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

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"What did you mean by 'future mage-tu<strong>to</strong>r <strong>of</strong> the Festhall?"<br />

"It's a prestigious position, <strong>to</strong> <strong>be</strong> an <strong>of</strong>ficial tu<strong>to</strong>r in one the Festhall's<br />

training cham<strong>be</strong>rs. It's my intention <strong>to</strong> one day take the position <strong>of</strong> mages'<br />

tu<strong>to</strong>r, but the title's currently in the possession <strong>of</strong> the Lady Thorncom<strong>be</strong>. If<br />

only I could somehow prove that I'd <strong>be</strong> a superior tu<strong>to</strong>r..."<br />

Curses, eh? "Do you know <strong>of</strong> a cursed man called Reekwind?"<br />

"Reek...? Hmmm." Sala<strong>be</strong>sh's eyebrows suddenly darted up. "Oh, yes...<br />

Jumble Murdersense cursed that man, if I recall correctly. Why? Seeking <strong>to</strong><br />

get his curse un<strong>do</strong>ne? Good luck... only Jumble can <strong>do</strong> that, you know."<br />

"Where would I find this Jumble Murdersense?"<br />

"Within the Civic Festhall, I suppose. A short, portly fellow with a leering<br />

smile. Never speaks, so you'll <strong>be</strong> hard pressed <strong>to</strong> get anything out <strong>of</strong> him."<br />

It looks like I have business with more than just one person here <strong>to</strong>day.<br />

The inner court <strong>of</strong> the Civic Festhall was just as resplendent as the outside, if<br />

<strong>not</strong> moreso. Tapestries and banners were dangled from poles, and the floors<br />

were tiled with a thousand colors. Servants carried trays <strong>of</strong> hors d'oeuvres<br />

here as well from outside, <strong>to</strong> keep the rich scent <strong>of</strong> cooking from tainting the<br />

delicate scents <strong>of</strong> perfume and incense here.<br />

The <strong>do</strong>orman greeted me with a nod. His golden skin sparkled slightly,<br />

almost as if it were metallic - whether it was his actual flesh or merely<br />

painted on, I couldn't tell. He regarded us coolly as we approached, giving a<br />

respectful bow as I drew near. "Welcome <strong>to</strong> the Civic Festhall, traveler; We<br />

are Splinter, <strong>do</strong>orman <strong>to</strong> the Festhall and Priest-King <strong>of</strong> Ur. How may We<br />

help you?" Despite his humble <strong>of</strong>fer <strong>of</strong> aid, his voice was powerful and<br />

commanding, a deep and rumbling sound that resonated throughout the<br />

cham<strong>be</strong>r.<br />

"Priest-King <strong>of</strong> Ur? What are you <strong>do</strong>ing here then?" my query came with a<br />

cock <strong>of</strong> the head.<br />

"There is little <strong>to</strong> say that We have <strong>not</strong> <strong>to</strong>ld you. We are the Splinter,<br />

<strong>do</strong>orman <strong>to</strong> the Festhall, demigod son <strong>of</strong> Isahar and Priest-King <strong>of</strong> Ur.<br />

639

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