"Beware, Gord! An ogre!" Chert shouted as an eight-foot-tall creature suddenly loomed out of a nearby doorway.

"I beg your pardon, sir," the creature drawled through tusk and fang. "I am no more an ogre than you are a gorilla!" he huffed defensively as he eyed the barbarian and his lean friend up and down. "But perhaps I employ an inept analogy. Apes are, after all, rather amusing things, and you aren't capering at all."

From modish, floppy cap with plume to paisley hose and soft slippers, this ogrelike creature was the epitome of trendy vogue. Even the casual, drawling manner of speech and haughty, disdainful air fit the current affectations of the courtiers of Greyhawk. The being's hanger was a bastard sword, however, worn as casually as a bodkin, backed by a long sword of main gauche. Gord decided that discretion was in order.

"Your pardon, good sir, but there is no question that in such poor light your form and size do somewhat resemble those of an ogre. The mistake was, therefore, quite natural. Shall we leave it at that?"

A small crowd had gathered to enjoy the exchange, some rooting for the ogre-like creature, others urging Chert and Gord to show some human mettle. "What is this monster called?" Chert quietly asked an almost human-looking creature standing closest to him.

"That, my large but intelligence-lacking lifeform, is an ehjure- a snob with a talent for trivial trouble," the creature said. "But don't let his appearance scare you. He'd rather swallow an insult than muss up his pretty clothing."

The monstrous humanoid had spent the last several seconds sizing up his adversaries — the muscular barbarian fingering the great axe at his leather girdle and the small, lithe man beside him armed with short blade and long dagger. Hard, unwinking eyes met his own gaze without fear, evidencing alertness and experience in combat. With a lazy motion the creature identified by the onlookers as an ehjure waved its fingers toward the two. "As you apologized, I choose to allow the offense to pass unregarded." and so saying, the ogre turned and strutted through the crowd, which parted to let him pass, disappearing down the ruddy cobblestone thoroughfare. The group of gawkers dispersed in twos and threes, chatting and laughing about the close encounter between the snooty ehjure and the newcomers. Gord and Chert, meanwhile, were left standing alone, wondering exactly what it was that had just transpired — or failed to.

"I’ve never seen such an odd lot in my entire life!" Chert expostulated.

"Strange indeed" Gord mused. "But what should be Odd Alley is now Weird Way — what can we expect?"

"Anything, it seems," the barbarian remarked, loosening the clasp that secured his enchanted axe, Brool, in its thronged carrier on the wide aurochs-hide belt.

"Well, in any case the brute was an easy mark," Gord said, displaying a clinking wallet that had only minutes before rested comfortably within the ogre's leather girdle.

"Guess we won that round, eh, pal? Nice move!" The burly barbarian gave his slender pal a congratulatory slap on the back that almost sent the young thief flying. Before Gord had a chance to protest this rough treatment. Chert exclaimed, "Hey! Look there!" He motioned toward a trio of furry-faced humanoids with huge, purplish eyes. "Nonesuches!"

The denizens of the place were a mixed lot indeed, Gord decided. They were garbed in all styles of apparel, some of which resembled the dress of the Flanaess — whether the region of Greyhawk or others of the nations surrounding the deep waters of the lake called Nyr Dyv — but other garb was totally strange and alien. He decided they both needed a stiff tot of spirits and a chance to consider their circumstances.

There is the Explorer's inn. Let's go there immediately and refresh ourselves."

Chert noted the stress in his comrade's voice. "Aye, Gord, a bumper or two will help clear my reeling brain, too!"

Unlike other such establishments familiar to the pair of young adventurers, the Explorer's inn was filled with a wild variety of potted plants and trophies. The latter were displayed on walls. In cases, and atop every surface not otherwise utilized for the business of the place. The homely familiarity of the worn floor made of narrow-sawn oak. wainscoted walls, and smoke-blackened beams above were in sharp contrast to the miscellany of curios and hunting souvenirs arrayed among the flowers and shrubs — often themselves resting in unusual pots and containers, Before Gord and Chert could take in the whole, a mufti-clad fellow greeted them unctuously.

"A good evening to you, gentlebeings. The membership salon? Or shall I seat you in the general parlour?"

"The parlour. If you please," Gord said with hauteur. The fellow gave a stiff little bow and led them away through a press of patrons.

After a fine dinner highlighted by skewered hedgefowl, saddle of mutton roasted to a turn, and raspberry tort with spoon-thick cream. Chert suggested that they repair to the common room. As this boasted of a bar stocked beyond belief with a selection of bottles, jugs, and casks of unique nature, and because it was filled with an assortment of what appeared to be knowledgeable and adventurous customers, Gord readily agreed to go along. A few rounds and several enlightening conversations later, they had the information they sought. A chap with a pale blue complexion and hair and eyes of jade green directed them to the shop of the merchant calling himself Count joseph.

"The man is a shark, so protect your purse!" the helpful patron admonished the two. "As most of his trade prefers the dark to the day. It will be the erstwhile count himself who greets you. Trust not his smile, watch for dissembling, and never accept a first or second prize."

"Thanks, friend," Chert said. They hurried from the place, the barbarian leading, for the sky-colored imbiber seemed desirous of continuing his lecture on the subject of Count joseph and his Emporium of the Unusual. Gord noted that he had gained the ear of a squat dwarf sitting on the high stool next to him, and the hapless demi-human was being subjected to a lengthy discourse on the dealings of not only the self-styled count, but merchants and traders in general.

It did not take the anxious pair long to reach their destination.

"Welcome! Have you come to acquire treasures of the multiverse?" The questioner was a tall, pear-shaped man of indeterminate age wearing a powdered wig.

Gord withdrew the reliquary from the pouch concealed beneath his cape. The container was dweomered, having come from one Wenterbritz the Mottled Mage in payment for a service performed by the burglar Blackcat. Although scarcely larger than a loaf-sized box. It could hold an extraordinary amount of material because the space inside was magical. Gord showed the object to the man and asked. "Is this something you might be interested in acquiring?"

"A rather ordinary, gem-encrusted reliquary of one of the greater deities of Oerth? Perhaps, but only at a bargain. Such items are — I make so bold as to tell you — quite undesirable due to the proliferation lately."

Chert scowled, but Gord smiled. "Ah well, I shall not bother you with so trilling a piece then," he said, picking up the relic. "Let us endeavor to find a purveyor elsewhere," he added as he gestured toward the door. Indicating that Chert should precede him.

"Not so fast!" Count joseph cried. Then, speaking quickly to cover his excited exclamation, he went on. "This place is a nest of vipers, and a pair of forthright men such as yourselves might find a cheat who would attempt to gain your object on the cheap, shall we say. You have come to the correct dealer! Even though I am a poor man, one whose mother needs an operation for which I scrimp and save, else she will soon pass on, I will pay you top value for the reliquary!"