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

their sheets, gulping down air as the cold sweat clings to their skin. I just lay
back, staring at the ceiling in cold apathy until a familiar rattle of teeth was
at my side.
"Well there you are, chief. We've been ready for an hour now."
"Bad timing, Morte."
"What? You said to wake you up at first light. Just, you know... you haven't
been sleeping right lately."
"No, not you. I was talking about dreams."
Morte was already tugging the blankets off with his teeth, but he muttered
through the cloth nonetheless, "Hrmph. You make less sense than the gith
sometimes, ya know?"
In a half an hour the forges would be ringing with the clangor of the newly
initiated Godsmen's toil, and the toxic scent of searing metal would be
dancing in the air. It had been two weeks since I came across that sensory
stone, and I hadn't been to the Festhall since. It was afterward that I realized
that the amnesia was, in some ways, a blessing... scars across the skin might
be of little consequence, but the raking wounds across the soul piled over
one another would've bled out my sanity long ago.
"I hate sleep."
"Hey if I had a body I'd be on my back for well over eight hours a day, chief.
Speaking of which, the succubus must've been waiting for us for a while
now."
~~~~~
Dak'kon was at my side like always, and a pallet had been set up in my
quarters. It was a simple matter to collect Ignus... the old mage was easily
entranced by the fires blazing around crucibles and within kilns in the
Godsmen’s forge. Annah preferred renting out an attic, a different one every
few nights. Perhaps she had picked up on my mood, but she had always
been more comfortable in a little squalor, and with the freedom to move
from place to place so no one could find her unless she wanted to be found.
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