(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

toward goodness. Otherwise, he shall surely triumph. I have work to attend
to. Should you require resting, seek the old barracks or the distillery," he
pressed a spell scroll into my hands, "Now take this. It will aid you."
We made our way through the streets, blood hot with battle. I had to fight
hand to hand mostly... my larger spells could mean collateral damage, and
we needed to save as many citizens as possible. Nightmarish horrors fell
with slashed throats or snapped necks.
We cleared the sections of the town as best we could, and finally in a small
eddy where the violence had shrunk into a trickle I heard a moan of agony.
Beneath the wheels of a wagon lay an aging githzerai... trapped during the
chaos. He spat a bloody wad, and grinned up at me. "Not going to help me,
are you? That's what brought us here in the first place..." He laughed
weakly.
"Who are you?"
"He is a true traitor to the githzerai. He has cursed our people." Dak'kon
drew his blade. "That is reason enough for him to die."
"Put the blade away, Dak'kon," I urged, "We don't have time for grudges."
"Yes, put the blade away, zerth dog. I spit on your teachings. Wear your
chains a little longer." The githzerai turned his head toward me. "I am Tovus
Giljaf. I used to be the Burgher of this town... until the accursed deva boke
free."
"What can you tell me of the deva?"
"We had imprisoned it, oh so many years ago. I thought it perfectly hidden
from all sniffing dogs and traitors. Suddenly it burst from under the earth,
blazing, and my beautiful, beautiful home... slid." He looked at me intently.
"I would have my revenge. Free me, yes?"
"You were the Burgher of this town?"
"My compatriots... and I... we were using this city as a base to return
ourselves to power... but that is another story for another day."
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