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

“Sharegrave?” I blinked.
“Hai, Sharegrave big name, carry weight, casts long shadow, he does. Tell
Pox what to do, he does.”
“Would your boss... this Sharegrave... know where Pharod is?”
“Hai, Sharegrave knows darks, he does. Know Pharod-a-hiding, he does.
Sharegrave in Ragpicker Square, many blocks west-o-here, hai. Say
Sharegrave that Pox send you, tell him, Sharegrave become
Sharecopper-with-Pox he will, hai.”
“All right. Thank you, Pox.”
“Hai. Good to see you again, hai.”
I spun around, eyes wide, “Wait, you know me?”
“Hai. Pox know many time. Help sneak into Mortuary.”
Considering the effort to get out, I wondered why and how I got in. “But...
how?”
Pox unpeeled his arms from his robes, revealing a rusted dagger in each of
his rash-splotched hands. With a blur, the blades cut two lines across my
throat. There was no pain, oddly, just the quick press and slash of metal on
flesh.
“Hrghl!” Shocked, I reached my hands up to feel my throat, blood gushing
and trickling down my chest and hands with each beat of my heart. Oddly
enough I was curious as to how it could be so painless if the blades were so
dull as to leave such jagged skin.
My body tumbled backwards, twitching. It became more difficult to move
my limbs as they became heavier each moment. My heartbeat slowed. In
the distance I could hear Morte crying out, teeth clacking, Pox squealing in
terror.
As my vision faded to black the last thought on my mind was of awe: at how
beautiful the sky was, a ceiling of streets, avenues, and buildings misted by
gold and gray.
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