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

I nodded, “Sounds fair. Here’s three commons.” The coins clinked falling into
her palm as I realized the first thing I had ever bought now was from a
whore. I almost laughed out loud.
“Aye, then.” She slipped the coins into a pouch, “Now...”
Might as well start with the general questions, “What’s of interest around
here?”
She put her hands on her hips and pouted. “Depends on yer interest,
cutter.”
I was uncomfortably aware of how light my pouch was, “Well, I could always
use some work.”
She laughed. “Ye’re asking me? What, ye thinkin’ o’ becoming one o’ the
Sisterhood are ye?” She nearly buckled over in laughter... the screeching
was similar to a drunken harpy’s. Eventually, the gales of laughter subsided,
and she took a deep breath. “Ye’re... ye’re a rich man, ye are.”
By the powers! I needed something to scrape the vision of myself spreading
my legs for someone out of my mind. I caressed the void again, chill,
horrifying. I slipped past the rough-cut edge, touching pure oblivion itself. If I
probed any deeper it might’ve devoured my soul, destroyed my essence,
leaving me a mindless, doomed shell.
Ah, much better.
I focused on something else, and my chat with Lhar came to mind, “What
about the factions? What do you know of them?”
She smiled knowingly. “I jest... ‘serve’... the factions, love. I don’t deal with
them.”
“Not even the Dustmen?”
“The Dustmen don’t behave like Dusties in my arms, love.” She scoffed.
“Those bashers speak so much ‘bout death, yet they don’t say much when
they’s with me, y’see?”
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