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

corpse."
"What is the Buried Village?"
"Well, now, there's a story..." Pharod licked his lips again, then shrugged.
"But to tell true, the story bores me. The short of it? It's a piece of the Hive
that got bricked over one day, a piece-o-Sigil got penned in the dead book."
"What do you mean?"
"Y'know them floating goat-heads that serve the Lady, them dabuses? Well,
no matter if you do or not -- they go all 'round fixing, breaking, burying,
building all the time. D'you follow?"
I nodded, "Yes, go on."
"Well, as the chant goes... and a dusty chant it is too, being so old... them
dabuses just damn well bricked over a section of the Hive one day and all
bodies just forgot 'bout it. Dump a lot a trash onnit, and soon, nobody even
knows it's here." Pharod smiled. "Wicked, no? A piece of Sigil all-forgotten?"
"How did you find it?"
Pharod tsked. "I still have my eyes, corpse, and I still have my ears, and
when you have enough sense to tie the two together, then finding the dark
of any matter is not as hard as some make it out to be." Pharod rubbed his
filthy cloak. "Now, was there somethin' else you wanted to pick my
brain-box 'bout? You didn't come just to hear 'bout this raghole, did you?"
My skin was beginning to crawl. Pharod knew much, but it made me
uncomfortable talking to such a wretched, twisted figure. "When I awoke in
the Mortuary, I was missing a journal. Do you know where it is?"
Pharod squinted at me, the folds of flesh coming down almost over his eyes.
"A journal you had when we spoke last... has it lost itself?" Pharod chuckled
dryly. "These eyes have not seen it... but keep them peeled, I will. I would
love to read such a magnificent work..."
And finally, to the heart of the matter. The one question that many asked,
that many wanted to know. "I heard you have found a wealth of bodies,
Pharod. Where do they come from?"
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