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

Fall-From-Grace seemed to be appraising me with renewed interest. "Those
scars on your body." She reached out a hand, as if to touch me. "May I?"
While any other man would've been left blabbling at the request, I merely
blinked at the question. I was wearing a bone sash and a kilt of all things...
there was no room to be modest. "Uh... sure."
Fall-From-Grace dragged her finger across my chest lightly, tracing the edges
of my scars and following the curves where they blended into some of my
tattoos. Her touch left a warm, electric trail along my skin, and I trembled a
little at the light caress. She seemed fascinated. "These scars do look as if
they would have taken several lifetimes to accumulate."
"They certainly do... though some are more recent."
Grace leaned back. "Some of those wounds would have been fatal. To a
normal man." She tapped her chin, thinking. "What do you intend to do
now?"
"I don't really know. For the moment, I'm just searching for clues to who I
am and what happened to me."
Fall-From-Grace was still thinking, her finger tapping on her chin. "I must
say, I've never met a man who had lost himself in the literal sense." She
raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me, but your condition is intriguing."
I laughed, "It is that."
She nodded. "If it will help, you are welcome to tour the Brothel. Several of
our students are well-versed in the verbal arts. Perhaps some of them will
be able to re-kindle your memories."
"Would you like to join me on my travels?"
Annah stiffened, then started muttering under her breath. "Who's to say
she'll be comin' with us? We donnae need the likes o' her, so's we don't."
"Bar that, fiendling!" Morte clicked his teeth together. "I'm ALL for the
succubus coming with us... the Powers know you're about as fun as passing
a caltrop through your bowels."
517