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

"Does a mage tell the secrets of his craft? So it is with the Collector..."
Pharod frowned, studying me. "Perhaps I will tell you... but you must
promise that it is for your ears only."
I gestured, weaving my hands through the air. My fingers crackled with the
small spells I had prepared, but Pharod seemed unimpressed. "Are you
comparing yourself to a mage, Pharod? I think you're insulting the craft."
Pharod flushed nonetheless, and he tapped his crutch against the ground.
"Collecting is as much a skill as any petty mageling can hold a copper to."
"Pharod, finding a bunch of dead bodies and selling them can hardly
compare to the study of magic," I let the energy dissipate and waved
dismissively, flicking aside the sparks with a careless hand.
"Was it not skill that found this place?!" Pharod's voice rose to a bellow, and
his fingers tightened around his crutch. "It took sense to find this place, it
did, and it took sense to make the most of it!"
I laughed, playing the old man like a fiddle. "The Buried Village? Come on,
what's the secret of that?"
"Very well..." Pharod tapped the flagstones with his crutch and sneered.
"This village is not all that lies buried beneath Ragpicker's Square."
I nodded, intrigued. "Go on..."
"There are catacombs..." Pharod gave the faintest of smiles, and his eyes
gleamed like gold. "Places, black as pitch, filled with weeping stones and the
precious dead, all a-sleep in their coffins. Sleeping..."
"Where do all these dead come from?"
Pharod affixed me with a lopsided stare. "Corpse, corpse... everything dies.
Life is so short, but death lasts for so very, very long. Many people, many
deaths..." His stare traveled past me. "Such a waste for their deaths to be
useless in a Dustie's arms, eh?"
I raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"
245