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

Dak'kon quickly taught me some of the common forms of speech as Annah
scouted for a Gith: A wise man was said to have "wrote the book of the
Anarchs," while to accuse another of treason was to remember "Vilquar's
Eye." It was said of generous people that their "cupboards are bare."
Common greetings included "Hail, sword-ringer," and "Zerchai's kin bow to
you" - to which one should respond, "And the traveler is pleased." Dak'kon
was a skilled teacher; and by the time Annah returned, I felt capable of
exchanging proper greetings with other githzerai.
"Ach, I found one o' yer leather-skinned kin around th' way," she pursed her
lips. The girl seemed much more agreeable with helping me ever since we
rescued Trist, "Has a blade all fancy-like like Dak'kon's."
"All right. Come with me, Dak'kon. You'll be able to help translate if
necessary."
As we neared the gith, Dak'kon suddenly gripped my arm. "I would have you
hear me."
I blinked, "What is it, Dak'kon?"
"It is my will that we not speak to this woman."
"Why not?"
His coal-black eyes were ever placid and featureless, yet then they flashed
with the familiar sharpness of a wounded animal. He always spoke so
proudly of his People and their ways, but the moment we came too close to
his most deeply-rooted traditions or his past he withdrew as if from the
prick of a knife, "She is a zerth. Our wills are crossed blades. We have no
common ground."
"We have no choice, Dak'kon. If she is a zerth she is our best bet to get a
warning to Vristigor."
He nodded, and trudged behind me slowly down the street.
The woman had the same yellow cast to her skin and severe features.
Tattoos covered her body, and she wore a long blade at her side. Her eyes
were like two small black pearls. As I approached her, they followed
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