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

Pharod studied me with a critical eye. "Stay your weapons for what I'm
about to say, corpse, for it could be your ears'll take offense..." Pharod
smiled wickedly. "My ears no longer care, but yours are still fresh for the
burning, it seems."
I placed my hand across my chest, "You have my word that I'll stay my hand,
Pharod. I swear it. But I need to know what you know."
"The truth..." Pharod's tone softened, as if cajoling. "The truth was stretched
a bit from my mind to my tongue when we first spoke, corpse -- in all
terrible honesty, I know little about you." He raised a withered finger. "Yet,
hear me out..."
"Yes...?"
"You're a cutter who plays at being dead, as I see." Pharod squinted at me.
"Some time ago, you came to me, like you are now, but not, just strolled
right into Ill-Wind Court and said you wanted an 'audience' with me."
"An audience with you?"
"Aye, an 'audience.'" Pharod chuckled, like whispering sand. "Like I was
royalty..." He seemed amused, but there was an edge in his voice. "You
knew the right things to say, you did, oh yes. You spoke the chant like a
Guvner, born and true. And I listened."
"But you were royalty... at least a man of position, once, were you not?"
Reekwind's tale was still fresh in my mind.
"Once." Pharod hissed. "Once. Titles, only words, NOTHING in the end..." He
lapsed into silence, then tsked. "Knew that, too, my history, I think you
did..."
"What did he... I... want from you?"
Pharod gave a mock bow, his crutch creaking as he leaned against it. "'Oh,
Pharod, great Collector King,' you says. 'I have come before you to request a
boon.' 'A boon?' I says. 'What could I offer a man of such obvious strength?'"
Pharod wagged his crooked finger. "And you asked for a strange thing: You
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