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

the name "Wormhair" was fitting for him.
"What lies beyond the gate?" I pointed to the dark tunnels across the bridge
that lay on the other side of the gate.
"The Weeping Stone Catacombs. Lotsa deaders, lot of crypts to loot."
"Why do they call it the Weeping Stone Catacombs?"
He scratched his neck. "Lot of water drips down from above, make it look
the walls are crying. Name follows."
"Pharod gave me his leave to go down to the catacombs. I need you to open
the gate."
With that the fellow gave a curt nod and unbolted the gate.
Sigil truly was a city of disarray if, even when supported by a whole faction
providing services for the dead, a village of graverobbers could be built up
next to one of its ancient crypts. Urns had been smashed, offerings at biers
looted, and coffins and graves were smashed and torn open for even the
slightest glint of copper. The thick layer of dust over many of the broken
bones was testament to how long ago they had been disturbed.
The squeaks and scuttles from the shadows told us that we weren't alone.
"The damn things have just about infested the city," Morte grumbled,
"Eighty years ago they tried to eliminate the cranium rats. Called a few beast
lords, a poisoner, a piper... each time the city was clean for two weeks, but
after that the things just crawled right back. No one knows where they come
from."
"Once the answer to such a puzzle is known, the problem can be solved."
I stomped on a rat and it crunched without a squeak underneath my boot, "I
doubt we'll be able to figure that out right now. I'd rather just find that
damn sphere and get this over with."
"Yeah, it's not like some random half-addled codger had asked for your help
in finding the breeding ground of these guys. But oh what a hero you'd be!"
Morte teased.
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