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

memory-destroying waters still lie frozen within the ice."
"If the waters of the Styx destroy one's memories, would this ice from
Ocanthus do the same?"
"I could only assume so, yes."
~~~~~
I sat at the bar, pondering over how to snatch a sliver of that ice. Stygian
water, much less ice, was dangerous stuff. With its potent
memory-obliterating properties, there had been some talk from the Guvners
of restricting its trade, not that it was a widespread commodity: the black
liquid was tough to transport due to its volatility: without proper containers
the stuff would evaporate almost instantly. I would've thought that with its
grim origins Vrischika would've carried it.
The older man next to me was staring into his stein of ale, misery etched
into his features. The battered pewter mug was an unusual one, lightly
engraved with strange runes and bearded faces, and covered with a coat of
thin frost. He looked up as I turned to him. "Greetings... sir..." He slurred.
"Something wrong?"
He sighed, belched into his hand, and nodded as he took another pull of ale.
"Aye, something's wrong, all right. I've gone and lost... my apprenticeship.
Well hung over, I was, and botched... my mentor's last experiment. All for
this damn... drink!" He sneered at the mug in his hand, but in seconds his
expression softened and he took another swig. "Ruins everything, it does,
this damnable drinking of mine..."
"Why don't you stop drinking, then?"
He shrugged and sighed miserably. "I simply... cannot. I want to, but I
cannot. I just... need to drink. I try and stay away, but desire eventually...
overcomes me, and I cannot resist. Such a... wreck I've become!" He threw
back the last of his ale and called for more.
"I see. What's that mug you've got there?"
"This?" He looked down at the pewter mug. "I won this in a dice game. It's
888