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

me, but I've the most horrid riddle on my mind and I can't puzzle it out!"
"What's the riddle?"
It seemed surprised. "Oh? Going to give it a try, art thou?"
I shrugged, "Yes, go ahead."
"Very well. This is from a chortling buffoon of a bone-bag thou may well find
nearby. It refuses to give me the answer, and it's killing me!"
"Go on, then..."
It nodded. "Think of words which end in '-GRY.' Angry and hungry are two of
them. There are but three words in the Common Tongue... what is the third
word? The word is something that one uses every day. If thou hast listened
carefully, I have already told thee what it is."
I rubbed my chin in thought. "It's... uh... hmm."
"Stumped as well, eh? Let me know if thou should find the answer... and
best of luck should thou try and get it from the chattering fool which gave it
to me!"
"Whew," Morte whistled as he caught up, "I hadn't seen so many fine slabs
of cadaverous flesh ever since the Perelandrous Plague hit the downtown
brothels. And they're spunky too!"
I rubbed one temple, still trying to work out the puzzle in my mind, "I'd
rather not hear about that."
"Then don't ask, chief."
As I continued on, eventually I bumped into the tall skeleton that had
ordered my imprisonment. It wore what appeared to be ancient priest's
robes, heavy and ornate. In one dessicated hand it carried a large,
impressive stave, capped with intricately carved horns, dangling pendants,
and a gilded skull.
"Greetings..."
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