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

slaughtering vargouilles with each pass until they centered on the flock
gnawing and tearing at me.
And then it was just a matter of killing them faster than they dealt damage
to me.
~~~~~
"Yer not looking so great, chief."
"I'll be fine," I muttered as I sewed my flesh back together.
"It would seem those that did were not slain have fled," Dak'kon intoned,
prodding a dead vargouille with his boot. With that he nodded with the
satisfaction of one who had done his duty, cleansing these chambers, at
least, of the flapping vermin.
"Pain in the arse, these things are, chief. Almost as bad as cranium rats
when they swarm. Twice as annoying as acid pidgeons."
"They might just be a little of both," I grumbled, bandaging up my arm,
"Rodents and birds have one thing in common..."
"Aside from abandoning their leavings in and on your walls?"
I nodded at the dull glint coming from one alcove "They have an inordinate
fondness of shiny things."
I picked it out among a small pile of twisted bits of metal and scraps of
pounded foil. The bottle was heavy in my hands, and as I turned it over I
couldn't see a single bubble floating from the cork. The glass was a dull
mustard-yellow, but with an idle shake the bottle seemed to thrum as if it
contained the seas of a thousand worlds. Glyve had mentioned that a
command word was required to activate it, but still I felt somewhat unsafe
holding the thing... a Decanter of Endless Water. A fool or madman could
consign a world to a watery doom by merely misplacing the cork.
"Ooooh. Those things are rare, chief," Morte murmured, "That could fetch a
nice bit of jink if we could find a buyer. There are desert worlds that would
sell kings into slavery for this..."
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