Odd Alley, an area within Greyhawk's Old City, was so difficult to locate that most citizens of the metropolis were unaware of its existence. Gord, a consummate thief, burglar, and swordsman, had spent many years in the slums of Greyhawk practicing his skills. He knew the people and the city, so many of the places within Odd Alley were not foreign to him. But one thing that was not familiar to him was an inability to dispose of loot.
Chert, on the other hand, was a woodsman from the distant east and as such was not entirely accustomed to Greyhawk's nooks and crannies. However, as Gord's friend and companion for the past year, he did know quite a bit about hardships in the wilderness, life-and-death battles, and now thievery, as it were.
And he knew Gord's code of ethics where thievery was concerned. The honorable thief took only from takers, swindled the dishonest, and stole from those who gained by foul means. It was a long-standing point of honor with the young rogue, one the huge hillman sometimes found hard to accept.
If there was occasionally a question regarding the line between honesty and fairness, Gord usually allowed his friend to make the decision regarding the prospect. After all, there were more than a few eligible marks in a city the size of Greyhawk.
"What are we going to do now?" Chert asked, his tone implying a sense of despair. "I told you that dark temple was no place for life-loving thieves to rob! If you had listened to me, we wouldn't be in this mess!"
Not wishing to hear yet another lecture in what was becoming a continuous series, Gord thought back. He and Chert had stolen into the Great Temple of Nerull and had taken a reliquary of red gold from the altar of the sanctum sanctorum. This gem-encrusted object was worth a king's ransom — that is, if they could sell it. Gord knew that it contained a substance the priests of the grim deity claimed was ichor shed by Nerull himself. Gord also knew now that no dealer, collector, or fence in the whole of Greyhawk would even willingly lay eyes on the reliquary, let alone pay cash to possess it!
"Are your ears failing you, oaf?" Gord asked his comrade sarcastically. "Didn't I tell you Old Annya would know the answer? You heard her tell us how to be rid of the thing and be rewarded too!"
"I heard her say that dark evil hounds us. I heard her babble gibberish. That is what my good ears heard all too well," Chert responded, his tone a combination of anger and self-pity.
"Ah ha! She fooled you, then, old chum. That biddy is a mean and tricky one, I'll admit,'' Gord said brightly.
"Mean as they come." Chert nodded in agreement "But tricky? How so?"
"She speaks in riddles and half-truths in order to make the customers agree to pay more. We need not worry, though. Recall you the runes and sigils I brought forth? Remember the gateway at the last?"
"So what?"
Gord pointed to the dim end of the alley. "See yonder? There is the gate that shuts fast Odd Alley. Beyond must be our goal!"
"Hmmm," Chert said, doubt creeping across his rugged features.
"Come on! I'll show you," Gord said confidently. A few minutes later, that confidence was gone. The distant end of the alley, a place evidently shunned by all living creatures, had its gate, certainly. The portal was old, iron, and locked. Knocking, banging, and pounding did no good.
"This cannot be," Gord said with exasperation.
"Horseshit!" his huge comrade sighed. "Let's get out of here and plan a journey. Greyhawk is getting too unhealthy of late."
"Will you allow a few assassins, noises in the night, and one locked gate to scare you off?" demanded the smaller man.
"Gord. If you call murder attempts and night daemons nothing, you're either a brave fool or a stupid oaf. And I’m not going to stand around here and ponder which of the two categories best describe your present state. I am going to saddle my horse and ride elsewhere — while I’m still able. You do as you wish," Chert said with an air of finality.
Gord had tried to make light of their peril ever since they had left the temple with the dreaded yet valuable relic. The young thief pretended it was little more than a joke because his comrade had stubbornly resisted his plan to steal the Reliquary of Nerull from the temple right up until they had actually pulled the whole thing off. Since then Chert had said little, but his expression spoke volumes.
Gord had noticed that they were followed after they had approached several fences who normally bought stolen items such as the purloined reliquary. All of these so-called dealers were quite adamant about their lack of interest, and one of the proprietors had them ejected from his premises at first sight of the pair. Then it was evident that something was seriously amiss.
