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

"What's this now?" I asked, opening a small paper packet.
Dak'kon looked up from the skewer of spiced meat he had been sampling,
"Shiftspice from the Planes of Limbo. The spice may taste of whatever one
would like. It is little more than a matter of concentration and willpower to
bends its flavor to one's whim."
I wet my finger and dug in, licking the powder from the tip. Indeed, I finished
off the packet in a matter of nine or ten licks, and as promised each taste
provided a different flavor.
"Ah, I always liked lapping up lines of the stuff from a harlot's stomach,"
Morte sighed, "Hey, I don't suppose you have an extra fifty gold to spare?"
"You need to learn that no means no, Morte."
Dusting of my hands off I stood, and my companions followed suit.
We spent a good couple of hours shopping for new spells and tools, and it
was fortunate that we did so when we came across a familiar face... and a
familiar stench. The meal was past the point of no return by the time we
came across Reekwind once again, picking a crust of filth from one ear as he
belched in unison with a wet pooting sound.
"Ah, ye comes back to old Reekwind, cutter?" he greeted me with a moldy
grin.
"Phaugh! Away wit ye, ye foul little beast!" Annah snarled.
"Hey hold on," I nudged Annah aside, and with the look she shot me I swore
she would've stuck one of those daggers in my back if I let her. My pouch
was feeling a little heavy after all, and the poor man could've used some
charity, "I suppose we have time for a story." Any knowledge could've been
helpful.
The coppers clinked into Reekwind's palm and he tucked them away. With a
few taps of his chin his eyes brightened, and he backed off, taking a stance
as he began to weave his tale.
"A sorcerer there was, no simple hedge wizard this, but a mage of power."
Reekwind brought his hands together reverently, then smiled evilly. "He
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