore rummages with his Smith's tools to extract the coin and place it in his Bag of Holding.

The coin - if one could call it that - is definitely too large to be a piece used in currency; a quick glance makes it to be about twice the size of the gold coins most commonly used in Sigil and clearly far heavier. One side is completely blank, the symbol that once graced it worn away with age; the other bears the vague outline of something that resembles a fountain surrounded by nine stars though it too is faded with age.

The little horned one looks at coin as you remove it, "Huh. Neat."