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

sir."
I sighed, "Were it only a tale, madam. It is my life, and I've the scars to prove
it -- as you noted when we first met, I believe."
"Yes, yes... quite so." She smiled slightly... I had begun to wonder if she was
even capable of such a thing. "I wish you luck, sir, in your undertakings. May
you find yourself once more."
I nodded, "My thanks. Farewell, Lady Diligence."
Annah kept close to me as we walked, tail twitching, "Yeh best watch yerself
'ere now... no trouble. This place has Harmonium up to yer eyes..."
"So I guess I can count on you not nicking any purses, then."
"Hsst!" she scowled, "Don't yeh be sayin such things aloud."
"She's right, chief," Morte bobbed in front of me, "The Clerk's Ward is a safe
place... it's made for all the berks born with silver spoons and gilded
knickers. They run the show in Sigil for the most part. Law's pretty strict, but
that means they guard the richest fun."
And rare, wild fun it was.
Skewered meat in one hand and a penny ale in the other, we explored the
Ward, enjoying the street music, heckling the poets, trying to tip over a
performance artist or two. Such mischief wasn't unknown in Sigil, indeed, it
was almost expected since our antics had earned us a scolding from a
Harmonium officer or two. They growled at us with the poise and
preparation that had to have come from dealing with hooligans a dozen
times before.
I almost burst into laughter at as Morte hovered right behind a Harmonium
officer, accenting the castigation with flicks of the tongue and wild rolls of
his eyes.
By the end of the day Annah was hiding a smirk, and even Dak'kon seemed
less morose.
"Can we, chief? Oh please can we?" Morte pleaded.
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