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

Chapter 86
"Do you know where I could find a 'piece' of Ravel?"
Annah wrinkled her nose. "A piece of that hag? Nay, I donnae know where
yeh'd find such a thing." Annah thought for a moment, her tail waving slowly
back and forth, then she smirked. It was a refreshing change: she rarely
treated talk of such grim entities so lightly. "A-course, she's probably left
enough o' her seed scattered around the Planes that yeh might be able tae
ask one o' them."
"What do you mean?"
"Seed, kin, wee ones -- Oul' Ravel's said tae have a mess o' daughters, so the
tale-tellers say - or just one, dependin' on which tale-teller yeh ask -- an'
whether they're downing bub when yeh talkin' to 'em." Annah's voice
dropped to a murmur. "Ravel birthed 'em from some fiend, the tales say."
"Do you think one of these daughters might still be around? They might
know something about how to reach her."
Annah shrugged. "I donnae know. I sure as copper wouldn't want tae find
one o' em. If they're half as mean as she is..." she trailed off.
~~~~~
Even without the tutelage of Fall-From-Grace, dialogues of the rarest kinds
were being freely traded in the Brothel: poetic recitations done forward and
backward and with every second word, philosophical debates sharp as a
woman's tongue, contests of insults and barbed exchanges that tested the
resolve and the wit. Soft, womanly scents bubbled through the air, and the
clink of glasses heralded the bounty of tea and bubbly wine.
Annah had been somewhat resistant to return to the Brothel, but as we sat
talking with some of the patrons, she strode in and approached us. As soon
as she appeared, Nordom faced her.
“Attention, Annah! Morte wants to ‘snuggle with your pillows.’ ”
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