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

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Interlude<br />

"And thus did the Nameless One give chase. His quarry-" Oudilin coughs,<br />

clearing his throat as a<strong>not</strong>her tavern wench takes his cup away <strong>to</strong> refill. "A<br />

moment, if you please," he gestures <strong>to</strong> the crowd, and they part as he steps<br />

<strong>do</strong>wn, "The Golden Gates <strong>be</strong>ckon."<br />

You hide a smile with your mug. You had heard many a bard in your time,<br />

and few needed <strong>to</strong> pass the 'Golden Gates' so soon, as Oudilin said. Quite<br />

unpr<strong>of</strong>essional. Then again, <strong>do</strong>wning five ales would <strong>do</strong> the trick for<br />

anybody, even a Deva. It also answers some questions about the workings <strong>of</strong><br />

an angel's body.<br />

The crowd murmurs as he leaves, discussing the journal brought <strong>to</strong> life in an<br />

angel's words. Looking around, you find <strong>to</strong> your surprise that the odd<br />

smattering had grown considerably. The tavern had slowly filled over the<br />

telling, and few had left in the meantime. Each s<strong>to</strong>ol and chair had <strong>be</strong>en<br />

filled, certainly <strong>not</strong> enough for the growing line <strong>of</strong> cus<strong>to</strong>mers who found<br />

themselves having <strong>to</strong> sit on the edges <strong>of</strong> tables or lean against the walls.<br />

The bowl <strong>of</strong> salted fire crisps you had <strong>be</strong>en nibbling on had helped <strong>to</strong> work<br />

up a good thirst. Alone, they were mildly spicy, but a good handful <strong>of</strong> them<br />

left <strong>to</strong>ngue and lips searing. The nip <strong>of</strong> sea salt added a sharp contrast that<br />

most found mildly addicting, and Shara Six-Blades is quickly replacing the<br />

bowls across the bar and ordering more <strong>to</strong> <strong>be</strong> placed on the tables.<br />

The cambion crouched on the floor and chained at the neck merely scowls<br />

and polishes his mug. It looks <strong>to</strong> <strong>be</strong> the same one he was working when you<br />

first entered. If he <strong>do</strong>esn't s<strong>to</strong>p soon, he would <strong>be</strong> taking <strong>of</strong>f he finish.<br />

You find your throat aching for a drink, and your mouth watering for<br />

a<strong>not</strong>her crisp. Ah, such a clever trap!<br />

Shara Six-Blades is quick <strong>to</strong> pour you a glass <strong>of</strong> the hevala nectar you gesture<br />

<strong>to</strong>. Well watered, <strong>of</strong> course: the stuff was <strong>to</strong>oth-achingly sweet and thick<br />

otherwise, fit only for children who had a neverending hunger for sugar. The<br />

stuff is soothing on your <strong>to</strong>ngue, sweet with a flavor remniscent <strong>of</strong> summer<br />

peaches and blue<strong>be</strong>rries, freshly plucked and still damp with the morning<br />

dew.<br />

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