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Adventures of Fish (in Sigil) or Why you shouldn't use hallucinogens
...Made by Fish. That says it all doesn't it?

Stats of Fish:

Name: Fish
Race: Human
Class: Unemployed

Fish stood in a used bookstore. His eyes were closed but perhaps that was because he was sleeping. Some people are gifted that way. Of course his boss was not as impressed as the puzzled customers or the grinning moron stealing books.
"God damn it Fish!" The boss, a giant of a man with a shiny scalp with only remnants of what had once been an impressive afro. "This is the last straw." The boss-man pushed Fish roughly who, still alseep amazingly enough, fell back into a large pile of books. The boss man picked up Fish's limp form and roughly tossed him out the door. As soon as Fish hit the pavement, bounced twice, and rolled into the gutter, he awoke. He stood up and scratched his head.
"Maybe I should shower more than once a week," he muttered and began walking, hands thrust in his pocket. He could read the writing on the wall, and the wall on the used bookstore said,"GET THE HELL OUT FISH!"

The coffee shop on the corner was open and since he, no longer occupied by mundane matters such as "money", he now had the free time necessary to peruse a coffee shop. He walked in and bought a lemonade, pausing as he passed a mirror set up over one wall. He did not look like much. Sort of like one of those guys you see than immediately forget because they look so ordinary.
"At least I don't smell," he muttered, and then remembered to add,"yet." He walked back outside. The sky was disturbingly blue, and the sun was really going at it with gusto but it was not hot, it was in fact a nice day. It became immediately nicer when Fish noticed a certain person sitting on an outer table all alone.
He had not taken two steps when the blue vortex of spinning blue light opened in front of him and since avoiding it would have meant moving he walked right into it. Travelling to alternate dimensions through wormholes was nothing new to Fish, he read science fiction.

Within the space of a blink he stood in some kind of poorly lit cavern. In front of him, slumped against a wall, was a broken looking square-shaped creature. Fish dropped his lemonade and turned around. The portal was gone. Damn it.
"Stranger," the square thing croaked in a weakened voice. A little freaked out, but mostly angry that he dropped his lemonade, Fish turned and knelt down over the creature.
"Hello," Fish said,"you would not know where I am would you?"
"Sigil," the square creature gasped, its wings shuddering.
"Are you okay?"
"Eloquent bastard aren't you?"
"Take care of my wrench," the square-thing said, in a pleading tone, looking up with a face that implored. Fish, the soft hearted (and headed) fool that he was, shrugged.
"Okay," Fish said, but the square thing was silent. Fish looked down at the strange tool belt the creature wore and plucked out a large wrench. The thing was heavy. Fish looked around, confused on where to go. Then the appearance of the wererats decided things.
He did not notice them at first, the glowing red eyes that wandered in the faint shadows around him, but as he surveyed his surroundings he became aware of three of them. Big, mean, half-rat, half-human. Sort of like giraffes in that way. Fish smiled confidently. "Humansss," one rat hissed. But Fish was already sprinting the other way. The rats shared a confused glance then gave pursuit.
"Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!" Fish shouted to himself, his breathing already ragged.
"Mental note to self: Video games are not a good substitute for actual exercise," he said.

"Hello!" Said the wrench, cheerily. Fish jumped across a section where the path had worn away leaving a deep dark hole, then ducked behind a corner. His chest burned, his legs were sore, and he could not seem to do anything but breath, and breathing did not seem to help. "Holy-" Fish said, dropping the wrench. It clanged on the ground, and Fish heard the wererats closing in. He could keep running away, but that would take effort. Maybe it would be better to stay and die.

"Who are you?" The wrench said,"I'm Tim-tom."
"Nice to meet you Tim-Tom," Fish said, walking as quickly as he could down the corrider, the were rats were searching furiously.
"I could not help noticing you are going to die very soon," Tim-Tom said, still annoyingly happy.
"Yes, I noticed that too," Fish said, swinging the wrench against the wall. It gave out a lound clang. The wererats closed in, squeaking in a loud way.
"Ow!" said Tim-Tom. Fish only grinned.
"I take it your a magicial something-or-other?" Fish said, but did not hear the answer because the first raggedly clad wererat was upon him. The creature bent low to the ground and waited. Fish realized that he was waiting for the others. The stupid insultingly powerful creature was afraid to face him alone! He could use that to his advantage.

