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

"I'm looking for a man named Pharod," my jaw snapped shut the moment
the name slipped.
The tension in the room suddenly rose, and Sharegrave's glare sharpened to
a razor's edge. His lips were tight as he spoke "Now, what a funny thing to
be asking about. What do you want to know about old blood Pharod for?"
I could see Morte floating towards the door. Might as well be honest, "He
has some things of mine, and I want them back."
Sharegrave was silent for a moment, then cracked a smile. "He steals from
us all, doesn't he, whether we're living or dead?" He chuckled.
Morte was still edging away. I fixed my gaze on Sharegrave, though, "What
do you mean?"
"Our main source of... living... around here is the dead. You follow?"
I nodded, "You're a Collector."
"Aye, that's right." He looked at me as if he was considering something.
"Now, there's only so many deaders at any one time. My bloods and I can
only gather so many. If somebody else is gathering deaders, that's that much
less jink that goes into our pockets."
"I heard that he's been finding quite a few bodies."
Sharegrave nodded, "The rub is that that he's found a mother-lode of them.
Now, I haven't heard of any massacres in Sigil." He frowns, tapping at his
chin. "So I'm quite interested in knowing where all the deaders are coming
from."
"I could find out for you, if you'd like," I offered cheerily.
He raised an eyebrow, "Oh, aye? And how would you do that?"
"All I need to do is find him. Let me worry about the rest," I shrugged.
"Hmm. Heh. You got it; I'll even give you one hundred copper commons for
your trouble. Go up on the platforms, follow them to the North and West,
and you'll come to a gate that leads to Pharod's bolt-hole. Getting in and
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