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

Annah shuddered and drew a symbol in the air, and set aside her
half-finished bowl. Dak'kon sipped his own calmly.
"Do you know anything else about Ravel... something you can tell me before
I seek her out?"
"Child..." Mebbeth spoke, but her voice sounded tired and broken. "...if ye
seek evil in the Planes... ye need not travel far." She coughed. "Witch knows
witch, power knows power, yet there is none who knows all Ravel's
branchings and twistings. Learn yer skills well, and keep yer lids open when
new sights don't be seeming right. Trust yerself, and do not be a-trustin' her,
hear?"
I nodded, "I will. Thanks, Mebbeth."
Mebbeth sighed. "I wish no ills upon others 'cept that one. Glad she's gone, I
am, and the Cage is better for it. Again, will I say this, child, let the past rot
where it lays. Let lie, let lie."
We finished our stew and headed off.
~~~~~
"Welcome to the Clerk's Ward, chief."
Well-cut paving stones nestled next to each other like scales on a fish. The
buildings had been erected with clean-cut stone, colorful and polished.
Graceful tiers pierced the arch of the sky, and not a patch of razorvine
marred the walls. On the contrary, flowers and vines had been pulled and
craft from delicate sheets of bronze, and on some walls the metallic foliage
branched upward and outward, as if daring the abyssal weed to compete.
Well-dressed men and women would glide past one another like swans on a
lake, bedecked with brocade robes of a dozen colors. The air was clean, the
colors vibrant. I never knew colors could be so bold without a veil of
yellow-brown smog obscuring everything.
There was the smell of sizzling meat wafting from a streetcorner kiosk: real
meat, instead of a boiled rat impaled on a stick. In one corner a group of
street performers tumbled over one another while the music of flutes and
bells played in rhythm with the acrobatics.
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