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

"They shuddered and rose, limbs snapping into place like bones set a-right,
and as my companions led a merry chase down the halls with arms laden
with treasures I stood in the rear, fending the monstrosities off one by one,
my rapier slashing their limbs and carving my name across their night-black
hides.
"Well one stray shot from 'em took my eye, but 'twas a fine price for the
rousing battle they offered! I ran back, the blood and fluid spilling from my
empty socket like gelatinous tears. By the time I made it back to the Joren
Dell the sails were a-ready and the anchor was hoisted, and all I needed was
a rope ladder to make my escape. I swung from that brittle ladder among
the silver void, breathing the must of the forgotten, dancing among the
silver threads of memory and laughing at fate itself. Ah the freedom and
wonder of bein' a pirate! A grand afternoon to be sure, and by the time I
climbed back in lunch was ready. Stroganoff, if I recall."
"That is ridiculous and you, girl, are just making up lies again!" Factor
Epetrius growls, stabbing a pointed finger at Jeanette. The lizard perched on
his cap flicks out a tongue, as if to taunt the girl, "Nowhere in the libraries of
Sigil, not among all the maps of the Astral Plane and the books of such, is
this Isle mentioned!"
Jeanette laughs, as if the answer were obvious, and bends over. Her hands
are placed on her knees and she smiles as she speaks in a soft, kind voice, as
if addressing a child, "Oh good Guvner, me boy. O' course the name isn't
mentioned in your books. The name itself has been forgotten and buried on
the Isle itself. An' the fact that you know nothin' of it just proves me point
really. If'n ye really want to see the name though, I keep it in a box in me
holds. Ha!"
Epetrius' lips pull back in a growl, as if he were to say something else, but he
merely rubs his temples and shakes his head in frustration.
You raise an eye as a heavy plate clacks against the counter. Your
dragon-steak, medium-rare, fairly dripping in a reddish gravy. The savory
scent of it makes your mouth water, and the barmaid smiles as your coin
clinks into her palm.
"Now, as for this one," Jeanette indicates the eye which has now perched on
her shoulder like a fawning parrot, "We didn't realize it at first but it had
hitched a ride on the Joren Dell, squirreling away in the holds and suddenly
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