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

and wrinkled her nose. "...Baatorian smell about him."
A muscle in my cheek twitched, "Baatorian smell?"
"Yes. But he's not a baatezu... at least of any variety I've encountered. The
smell alone, however, makes me treat the skull with caution."
"What were you saying about his being a mimir before?"
"Mimirs are encyclopedias of knowledge. The owner may ask them
questions, and if they possess the knowledge, they will inform the user of
what it knows." She pressed her palm to Annah's forehead, another against
her breast. The tiefling sighed, and the trembling slowed, and stopped as
the warmth sank into her bones.
"And Morte is a mimir?"
"I don't believe so. Morte lacks the silvery metal that mimirs customarily
have. And he seems to have an attitude of his own. Such qualities are not
present in conventional mimirs." Grace shrugged slightly, shifting her hands
and running them along Annah's sides, searching for hidden wounds.
What lay beyond I didn't know, but I could almost taste the mildew rankness
of betrayal.
~~~~~
"What's eating you, chief?"
"Can you read to me what's tattooed on my back again?"
"Aw, c'mon, chief. Don't tell me you forgot again."
"I just need to refresh my memory."
"Bet I'm going to be hearing THAT a lot." Morte cleared his throat. "Let's
see..."
'I know you feel like you've been drinking a few kegs of Styx wash, but you
need to CENTER yourself. Among your possessions is a JOURNAL that'll shed
some light on the dark of the matter. PHAROD can fill you in on the rest of
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