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

says, 'Lord Pharod, I ask for courtesy. Your Collectors roam throughout the
Hive. If they should find my body, I want it kept safe. That is all I ask.'"
Pharod shrugs. "A simple boon."
I tried to urge him to continue, but before I could speak, I suddenly felt a
prickling in my skull as Pharod spoke the word 'boon' and the smell of blood
and fear rushed through your nostrils... Pharod was hiding something,
something that happened in the past, involving me -- and it scared him. The
boon he granted was no simple matter.
"So you granted my boon just like that? There's nothing to be gained from it,
for you. Why did you even agree to do it?" I asked suspiciously.
Pharod fell silent for a moment. "A dead man can keep no promises, and
promises to a dead man are easy enough to make, corpse."
"You're a merchant, Pharod, not a Samaritan. There must have been
another reason..."
The memory burned as it returned in white-hot prickles, searing as it ate its
way forward into my consciousness. Soon, though, it cooled, icy with the
rigid calm I felt then. The stench of the Hive burned at my nostrils. A hand
was curled around my sheathed dagger, and a cold sweat had made the
handle slick...
~~~~~
The thug chuckled, "An 'audience' with Pharod? Did Sharegrave send ye?"
"No," I said simply, "I'm beginning to lose my patience, street-vulture. Where
do I find Pharod?"
"The Collector King don't see outsiders, berk," he grinned, revealing two rows
of moldy yellow-green teeth, "But I do think he'll be likin' that purse o'
yours." Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the thugs moving, ten... no,
twenty of them. Moreso. The Hivers could smell the sharp tang of danger,
and down the streets window shutters snapped and doors slammed,
finishing with a chorus of clinking as deadbolts slid home. I grumbled. It was
a sad day when I'd have to waste my energy on these rats.
Ah well. Might as well have a little fun.
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