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

I grunted in agreement, looking over the recipe cards. Hmm. Chromatic Orb?
Blood Bridge? Identify? Sounded interesting, "We'll need to make a friend or
two, Morte. It's time to go barhopping."
Chapter 20
I had been wary of this corner of the Hive ever since I fled from the
Mortuary.
I had remembered seeing a tavern here right outside the Mortuary, but the
stylized skull that was the symbol of the Dustman faction had driven me
away. But now that I needed a few more traveling companions either for a
blade or for a hand to help drag my corpse off so that I could revive in
safety, I was left with little choice.
After all, what were the Dustmen going to do? Kill me?
A zombie stood swaying not fifteen feet from the entrance. The
filthy-looking corpse was in sad shape; its shoulders were slumped, and one
of its legs was broken, causing it to lean to one side. Stains covered it from
head to toe... judging from the smell and the texture, the stains ran from
rotten fruit to mud and bird droppings. To add to the indignity, graffiti had
been carved into its body, and several notices had been nailed into its chest,
back, and head. An undead bulletin board.
I winced, "I thought I was in bad shape. Don't all those nails hurt?"
The corpse stood silent.
Despite the many stitches, the corpse's rotting skin was peeling in several
places, revealing long stretches of muscle and bone. My guess was that the
zombie was frequently used as target practice... the fruit and mud stains
aside, some of the tears in the skin still had rocks and bits of glass lodged in
them. One wicked-looking cobblestone was still embedded in the side of its
head.
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