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

“Morte! Give the man back his finger.” Morte spat the finger at the man. It
bounced off his chest and fell to the ground. No need to waste any more
time here.
“That’s a hard lesson learned. Farewell.”
The man, biting his lip from the pain, glared at me. Suddenly, he attacked!
He was no match for Morte and myself, and folded almost immediately with
a wound from my knife in his belly. I noticed Dak'kon, who had been silently
watching, had joined in my defense.
I considered asking Dak'kon what he thought of my actions, but I was…
apprehensive that I might find he did not approve. I noted for later
consideration that his mere presence seemed to be having an effect on me.
Another man had been watching the fight. He was now whistling a cheerful
tune and playing with a well-kept fighting knife. As I approached him, he
stopped whistling and gave me a curious look.
"Greetings..."
As I spoke, he whirled and dropped into a half-crouch... though whether he
was ready to spring at me or in some other direction, I couldn't tell. Dak'kon
rested one hand calmly on his blade as the squirrely little fellow spoke.
"What? Speak quick, now..."
"I had some questions..."
"Well I don't got answers. Pike off!" I hadn't noticed it before, but he had a
long, curved dagger in his hand.
I crossed my arms and made my voice level. "Are you threatening me?"
He smirked. "Why? Does Ratbone scare ya? Ya feelin' threatened, berk?"
"No, I'm not," I said, my gaze boring into his. I'd be damned if I was going to
bloody my hands any more today.
"Heh heh! Figures, lookin' the way ya do. All right, whatcha' want from me?"
I looked the man up and down. "Who are you?"
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