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

crunching jaws and Dak'kon's blade.
When enough were slain the rest fled, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Standing
our ground seemed to be working.
"Filthy creatures," Dak'kon murmured, cleaning his blade.
"Taste fine though."
Morte spat, trying to clear the fur and skin from his teeth, "Speak for
yourself, chief. Bleagh! Their little feet are colder than a witch's teat or a
succubus'-"
"You know Morte, I really wonder how you know these things well enough
that you can pepper them in as details." I tugged off the still-twitching
carcass from my dagger and tossed it aside. I wondered if the creatures ate
their own.
Morte cocked in a skull-shrug. "Practice."
"Well search the room," I said. The day's skirmishes were taking their toll on
me. My voice was becoming a dull croak, and the sense of vertigo from the
rats' assault was still making me reel, "This alcove isn't here for nothing."
We had already combed through every damn corner of these tunnels.
Pharod's hideout must've been hidden here somewhere. Perhaps there was
a hidden door, or another portal, or-
"A stash," Dak'kon declared. Tucked in the corner was an unassuming crate.
The layer of dust that had collected on it was disturbed by the patter of rat
prints and the swishes of their tails.
"Looks like some berk left these for safekeeping. Probably dead though, if
he's been gone so long that this alcove was taken over by cranium rats."
I shrugged, "Might as well help ourselves, then. We'll need whatever we can
get." A pang of guilt ran through me as I helped myself to the goods. I
promised myself that I would return these things if I could, or reimburse the
fellow who laid them here, if he was still alive.
It was an impressive little collection, to say the least. A good purse full of
223