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

in its foul grime and juices.
As I approached the archway its outline began to shimmer. The junk in my
hand pulsed, shimmering as well. The two auras pulsed against one another
like a slow heartbeat in blue-white throbs and flickers of pale sparks.
I thrust the junk into the archway.
The wall of refuse flickered, wavered, and seemed to fold in on itself. With a
familiar whoosh the portal opened, revealing a space beyond it.
That rat Pharod had better have my journal.
I stepped through.
Interlude
Idly Oudilin Avariis plucks the strings of his lyre. A languid tune, sweet with
regret and bitter with unfulfilled joy, keeps the crowd shifting in their stools
in an uneasy silence.
You sop up the last few smudges of gravy with the last bite of a roll, and
pluck the last tender mushroom from your plate. The fare was a bit saltier
than you had expected, but still it is hard to find a meal this fine in the Hive.
Better than stewed cranium rats, certainly.
"Well?!" G'mir's gruff voice breaks the silence. The little firebrand had
hopped on his stool once again. "Get on wit' it!"
Oudilin clears his throat and flushes gold with embarrassment. "I must
confess, good gents, that this was the final chapter of the journal. Only a few
blank pages remain, and though I have consulted many a seer and scryer,
nothing remains of the rest of his tale in this humble volume."
The snarls of the crowd could only be expected, but still you reel back and
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