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

Deionarra.
Dak'kon nodded, "Know that Deionarra was the name she carried."
I felt cold. "What do you know of the archer?"
"I know little of him. I know he was a soldier. I know that alcohol had taken a
portion of his life. In blindness, he had come to know a different sight. In
knowing this, he had become strong. Yet he did not know his own strength."
"Do you know what his name was?"
Before Dak'kon could respond, I suddenly knew the answer. The crawling
sensation in the back of my skull returned, and I felt the name surfacing, as
if from beneath a great muddy ocean.
"His name was Xachariah... he was blind, but in blindness, he had gained a
second sight that allowed him to see things hidden to others. He was an
archer, and where his arrows flew, they found the hearts of their targets."
"Know that Xachariah was the name he carried. And know that his name
pierced the heart of many enemies."
"And which one of them was you, Dak'kon? Were you the slave?"
Dak'kon was silent for a moment, and the surface of his blade swims, as if in
turmoil. "Know that this one owed you a service. In owing this to you, it
became as slavery."
"It was at Shra'kt'lor wasn't it, Dak'kon?" The name was hissed by Kii'na,
who spat it out like it would've cursed Dak'kon to the bone.
Dak'kon was silent again, and when he spoke his voice trembled, and old
wounds were reopened. "Know it is the place where I died my first death."
"What is that place?"
"It is one of the great homes of the People. It has suffered many wounds in
its life. One of its scars is by my hand."
With each mention of the city my scalp crawled. I fought off the urge to run
477