Fish broke into another sprint in the opposite direction.
"I don't suppose you could make yourself into a shotgun," Fish gasped, his newfound strength already waning.
"Shut up!"

The three wererats regrouped and ran as a pack, they within feet of their prey. One pounced, the man threw himself down, spinning around as he fell, raising his shotgun and firing. The surprised wererat flew back, hit the somewhat low ceiling and fell to the floor. An empty cartridge pinged as it hit the floor. The other two wererats paused. Fish smiled again.
"Enchanted shotgun, oh yeah." The two wererats ran away.

Fish sat down to catch his breath. The shotgun leaning up against his shoulder. "See! I told you bonding would allow me to figure out what a shotgun was." Tim-Tom crowed, triumphant.
"Yeah, yeah, shut up."
Fish looked around. The place where he was looked no different than the place he had started from.
"Where are we?"
"Some tombs under the city or something," Tim-Tom said. Optimistic little shotgun.
"Well how do we get out?"
"Most likely we could leave the way we came in."
"Which is?"

Gorlamon, the necromancer, stepped over the dead Modron. Magic shields pulsed around him, forming an aura of glowing darkness. He sensed that others had passed by here not too long ago. None of his concern, the Modron was dead. He spun around, moving easily because he did not bother with mage robes, and slipped back into the pool of shadows. Most creatures of the tombs avoided him as he passed, thankful that they did not draw his attention. Maybe it was because he was a psychotic badass and he would kill anything that got in his way. Or maybe it ... not wait, it was because he was a psychotic badass.

Fish walked out into the open air of Sigil. There was some kind of thing where you could look up and see some other part of the city looking down on you. Which was pretty diorienting, if you noticed that kind of thing. Fish was not terribly observant. The harlots alone occupied him for half an hour, he just stared.
"Ahem," said Tim-Tom.
"So then I said, no wait I haven't gotten my hat," Fish said to the harlot who was not listening to him.
"AHEM," said Tim-Tom.
"Say, I think you're thing is talking to you, you sodding barmy berk," the uninterested harlot said.
"Oh thanks," said Fish. "What is it?" He hissed.
"It's the beginning." Said Tim-Tom.

... the end of part 1

And now for part 2:

Fish wandered about the hive aimlessly at first. Shotgun held loosely in one hand as he laid the barrel across both his shoulders. He watched the people passing by.
"I think I'm going to have change my clothing," said Fish to himself. Tim-Tom did not know that, of course.
"Why's that?" Asked Tim-Tom.
"I don't think a t-shirt that says,'I'm a crack fiend,' is exactly appropriate attire," said Fish, looking up a the sky and admiring the view of some other section of Sigil.
"Accurate no doubt, but you would be an idiot to wear it," said Tim-Tom. Fish was tempted to knock the shotgun against the nearest wall.
A dabus floated by, the tall horned creatures that hovered over the ground, in green robes. This dabus glanced in his direction.
"Damn, does everything around here have glowing red eyes?" Fish asked Tim-Tom. Then he stopped.
"Hey do they have crack-fiends where you come from?"
Tim-Tom was silent.
"Tim-Tom, do you even know what a crack-fiend is?"
"Of course Fish," Tim-Tom said,"a side effect of bonding to you is that there is some leakage between our minds, little bits of information, memories, and feelings."
"Uh ...," Fish paused. "I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with someone being around in my head."
"Believe me, it's one strange place."
"Ha ha, so what does this link do?"
"Well, when I linked to you I plucked out your image of a shotgun, which is why if you look closely you'll see that I'm not really a shotgun, just how you perceive a shotgun. That's why you need never run out of ammo, because I'm not really a shotgun, just the dream of a shotgun," Tim-Tom said. Then he started humming to himself.
"Interesting," Fish said, rubbing his head. "Wait a minute, I can't use a shotgun."
"Yes, well, that's why I lend a hand," said Tim-Tom,"you just hold on and enjoy the ride."

