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

"Seemed so much longer than ten days..." I groaned. With each step it was
becoming easier to speak, "Seemed like weeks. Months. No way to tell the
time, memories layered over memories..."
"Query: by what mechanism did one escape the inverted spatial dimension
known in singular as the Mazes?"
"I'll explain it later. For now, I could really use something to eat."
~~~~~
Seared scallops in a savory-sweet Arborean wine sauce, clam and saffron
stew over a bed of pasta, cubed steak seasoned with shiftspice, and a mug
of sweet Ysgardian mead.
I was doing my best to savor it slowly. Wouldn't do well to celebrate my
escape by horking it all down and having it come back up in an alley.
"Sir, might I interest you in a lovely oil-poached duck? Sliced thin, garnished
with Arborean truffles and a sauce of-"
"One serving. And another bowl of that venison stew."
"Fall-From-Grace," Nordom chirped, "is it true that 'every woman thinks
floating skulls are hot stuff?'"
"Why, whoever told you that, dear Nordom?" the barest quirk of her lips
hinted at her amusement.
"No one! No one told him that!" Morte interjected. Grace just smiled and
continued: “You know, Nordom, you are perhaps the cutest little rogue
modron I have ever encountered.”
'Cutest' is a subjective term. I prefer the designation "fearsome cubed
warrior".”
“Of course! That's why you're so cute.”
Nordom had been trying to mimic our mannerisms, and the barkeep was
kind enough to give him an empty mug to play with. He spent a few
moments knocking the lip of the mug against his face, but eventually gave it
864