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

I returned to Glyve.
Glyve spoke in that slow rumble, like stone scraping against stone, "Have
you found... the flask of which... I spoke?"
"Yes."
A note of eagerness crept into Glyve's dead voice: "You have it? Pour some
of ... its water across ... my lips... and I shall tell you... what I promised ... to
tell you."
"Here you go."
The clear water from the flask trickled across the stone lips, diluting the
filthy flow that spewed from the holes. As we watched, the Ditch's water
slowly dissipated entirely, the dirty taint of it replaced by clear, fresh water.
Glyve groaned in ecstasy. After a moment, he spoke, "My thanks, Nameless
One. In gratitude, I gift you with knowledge that will allow you to harness
the full power of the decanter."
His voice began to fade even as he spoke, "Seek out... the woman called...
'Nemelle'. She resides in ... the Clerk's Ward... in Upper Sigil. I know not...
where exactly... Best of luck ... in your quest... immortal."
"Thanks, Glyve. Go to your rightful rest."
The stone face was silent. A trickle of clear water ran from the corner of its
eye, and the grimace carved into the face had loosened. Another soul freed
from its torment.
"Very well, then."
"You know, boss, I was getting really sick of his... constant... pauses...
anyway... it's a ... good thing... he's shut up... now."
"Very funny, Morte. Let's go."
I wasn't expecting any fanfare when I returned, and indeed I wasn't
disappointed. When I came to gate that huge, hulking thug was still standing
guard, face creased into an ugly grimace.
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