That same night they had been attacked by four assassins. As was customary, Gord and the barbarian had gone on an evening carouse, ending up at the Green Dragon. Because the dauntless duo picked up on the fact that they were being trailed when they left the tavern, both feigned drunkenness, an act that probably saved them their lives. The killers were not as careful as professional assassins should have been. As the assassins sprang from concealment to strike, they found that their "drunken victims" were anything but disoriented.
Gord met them with sword and dagger. Chert with his great axe, Brool. When it was over a minute or two later, three of the four murderers were dead, and the fourth managed to escape only by luck. Both adventurers knew they had been lucky. The next time the assassins would be more experienced and much more clever. And the "next time" was not to be far off.
Congratulating themselves on their skill, Gord and Chert had returned victorious to the old stable they had rented and made into an apartment. The two young men carefully barred the door, set various alarms and traps as was customary, and went to bed. They were awakened not long after by a loud clang and an awful, blubbering shriek.
A high window, left purposely unshuttered as an inviting means of entry to the place, had served its purpose. The window was equipped with a heavy bar of iron that was set to crash into anyone attempting to come into their domicile via this particular route. The trap was set such that a body crossing the sill of the opening would trigger the mechanism releasing the iron bar. The pair didn't have to wait long for an unsuspecting victim to put the device to a test. Something had indeed entered by the window, and the iron weight had swung like a pendulum, crashing into the ignoble intruder.
The impact had broken the cord, and the bar had rung like a bell against the stone wall as it fell loose. Both Chert and Gord had rushed over to investigate, hearts in their throats and weapons in hands. One look at their "catch" was enough to make both men shudder. A horrible daemon, a thing with slimy scales and suckered appendages, awaited their arrival. Whatever it was, the heavy lump of iron had damaged it, and the daemon was still reeling when Gord and Chert entered the chamber. Sword and axe bit into the horror, and the adventurers managed to deal it mortal wounds before it could recover. Again, they knew that luck had been with them. Future visitors of this ilk would not be dealt with so easily.
With all this fresh in his mind, Gord couldn't blame his friend for wanting to plot a new course. He stared at the bulky barbarian for a long moment. Chert, arms crossed, jaw set and eyes narrowed in a "don't mess with me" glare, was the perfect picture of resolved determination. But Gord was not about to let him go without a fight. "You lose all claim to the prize if you desert!" He tried to goad the hillman into reconsidering, but Chert wouldn't budge.
"Well rid of it! And this is far from desertion, my friend. It is definite self-preservation. You seem to have a death wish, and that is one adventure i'd just as soon steer clear of. And you're supposedly the, brains behind this partnership. Hah!"
The pair stood glaring at each other for a full minute. But despite the harsh look on his face, Gord could not help but smile inwardly. The concern and determination written across the face of his comrade was touching indeed. It was obvious that Chert really meant exactly what he said and that he had no intention of allowing himself to be swayed. But Chert had said it himself — Gord was the smarter of the two, and he didn't earn that reputation by letting his hillbilly friend best him. As he saw it. Only one course, however devious, remained.
"Then prosper and farewell. Chert, old friend, until our paths cross again," Gord said, his eyes beginning to moisten as he reached up and slapped the big barbarian fondly on his shoulder. Chert clapped Gord on the back so hard that the young thief was nearly bowled over by the blow. The barbarian then spun on his heel and stomped off. Gord stayed where he was, mentally whistling a lively tune while counting the minutes.
It took five minutes, give or take 'a few seconds — about what Gord had expected — before his overgrown friend appeared in sight. The husky barbarian's brisk stride, accompanied by a chain of loudly sputtered yet unintelligible curses, told Gord all he needed to know. The angry hillman stamped back to where Gord stood stock still. "How can I leave a small and crazy man to the mercies of the followers of that dung-deflled Nerull?" he cried overdramatically, arms waving madly about, frustration evident in every syllable. "If I am forced to follow death's road, at least I'll take many with me when I die! What now, my death-defying friend?"
