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

"Well we fought off the first wave, flung their broken corpses into the void
and sped along as fast as we could through the Astral sea. We were leaking
qualia faster than a stuck pig could bleed, when salvation was in sight.
"Aumenaroch... an ancient god of empty spaces. He had been forgotten long
ago, his last followers had slit their throats one by one to add to the Silent
Song, and that was that. The old Power died with a whimper, and his corpse
now floats along the Astral: silent, still, bobbing in the white miasma like a
cork until we came along.
"One of the benefits of smuggling stray thoughts, lads, is that you tend to
pick up little things here and there that are of great use. In this instance it
was knowledge. Aumenaroch's petrified corpse... high as a mountain and
pale as pain had a great many portals squirreled away on itself. Much of the
divine substances that are so precious about dead gods had been mined
away long ago by the greedy gith, so holes were a-plenty for us to fly
through.
"I chose one that I knew best, giving it the sign of the four shapes and flew
our vessel through as the gith closed in on us. Well needless to say our
engine puttered out at that point and the sails had failed, and by sheer skill
alone I sailed the rest of the way buoyed with every ounce of will we could
muster, bearing the splintered mizzenmast with my teeth. And here we
are!"
Epetrius's thin eyebrows furrow, and the lizard perched on his head flicks its
tongue, "I have never heard of this god you speak of, and while you seem to
be a lady of remarkable talents I find it hard to believe you were able to fight
off that number of githyanki."
"You wound me, lad! Every word I just spoke is true as the River of Faith!
Well, save the false parts here and there, but at best they were just a mild
embellishment or two for the sake of the tale," Jeanette says with a smile,
popping open her pouch, "But as I said... collecting stray thoughts always
yields lovely little surprises."
With that she pulls an eyeball out by its long, severed optic nerve. It is still
wet and glistening, wriggling back and forth as if it had a life of its own, "The
Eye of the Nameless One, lads. Take a good look, and let's tell a real tale."
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