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

golden hair. "How may I help you?"
"Who are you?"
"I am called Fall-From-Grace." She studied me for a moment. "You are new
to Sigil, are you not?"
"No, I suspect I have been here for quite some time, actually."
Fall-From-Grace raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?"
"Yes... but that is a long tale, perhaps longer than I know," I looked around,
"I'm more interested in what this place is."
"This is the Brothel of Slaking Intellectual Lusts." She studied me for a
moment. "I take it by your question that you did not intend to partake of
this establishment?"
I licked my lips, not quite knowing how to answer that with anything but a
question, "'Brothel of Slaking Intellectual Lusts?' What kind of brothel is
this?"
Fall-From-Grace smiled, "I established this brothel to give those lustful
fevers that strike the mind more avenues of expression rather than the
simply carnal. Much pleasure can be had in conversation and engaging in
the verbal arts with others."
"Sounds dull," Morte grunted, testing his reattached mandible with a few
quick bites.
She turned to Morte, with that everpresent whisper of a smile and spoke as
if unsurprised to be talking to a floating skull, "I assure you, it is not. Tour
the brothel, see for yourselves."
"So this is a brothel... where there's no intercourse?"
"Only of a psychological nature. Rest assured, it is still quite stimulating."
Indeed, at that moment a woman approached from around the corner with
one hand wrapped around the arm of a middle-aged man. She was
beautiful, with skin as pale and cool as marble, but all the man seemed to be
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