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

drew suffering to him as a lodestone draws shavings of iron. The same can
be said about that which bears his mark."
The crowd whispers as Oudilin sets the glass on his stool and scans the
crowd, "By beginning this telling, I believe events have already been set in
motion to draw the story to us. It is my hope that, perhaps, another might
be able to pick up the tale."
The crowd shifts uncomfortably. Winged demons glance suspiciously at fire
elementals, githyanki snarl at their calmer, meditative bretheren. A shaman,
decked in a hundred rattling bones and strips of fur, breathes, and the air
ripples in front of him in patterns that might have been of running stags.
Just when Oudilin begins to scratch his hair, suddenly nervous, Scii-tavakis
dusts off her leather breeches, balances her obsidion-tipped spear over one
shoulder, and stands. You lean back in an attempt to avoid getting poked in
the eye by the glassy, bloodstained tip, but Scii-tavakis holds herself with an
expert grace and a keen awareness of those around her. You feel that if she
had to, the woman could've danced the spaces between raindrops.
"Aye, well, it seems that I may have to speak after all."
Though Oudilin still attempts to keep himself dignified, you notice his lips
part in the slightest sigh of relief. He smiles, bows, and retreats from the
stage as the elven woman steps up. With a harsh snap of her fingers, she
points at a plump barmaid, who gasps and scurries off to fetch a drink.
"I care little for telling tales. Words do little to fill bellies and tomes are of
small worth in trade. But when you race the desert winds of my world for
three full days under a dying red sun, respite with good company and the
sharing of stories is a good way to fill a still night."
When the wench returns, Scii snatches up the mug, and tilts her head back
to down the ale in one clean go. Not a drop spills from her lips.
Sighing contentedly, she sets the mug down and fishes about in her belt
pouch as she speaks, "I had little idea when I was crawling through the
ankheg's burrow that the oaths I muttered would bring me to such strange
lands: a city with a sorceress more powerful than any other, and many times
more dangerous. These Planes are lands to be wary of, but they are still
lands fat with water."
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