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

me. "Watch yer back, cutter. Most 'ere will talk to ya with their blade before
their bone-box, and if ya stay much longer, I be doin' the same."
I snorted. "Whatever..."
The path through the Trash Warrens ran down a slight incline, and I was
wary of where I stepped. Guided by curiosity, I prodded through abandoned
shelves and nooks here and there, scavenging for what I thought might be of
use. The path was long and winding, and several times we met a dead end
and were forced to turn back.
After what seemed like hours of exploring, we decided to take a rest in one
of the rag-piled alcoves. I took this opportunity and turned to Dak'kon.
There was little I knew of our new companion, and I was hoping to change
that if we were to journey together.
"Dak'kon?"
The pale githzerai turned to me, his eyes like polished coal; his blade
mirrored his eyes for a moment as I addressed him, then he nodded. "What
is your will?"
"There are things I would know, Dak'kon..."
His voice creaked like an ancient tree on a windy night, "I will hear you."
I had seen the man in action, casting bolts of furious light that devastated all
that they struck. "Can I talk to you about your teachings? Can you teach me
anything of the Art, Dak'kon?" I asked of my fellow mage.
He paused, considering. "Know that the way of the People is not the same as
the Art you have come to know. It is not the energy that gives strength. It is
knowing the self that gives strength. The teachings of Zerthimon speak of
such things."
I nodded, digesting his words. "Would you teach me the Way of Zerthimon,
Dak'kon?"
"Do you know what you have asked?" The texture of Dak'kon's blade
flowed, until it became as stone. He raised his eyebrows warily, as if
skeptical of whether he should teach me. "To walk the path of Zerthimon
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