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

The symbols swirled before me, and I pieced them together roughly as
Dak'kon translated:
One unloved who loves one who does not love.
One who does not see what others see and sees what others do not.
One who is familiar and bound with duty.
One who is a slave and his chains are words.
As I finish translating, the four strings seemed to form themselves into links,
and they merged into a chain... the chain bent and warped, into a symbol
that I knew all too well.
Dak'kon wasn't even looking at the symbols. "The tattoo speaks of four
minds. One was a woman, who loved a man who knew her and knew not
love. The other was a blind man, who saw things no mortal eye could see.
Another was a familiar, a mage's pet, bought and bound. And the last was a
slave."
"Why did you not want to tell me this?"
He closed his eyes, "The four are bound with a symbol that is known to me."
The mark of torment. The lines were thorn and razor-edged, as if it were a
blade twisted in upon itself. Fell’s earlier words came to mind: The flesh
knows that it suffers, even when the mind does not…
"Enough about the symbol. Tell me everything you know about those four
that are on the tattoo."
Dak'kon was silent again, and he looked older somehow, not with the
wisdom of age or the ripeness of season, but weathered and chipped as the
sands of time eroded a mountain face. Those hands were strong, I knew... I
had seen them raised in battle. But it seemed that at any moment then
Dak'kon could've crumbled into dust. "I will not my speak of it here. Ask
when what we speak of will only be for the ears of those that walk with
you."
I nodded. His pain was his own... it would do no good to speak of it here.
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