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

perchance?"
My hands still searched my belt, even though I knew I had nothing, "Great...
I'll go look for one, then I'll be back."
A quick trip to one of the merchants at the marketplace got me what I
needed. The young lady didn't ask for coin: the battered tankard wasn't
something she could sell. It was covered in dents, and the handle looked like
it was about to fall off.
"Uh... this looks like it was used on someone's skull." She just smiled slightly.
Meir'am nodded as I presented the sorry mug and plucked a fish from her
pole... it twitched as she grabbed it, then started lashing about as she began
to twist it like a rag. She wrung it until bluish-black ichor began to trickle
from the fish's gills. When your tankard was almost full, she relaxed her grip
and threw the twitching fish into a sack at her side.
I smiled, "Thanks, Meir'am. Good business to you."
"Aye, ye as well."
As I turned, I bumped into a man in long black robes and a pale face. I
tensed instinctively. He looked to be one of the same people in the
Mortuary, a Dustman, but unlike them, this man looked confused and was
glancing about. When he spotted me, he raised his hand to attract my
attention.
Well, as long as he couldn't call the Mortuary guards on me, I should be fine.
"Can I help you?"
The man seemed relieved that I was speaking to him. He bowed slightly.
"Thank you for hearing me, traveler. I am known as Ash-Mantle, one of the
Dustmen sect. I was wondering if you could direct me... I don't know the
area very well, and I'm looking for a certain establishment, a bar, that those
of my sect frequent. Do you know of such a place?"
I raised an eyebrow, "'Sect'? Don't you mean 'faction'?"
The Dustman nodded. "Well, yes, faction, I meant faction... sect, faction,
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