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

Oudilin's wings flutter, and he massages his joints as if they had been
wounded in the panic, "Perhaps you could tell us what led you to crash your
vessel into the wall of this establishment?"
"Oh I'm not one for words. For one, I'm a magnificent liar when I do choose
to speak. Second, as a Cipher I much prefer action. Like so!" she gives the
body another boot, and the poor tiefling at her feet coughs and sputters,
groaning in agony at being revived so roughly, "Well la! I was wrong after all!
But that just goes to prove my point. Well, that was my good deed for the
day, and just in time for supper."
"Then that would be a terrific pity, if you weren't able to continue the tale of
the Nameless One..." Oudilin's voice is coy, teasing even as he cradles what
looks to be a dislocated shoulder.
As expected, Jeanette's eye widens, "The Nameless One? Well, that indeed
is a tale I'll be more than willing to add to!"
With a leap and a bound she steps up to the stage, whipping a rapier from
her belt, "I am Jeanette Dovelle Four-Winds, pirate queen of the Silver Sky!
Former Captain of the githyanki thoughtskimmer Joren Dell! I've circled the
border between Prime Material and Outer Plane, riding on currents of
dream and waters of ancient memory! I've fished in the Shimmering Sea
Beyond the Pale, and survived the monstrosities that I caught!
"As for how I got here... well, we were delivering a shipment of stray
thoughts to an old fence of mine when the githyanki caught up with us.
Now, these folks aren't too fond of entrepreneurs who acquire one of their
astral vessels through legally questionable (and perhaps morally
reprehensible) means, but I digress.
"There we were, surrounded by a dozen githyanki warships, firing bolts of
rage and loading cannons full of remose at the Joren Dell. The first salvo tore
through the dream-sails, the second damaged our qualia engine. A stray
fugue had killed my first mate- alas! A hundred hooks flew at us, honed with
hatred (of which the githyanki are not short of, I assure you) and anchored
with ropes made of braided nightmares. When they pulled us alongside my
crew fought them off valiantly- I couldn't ask for finer salts to sail with! I
myself took on twelve of the yellow-skinned gith at once, then insulted
another so that he might join in. A good baker's dozen is fond luck, I always
say.
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