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

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"Ugh. Chief, I really really hope we <strong>do</strong>n't have <strong>to</strong> dig through this stuff <strong>to</strong><br />

find that sphere <strong>of</strong> yours," Morte <strong>to</strong>ok a<strong>not</strong>her look around, "And by 'we' I<br />

mean you." I pushed the thought <strong>of</strong> the crimson midden heap from my<br />

mind. No one could <strong>be</strong> cruel enough <strong>to</strong> order Morte <strong>to</strong> dig through that with<br />

his teeth.<br />

I can't think <strong>of</strong> anyone who would willingly descend in<strong>to</strong> this gore pit. As<br />

Morte would descri<strong>be</strong> it later, by the look <strong>of</strong> things it was "Sigil's rotting<br />

cootch at that time <strong>of</strong> the month." Yet something drew me here, as if I were<br />

led on a string.<br />

And that's when I saw the corpse.<br />

The features and flesh had rotted <strong>be</strong>yond recognition, but by his garb the<br />

man was a thug. By the hair and bone remaining, certainly wasn't human.<br />

More than that though, the man was out <strong>of</strong> place here: his body hadn't <strong>be</strong>en<br />

picked over, stripped, and dismem<strong>be</strong>red. What <strong>cause</strong>d his <strong>death</strong> I couldn't<br />

<strong>be</strong> sure, but I knew there were at least some clues I could find. I sifted<br />

through his <strong>be</strong>longings.<br />

A bird's claw, dried in<strong>to</strong> a husk and enchanted as a wand, and a severed<br />

arm. The former was a simple matter <strong>of</strong> identification. The latter... was<br />

intriguing.<br />

Petrified, scarred, and gray with age, the arm looked as if it were a fitting<br />

club. Now, at least, I can chuckle at the thought that "I'll rip your arm <strong>of</strong>f and<br />

<strong>be</strong>at you <strong>to</strong> <strong>death</strong> with it" could, in fact, <strong>be</strong> a genuine threat. Intricate<br />

tat<strong>to</strong>os spiraled up from the wrist and on<strong>to</strong> the shoulder, <strong>be</strong>autiful patterns<br />

that had <strong>be</strong>en drawn with care. I ran my hand along that mummified limb... I<br />

should take this <strong>to</strong> Fell when I can.<br />

Morte disagreed. "Gross."<br />

Thankfully the next cham<strong>be</strong>r we explored, the Mosaic Tomb, was much less<br />

interesting. A poison trap or two, a simple enchanted hammer (which would<br />

probably fetch a good price), and a few coins and we were set.<br />

Perhaps I should feel a little guilty about taking these treasures from their<br />

resting places, but necessity guided my hand. Perhaps I was <strong>to</strong>o quick <strong>to</strong><br />

judge Pharod and his ilk. Then again, I <strong>do</strong>n't plan on peddling bones and<br />

manhandling the dead themselves.<br />

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