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

threw away his title, his wealth, and his position to try and find it."
"Really?" Annah became silent for a moment, then shook her head. "No
accountin' for Pharod's foolishness, there isn't. A trinket won't save yeh
from fate's hand. If the stains on yer soul are black enough, no amount o'
washing will get 'em out." She paused. "Still, if he thought it could save him,
maybe it was important somehow... or at least worth a bit o' jink."
A bleak air had settled on the Village when we arrived. The lanes were
quieter than usual, and the villagers hid in their huts and tents. The flick of
curtains revealed half-obscured faces, gazing out in fear for a moment
before vanishing behind age-yellowed cloth. The few that ventured out
looked over their shoulders when they didn't glance at me and hustle into
trash-filled alleys.
It was as if a plague had visited the Buried Village for the streets to be so
sparse of thugs and blades and for silence to echo along with our footsteps.
"Somethin's wrong..." Annah whispered, and her pace quickened.
"Kelm, What's been goin' on here now?" She asked one of the guards.
Kelm's eyes shifted uneasily, "Oh, Annah. You're back... we... didn't expect
to see you again so soon..."
Annah frowned, "Wot's got the village creepin' on eggshells? I've only been
gone a day or two an' get greeted back as if we've been carryin' the plague."
"Oh, uh-" Kelm stammered, "It isn't you, Annah. Really."
"Ach, yeh say that but yer eyes haven't crept below me neck." She glanced
at me from the corner of her eye, as if I had brought this on the village.
"Hey I'm always happy to take up the slack, there," Morte clacked his jaw as
his eyes crawled over the milk-pale curve of her thighs, "Not that there's
much slack that I can see."
Kelm bit his lip, "No, it's... I don't know. Pharod had just closed Illwind Court,
demanded that no one disturb him. And soon after..." he trailed off.
"What? Spill it, aye?"
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