Welcome to the Outlands (PPO)

Sigil was alive. At least, the Cage seemed alive, what with the shove and bustle of life pulsing through its streets. A body couldn't turn around in the city without bumping into humans, modrons, tanar'ri, fiends, devas, bariaur —just about every known type of being (and a few of the unknown kind, too). There were petitioners, planars, and, of course, the ever-present (and ever-clueless) primes. It's easy to spot primes who're new to the planes — they've got an addle-coved look on their faces. Fact is, a group of 'em stood fiat in the middle of the road like a ghoul's breakfast, the rest of the multiverse flowing around them (and a berk or two picking their pouches for loose jink). They'd heard of the endless planes where a cutter could find things he'd never even dreamed of, but now, having made it to Sigil, they didn't know what to do next. The group's fighter unfolded the large map they'd gotten from a sage in Shadowdale. 'Course, the map was next to useless in this case — after all, few sages in the Prime know the dark of the planes. "Okay," said the basher, his eyes roaming the map. "There should be a door-thing to Glorium around here, somewhere. ... " 'Wo, you fool!" snapped the rogue. "That's the gate-town for Gladsheim. We're going to Bytopia. Where's its gate-town?" "Don't know," said the basher, looking over the map, "but how far can it be?" Just then, a low hiss cut magically through the crowd, tickling their ears and making them turn around. The whisper snaked back to a peddler and his stand in a nearby alley — an alley that wasn't there a minute before. The peddler grinned at them. They tumbled to the hint and moved slowly Toward his stand.
The peddler was a short cutter - not short like an elf or a dwarf but more like a tall body that'd been twisted down into a humped shape. The primes, though, were 'more interested in the glittering objects that danced in the air about him. Silver skulls, leaves disks, and multi-pointed stars shone and spun like bright moons around a dead world. "So, you're looking for the chant, are you?" asked the peddler. "Looking for . . . information?" The basher nodded, watching the sparkling objects. "About the Plane of Concordant — uh, I mean, the Outlands." The peddler let out a barking laugh. With a palsied hand, he reached up and snatched one of the skulls out of the air. He offered it to the fighter like a piece of fruit. "Ask," he said. "Point and ask." The basher carefully took the skull in his hands, barely holding onto it for a second before letting it go. It floated up and hung in the air, slowly turning to face him. He pointed at the silvery skull with a cautious finger. "Okay, uh, what's the gate-town for Bytopia? Clicking softly, the skull said nothing for a few seconds. Then it began to speak, giving the quick chant on the town of Tradegate. The peddler smiled, and a sale was made. The primes moved away from the stand, passing the skull back and forth among themselves as they bumped their way through the crowded streets of the Cage. The rogue took a last look around, but the peddler, his wares, and the alley itself had disappeare