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

name is Ku'u Yin. Take your number." I handed him the scrap of a tattoo.
Life and warmth trickled back into Ku'u Yin's skin, and he stood up fuller,
taller, and his voice grew strong with the authority and power of knowing
who he was. No smile twitched at his lips, but soft contentment framed his
features as he bowed slightly. "I thank you for my name and number. Yes.
Ku'u Yin. Yes. But no. I now realize I no longer require a number here. I will
find myself a new number, if necessary. I give you my old number. It can
help you. It is a mantle of law. It is protection. Do you accept it?"
I bowed politely and held the tattoo in my hand gingerly. "Yes. Thank you,
Ku'u Yin."
"Let it warm you. Trust in it. It will protect you. Farewell." He turned and
walked away.
With the tattoo on my forearm I felt a rigid aura wrapping about me,
protecting me from the ravages of chaos. There was a warmth to it, a feeling
of safety. It lacked the self-awareness of having a name, momentary an
experience though it was, but the satisfaction of returning an identity to
someone who needed it more was enough.
And so I made my way to Pharod's makeshift palace. The guard narrowed
his eyes and looked my way as I approached, but said nothing.
"What's through that archway?"
He gave me a stern look, one that knew that I was trouble. The guard
recognized me. "Pharod an' his court, cutter. Mind yerself in there, an'
watch yer tongue; he's in as foul a mood as ever."
I had searched too long to be repelled by anything so trivial. I stepped
through the archway, and entered the King of Rags’ throne room.
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