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

Morte piped up, "Hold up, chief... look at this." Peering down, I noticed a
number of dirty footprints that led into the archway... and did not turn
around. "There must be a portal through here or something."
"A portal? How do we open it?"
"Haven't the slightest, chief. It's got to be a common key, though- look at all
the traffic that's gone through! Maybe one of the low-lifes around here will
know."
Leaving was quicker than entering, and much more pleasant. How Pharod,
once a nobleman or official of Sigil, could bear living in these environs was
beyond my imagination.
~~~~~
A weasely-looking fellow was skulking about the garbage like a tattered
shadow. Seeing me and Morte, he beckoned to me.
“Hsssssst… ey! Th'skull. Where ye get the skull, ey? Me skull, it is! Give it
backta me.” Morte turned to the Hiver.
“Pike off.” I, however, was more curious about this fellow.
“Who are you?” He ignored me, still staring at Morte.
“Skull’s mine, mine, ey! Give it ta me, I'll forgit ye stole it.” He mumbled, his
narrowed eyes darting. I was getting rather annoyed with this fellow, and
decided to let him find out for himself.
“Go on, take the skull.” As if there was any chance he would be able to.
He chuckled dryly and smiled. As he reached for Morte, there was a snap!
and the man’s hand whipped back.
The man began screaming. “Aiggghhhh! Aighhh!!! I'll kill ye! Kill ye!” Morte
was holding one of the man’s fingers between his teeth like some macabre
cigar. He spoke around the finger.
“Touch me again, and yer hand’s gonna join yer finger, berk.”
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