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

power."
Radine was a lucky woman to know who she was, and more. I was almost on
the edge of asking her for her extra name, rather callous really. But the ache
in me might've been filled with a name. Such were my thoughts until I met
another village-dweller.
He was a drab man with a perfectly moon-shaped face, who looked at me
without expression, and didn't speak. He looked as though his voice
would've been as flat as a meadow.
"Are you all right, sir?" I asked. The poor man seemed even worse off than
the other villagers, who had at least an inkling of who and what they were,
"I don't suppose you could help me?"
The man gazed flatly at me, "I can barely help myself, but I will do what I
can. What do you wish to know?"
"Tell me of this place. I'm hoping to find a man named Pharod."
Again his tone was flat, like the voice of a dead man. Dak'kon was a bard
compared to him. "I know nothing of it. I do not know this place. I have no
name. I have no number. I have no memory of this place. I am cold. I am
scared. This is strange, to be so naked. I fear I will die."
"What do you mean?" I asked, but I was already beginning to have my
suspicions about what had happened to the poor sod.
His voice was hollow, "I once lived in a land of metal machines and doors
that opened at a word. I dream of the pristine metal cities and the empty
shells that are our people. I had a number and a name there, and now I have
neither. Like all my kind, they are all I have. They are all I have had of my
own all my life. They were stolen from me. Without them I am nothing. I
request your aid."
"You have it," I offered, but needed to confirm my suspicions, "Who has
your name and number?"
"The one who used to be Radine. She stole them from me. I offered her the
shelter of my name and number, and she stole them from me. They are
mine lawfully and by right. Find her. She is in this Village."
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