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

I winced inside. My mind was still a bit in shock and my tongue slipped, “I
see. Well, don’t sweat it, Morte. From the looks of her, I’m probably saving
you from dying twice.”
The prostitute snarled, her face twisting in fury, “May a pox shrivel yer
innards! Ye have the stink and fashion sense of a goatherd, and ye’re twice
as ugly!”
Morte stared, hypnotized, as the harlot let loose a stream of obscenities. At
the end of the verbal avalanche, Morte was silent for a moment, then
turned to me. “Wow, chief. Got a few more taunts for the ol’ arsenal.” He
turned back to the harlot, who was catching her breath. “I’m also in love.”
We left, “And you think we need to talk about my standards?”
He chuckled, “Oh come on, chief. The best you’ve eyeballed here was a
shuffling corpse and a rash-ridden hermaphrodite. I’d like to see you do
better.”
That’s when I saw her.
She was a striking girl, her hair rust-red and short-cut. Her leather armor was
a tight, form-fitting piece laced up the middle to show an ample bosom. She
met me with tight-pressed lips which quickly twisted in disgust, her eyes
widening with shock.
“Ach! I’ve never seen somethin’ so ugly, I’ve not!”
The girl’s right arm was covered with a series of interlocking plates that
looked as if they were taken from the skin of some creature, and a horned
shoulder piece protected her left arm. Oddly enough, she had a tail, which
was flicking back and forth as I watched. I was a head taller than her, but she
looked up to me with a scowl, her pretty eyes full of venom and vinegar,
“Pike off.”
She turned away, then, ignoring me.
“Uh... hello,” I said awkwardly, “Who are you?”
“Smooth, chief.”
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