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

Chapter 60
Down past the lecture hall stood a bushy-haired man, clad in the height of
fashion -- if one could consider fashion to have died fifty years ago. His
clothing looked like they consisted entirely of tattered street urchin rags,
and he affected a disdainful manner toward those around him. The man's
lips were curled around a pipe, and he puffed away steadily, releasing a
sweet blue-gray smoke. He didn't even glance at me until I approached, and
then his eyes began searching my face carefully. "D'ya want something?" he
drawled. He huffed, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.
"Er, hello. Who are you?"
"Who am I? I am Nihl Xander, great-grandson of the artificer Xero Xander,
engineer, dreamer, creator. I am the engineer of all engineers. I studied
under the tanar'ri smith Kazan, who tempered words on a forge of hate,
quenched them in a trough of despair, and sent them forth to slaughter
stupidity. Elements of phrases, caustic words, were brought to him, and he
created weapons of terrifying magnitudes - weapons that would lay an
enemy low and destroy the malformed ideas of others. I'm sure you've seen
his work."
I blinked, "So you create evil weapons here?"
"Not at all!" he said with a hearty smile, spreading his hands out, "My forge
is not built on hate, but on understanding. I have also studied under the
archon artisan Terasaphirea, who created the healing touch of a gentle
thought, ideas that would still any fiendish, spitting heart. He worked his will
with love and devotion. My work blends theirs, as all mortal psyches blend
elements of the demonic and the sublime."
"Are your co-workers as well trained as you?"
"Bah." he gave a dismissive wave, then spat out an angry puff of smoke from
the corner of his mouth, "They do not possess a true fire. They speak of
creation, and they boast of their potentials, but they do not create anything
beyond the mundane. Their imaginations are poor, limited, obsessed with
the small details. A true dreamer, I say, creates a grand scheme and then
concentrates on the details. Starting with details is for the ants of the
imagination... the small insects who aspire only to be fed," he blinked, "Say
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