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

curves. "This one would ask: Do you have the neck rope of beads that was
stolen?"
"I think so. Is this it?" I held the rosary out.
This one sees what you hold: Those are the beads once missing." As he took
them, I noticed his hands had the same tracery of lines upon them as his
face. "This one has a question: How did you get the beads from the three?"
I shrugged, "I convinced them it was in their best interest to return the
necklace."
Porphiron scowled, "This one would know: One who fights with words
carries a name in the Order of Erit Agge." Porphiron's face breaks into
angles again. "Those ones are called diplomats: It is a path without discipline
and without honor."
I smiled grimly, "Oh, I still killed the thieves."
His scowl melted as he nodded then, "This one is content: The message of
violence has been conveyed. This one bestows: Several welcome thanks,
yes?"
"The pleasure was mine. I have a question for you, though: if you cannot
enter combat, how did you get your warrior training?"
Porphiron stood up proudly, "This one clarifies: The Erit Agge may train with
one when there is no anger between them."
I scratched my chin. "I see. Could you teach me how to use those weapons?"
"This one could instruct you, yes. But this one warns you: With knowledge of
violence comes temptation to use it."
We practiced stances and forms in the middle of the street for a few good
hours as he taught me the art of the dagger. Slash and stab, thrust and
gouge. My clumsy movements became more refined, and slowly I adjusted
to the weapon as if it were a part of my own hand. When we finished,
Porphiron nodded as one who had done his duty proudly, and we parted
ways with smiles and thanks.
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