Sigil: The City of Doors

Ordinarily he'd have stayed in the Bazaar a bit longer, but it had been a very profitable day already, and anyhow, it helped to mix up the routine a bit.

And thus, that rtarest and most unfortunate of events for those wretched souls living near the ditch occured...

Ikkit the Bastard, working by daylight.

He trudged along the shore, his sack trailing behind him as he retrieved various odds and ends, all of the Ditch's bounty.

Having recently completed a gig as a 'tour guide' he was slightly distraught and not in a huge hurry to return to the hive. Passing this way added length to his return journey, but it's always good to see new things and places.

One of the benefits of being undead is that breathing is optional. But so corrosive is the moisture coming off this vile excuse for a river that even Cyprian had his shirt pulled up over his mouth and nose. How effective the effort is won't be known until he's well away from here. As he'd dare not breathe, even at sword-point.

As he walks he stays vaguely aware of his surroundings. But mostly he's in his own little world. It catches him by surprise when he nearly bumps into Ikkit. In doing so he immediately jumps backwards with one hand on his blade.

"A goblin? Here??" He asks in common.

Ikkit's teeth bared in a bit of a mild snarl as he sized the pale berk up.

Clearly a Clueless- all the other obvious signs aside, nobody else would be surprised by anyone they met in Sigil- obviously a bit of a fop, and...

Maybe they all wear their shirts like that on Clueless Prime Mudball #3,247,988

"Cager here, berk."

From somewhere in Ikkit's pockets, there was a faint croak.

He sighs in relief, "Sorry, sorry, sorry." Cyprian said removing his hand from his weapon. "I'm still a bit new here. In my original plane a goblin's introduction usually involves arrows rather than words."

He looks at the pack.

"And yes, I'm rather clueless in your parlance. So I hope you'll forgive me for asking... but what brings you here?"

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(Sorry, forgot to subscribe)

"Arrows cost money, an' the Ditch is right there."

He sounded... almost amused.

"Dunno if you've twigged to it yet, but nobody here much gives a toss about whatever world you came from an' how things work there. Odds're good we've never heard of it, and odds're better it has no bearing on how we do things."

He joggled the sack.

"Salvage. How I make my living."

"How interesting, an ill-mannered goblin that lives off of trash! Well met. I too am a walking stereotype. Cyprian Kircheis, bard." He joggles the instrument on his back.

"How nice for you."

Ikkit mumbled something deeply unkind under his breath in Goblin.

"Not th'place for a dance, so 'less you're plannin' on tossing it in the Ditch, might wanna keep that stowed."

He turned back to collecting what seemed to be bits and pieces of what had been a very small boat, half-buried in the shoreline.

Cyprian may be a musician and a gentleman. But after living most of his life on the road he's gained other skills as well. In particular he's a prized shit-talker with no small amount of skill to back it up. The cut had had its intended effect which elicited a smirk. Still in the interest of civility he pumped the breaks.

"One last question and I'll leave you be. I can see you've got your hands full sir." He looks around. "Does salvage collecting pay well? It's just I've got a friend who might have need of a resourceful chap like you. He's a nasty little bugger that makes a living off of selling leather. But the procurement of hides if you catch my meaning, has often netted myself a tidy side profit."

Ikkit froze.

"This guy a gnome Dustman?"

He recoiled in shock. "You know Gizby?? Then I imagine you know full well what sort of business he does."