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

"Manners? What about that chocolate I brought you?"
He opened his mouth to speak, finger raised, then stopped. "Hmm. You have
me there, sir." He shrugged and ate another candy.
"And you mentioned formidable sorcerous powers? Could you teach me?"
"Teach you?! Hah! Are you even a mage?" he sneered, "Well look at you,
you brute. Of course you aren't! Oooo, if only I had Bigby's Boot of
Righteous Rump-Kicking to throw down upon you! NO!!! I will most certainly
not make you a mage, you boil-brained puttock! To do so would be to
demean the Art!"
"I am a mage, Quell," I grunted, and brought forth a small cantrip, allowing a
single flame to flicker on my fingertip. It danced back and forth in my hand
in a complex, ordered motion, and with my mental dexterity proven I
allowed it to vanish in a puff of smoke.
"Oh!" his lip curled, "What wonders the multiverse holds for Quell today!
Come, let me see your spell-book."
He tore the textbook I made with Mebbeth from my grasp and glared at it
furiously. "What is this trash?! I'll tell you: dung! Dung, dung, dung! How do
you even pluck the spells from these stained pages... have you been using
this book as a bar towel, so soaked in spirits, glue and blood it is! Do you not
care for your spell book?! How can I teach someone who does not respect
the Art?!"
"It holds my spells. Its appearance is unimportant."
"Ridiculous! Preposterous! I most laughable notion, if I ever heard one!
Whoever taught you the Art?"
"A midwife in Ragpicker's Square, Mebbeth."
"Then shamed be her name to be spreading such ineffable twaddle! And
look at these spells! What is this addled crap that they have been spilling
out, sullying magicks with hoodoo names and mumbo-jumbo wash! Trivial,
tiny, flickering candle-like magicks with grandiose names!"
"So why does its appearance matter?"
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