Grinning boyishly. Gord slapped his comrade's hand and said just as dramatically, "Ever a stout friend!" Then he added soothingly. "Listen, Chert, there must be an answer! Old Annya said our goal was neither here nor there, but if we went from her place to there, we'd gain our fortune, right?"
"Yes," Chert agreed, nodding reluctantly, "that much I recall. But what good do her words do us when we don't know what they mean?"
"Well, if we couple what she said wilh the significance of the gate way ..." Gord stopped and added emphatically. "I'm sure it's the key!"
"So, what lies on the other side of the gate?" Chert asked, absentmindedly scratching his head with the leather-covered tip of his dagger.
"How should I know?" Gord snapped, irritated at having his thoughts interrupted. Then after a few seconds of silence, he said, "There are only a few places here that I can recall. There is the junk store run by that miserly old half-elf Scriggin, the used clothing shop, Freedle's Librarium, the potter's booth, the Sunken Grotto Tavern, the money changer's stall. Green Wulfurt's apothecary, the crazy limner's place, Zreed's Antiquary — that's where we tried to unload the, ah, stuff — and the old warehouse and stable across from it at the mouth of the alley."
"But what's at the head?" Chert asked.
"The gate, stupid!" Gord shot back as he pondered the wisdom of having conned the barbarian into sticking around.
Now Chert was grinning. "My point exactly! The gateway — and beyond it. The gate leads to someplace. Every place has walls, windows, and doors: Let's find the other side of the doorway and go in that way!"
"I was just about to suggest that myself," Gord said lamely.
"At the end of that passage! See the dull gleam?"
"That must be it. Chert. Let's see," Gord agreed as he hurried into the opening.
It had taken them hours of searching, walking through the twists and turns of the mazelike lanes and alleys of Old City. A false turn, backtracking, a street angling in the wrong direction. They had even entered a few of the establishments bordering their destination with the intention of finding an excuse to slip out the back doors and. thus, reach their destination. But to their astonishment, none of the places had back windows, let alone back doors! And they had been not-so-nicety ejected from the Sunken Grotto Tavern when they were caught painstakingly searching a back room of the establishment in hopes of finding some sort of exit.
They probably would never have located the area save for the fact that they happened to end up in just the right location as the last rays of the setting sun illuminated the close and the passage leading from it. The light gave a glimmer of metal for an instant, and the sharp-eyed barbarian was quick to notice. "It appears to be nothing more than the other side of the iron portal!" Gord exclaimed in disappointment after the two had conducted a close inspection of the premises.
Before anything further could be said or done, both men heard soft footfalls approaching. Gord and Chert moved quickly, without sound, into the far comer of the tunnel. Was this yet another hired murderer? A cloaked figure was silhouetted in the opening of the passage. No features of its face could be discerned, but the body was broad and short. The person went directly to the metal door, evidently not noticing that the passageway was occupied. The iron turned phosphorescent when the figure touched it with something, and then the door was gone, revealing a dim space beyond. Before either of the young men could react, the stocky figure stepped through the arch and was gone. The iron gate reappeared.
"What the hells?" Chert asked in a hushed voice.
Gord squeezed his friend's massive forearm.. "That is a most ensorceled portal, but it leads to where we must be! Come on, let's see if we can discover the mechanism by which that fellow operated it. Neither struck a light, not wishing to attract attention. There was just enough illumination from the deepening twilight to serve their purpose. Using fingers, palms, and dagger points Gord and Chert carefully went over every inch of the portal, but the rusted metal revealed not the slightest hint as to how it operated. No amount of inspection of the posts and walls to either side yielded anything useful, either. Even Gord's metal-penetrating dagger would not pierce the door. Both were ready to give up when yet another sound of footsteps came faintly to their ears.
"Let's take this one!" Gord whispered.
"High and low," the barbarian affirmed in a hiss.
The footfalls faltered and stopped. Could their intended victim be that keen of hearing? if so. he quickly satisfied himself that the passage was free of danger because the sound of walking came again. Whoever it was had most likely merely stopped to look around before entering the passageway, just as the first entrant had approached furtively.