The necromancer entered the tower, changing his NAME, altering the very fabric of his being, altering reality itself. He shed his old identity and donned his new NAME: Mazrimel. Appearance wise he was still the same, a dark thin tall man. He also lost none of his psychotic badass-ness.
The Modron was dead, which freed him of one pest. But there were still many others trying to disrupt the plans of the Pillar. Mazrimel reached the heart of the tower. It rose up to infinity, circle of columns piled upon circle of columns. The entire place was made out of an ancient green stone. It smelled slightly of moss and it was never warm. Mazrimel sat down in the center of the floor, his masters would come when they saw fit. He let his head drift back and he closed his eyes. A few moments later he rose slightly off of the ground, deep in a trance. Hung suspended by minor spells he began gathering his strength for the days ahead.

Tim-Tom flew in Fish's hand, wheeling about, the barrel catching on the Chaosman's chin and sending him flying back. Another Chaosman, covered in a pile of strange jewelry and covered in mismatched clothing, ran forward near foaming at the mouth with a knife in hand. Tim-Tom spun around, nearly yanking Fish's arm out as it did so, firing twice, the first shot blew the Chaosman off of his feet, the second caught him as he fell, causing him to spin. Two more empty cartridges hit the ground, bouncing twice before, as Fish watched, they seemed to dissolve.
The old merchant whose street vendor the Chaosmen had assaulted awarded Fish with a change in wardrobe, which was mostly a plain tunic and a thick blanket, made ouf of some strange material that was like silk only it did not smell, that was red and black. The blanket had a hole cut in it for Fish's head.
"You still look like a crack fiend," said Tim-Tom.
"Shut up," Fish said, banging the shotgun against a nearby brick wall. Fish thanked the merchant and continued wandering. It was beginning to get dark.
"Okay Tim-Tom, so how do I get home?" Fish asked, suddenly very tired. It had been a busy day after all, getting fired, travelling to an Interdimensional city, battling werebeasts. And so on and so on.
"Beats me," Tim-Tom said. If he were a person Fish suspected he would have shrugged his shoulders.
"Probably through one of the portals," Tim-Tom added after a moment.
Thus began the "Sigil the City of Doors" speech. Two hours later, Fish was not the fastest to grasp deep concepts, they took shelter in a bar that never seemed to close. The bar was called "Kaala's Corner." They were still deep in the Hive, which looked about as crappy as Tim-Tom had described on their way out of the tombs.
A deva sat on the other end of the bar. The deva was female. She was blonde. She was a deva, so the fact that she was beautiful, in an otherworldly "I'm the most perfect thing in all creation" kind of way should be taken for granted. She also had wings and a sword hanging in a scabbard from her belt.
She glanced at him once, but then forgot he existed. Which was okay with Fish, he was used to it by now.

"Okay, I've got a plan," said Fish.
"I'm all ears," said Tim-Tom, which was a lie. Tim-Tom was all shotgun.
"We find a big magic user, some guy with mystical muscle, and somebody like that would know I can get home," said Fish.
"Not the most well thought out plan, why would they want to help you."
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to that ... bridge." Fish said firmly, the began concocting ways to approach the deva.
that's part 2, folks!

Part 3 coming up: To whom it may concern:

And this is part three, the conclusion if you will:

I have basically not slept for quite a long time. In the period of extreme weariness I had a vision, a vision of Fish accompanied by an enchanted shapeshifting mystical shotgun. It seemed like such a good idea, and I wanted to write a fanfiction. I, Fish being an insomniac Torment fan and all, it seemed appropriate. But then I remembered that I, Fish, have a commitment in Central Asia, something about saving my soul or something ...

And I wanted to write a good story, you know, that made sense. Failing that, I fear I must ... do something. I'm not quite sure yet.

Heavens to Betsy Batman watch out!
Thanks Robin, that was close.
You bet Batman!

The End.
(Unless I add some more later.)

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