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

about her, aye, he does, he worries."
"Why don't you go find her?" Morte could barely keep the annoyance out of
his voice.
"NO!" Nodd covered his head with his arms, mumbling to himself. "Nodd...
Nodd can't speaks right no more, he can't, nay, an' he smells a' corpses an'
th' dirt a' the Square, Ragpicker's Square... NO!" The outburst sent him into
a fit of hacking coughs.
I looked up at him, "What happened to you, Nodd?"
Nodd sniffed, looking at the ground quietly. Finally, he began nodding to
himself, speaking softly: "Nodd was young, aye, he was, an' started hearin'
voices, tellin' Nodd 'do this! do that!' Bad things, bad, like chewin' on Nodd's
fingers..." He held his hands to his face, revealing old bite-scars beneath the
caked-on filth. I winced and hoped he quit that habit by now. Ugh.
"So Nodd's parents takes him aways, they does, puts him in a dark place, a
Winged Tower, where they pokes needles an' hooks in Nodd's head... voices
stop, aye, they do, but Nodd can't think right, can't talks right. Nodd escapes
the place, he does, wakes up in th' Hive, aye."
"Where is this winged tower?"
"Dunno, dunno. Bad place, bad!" He shook his head violently, clutching at
his temples, before resuming his usual nodding. "Nodd wakes up, there's
Collectors, aye, Collectors pokin' at Nodd, sayin' 'Look! Not a deader, deader
he's not! Takes him back, takes him!' An' they takes Nodds back, they does,
back ta th' Square. So long... years, long years ago."
"Morte, we have to help him."
He growled behind his teeth, but in the end Morte relented, mumbling, "As
much as I like ya, chief, don't expect me to mop after your bleedin' heart too
much."
The Collector smiled crookedly, the corners of his lips twitched, "Nodd
thanks ye, he does, Nodd thanks ye. Amarysse was pretty, so pretty, lives in
th' Hive, now. Fair skinned, she was, hair like jet, an' always in blue, blue...
she was always in blue..."
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