You hurry through the streets of lower Torch as best you can, dodging piles of refuse and the occasional dead body lying in the street, looted of anything of possible value. The roads are badly kempt and twisty, often doubling upon on themselves as they switch back and forth up the steep sides of Maygel, the central volcanic spire. Unfortunately, that also happens to be the active spire, and the atmosphere grows increasingly filthy and choking... not that it seems to bother Blade, Flaust, or Kiaros' host much, their lower planar heritage providing a measure of protection against such things. You see tieflings here in abundance, along with a number of shifty-eyed githzerai, humans, and evil humanoids.
Fortunately, few are leatherheaded enough to bother you, your formidable appearance and shining gear sufficient to deter casual challenges. Several predatory and covetous glances are sent your way, but the bullies ultimately turn away, seeking easier and weaker prey.
You reach the gate to the walled section of the city, the great basalt walls carved with leering and snarling faces. A squad of scruffy bugbears stand guard, collecting tolls rather arbitrarily and keeping the 'riffraff' out none too gently. Behind them floats a leathery, bulbous orb with a large central eye and several eyestalks sprouting from its crown, watching their careless cruelty with detached interest. As you approach, the largest of the bugbears, a hulking and scarred basher with a sallow, jaundiced hide, appraises the group with a hungry eye.
"10 jinx. Each," he demands in rough Common, stained fangs flashing toothily as he grins nastily.
