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

from a corpse. Strange how that would be a compliment to someone.
"Thanks, Mebbeth. Before I go, I had some other questions for you..."
The midwife turned to stir her pot of stew, "Go on n' ask, then."
I was blunt, "Are you a witch, Mebbeth?"
Mebbeth turned to scrutinize me. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of fire
in those pools of gray, "I say naught as to what I am and isn't, but whatcha
be wantin' ta know so fool bad for that ye hound an' ol' woman, barkin' and
sniffin' fer a juicy bit of gossip?"
I mused bitterly on how easily I was taken down by a band of thugs earlier.
And by a rash-covered Collector before that.
"I want to learn about magic. Could you teach me?"
"What? Tooth and claw not good enough for you?" Morte snapped, "Need
to just wiggle your fingers and breathe fire in the face of the Hive thugs to
keep 'em from stealing your purse?" he scoffed at the mention of the
somatic components needed for wizardry. Mostly things like that just
glanced off of Morte, but I was beginning to find that on rare occasions he
had a glass jaw when it came to hints of his own limitations.
Mebbeth laughed at us both. "Pah! I'm no teacher, no school-mistress all set
up ta teach like them in the big Festhall! There's others somewhere I'm sure
that'd spill the dark of it... ye'd be wastin' yer time with ol' Mebbeth, so ye
would."
I smiled politely, "I don't agree. I think you'd have a lot to teach."
Mebbeth looked at me intently. "Oh, aye? Why do ye want to learn such
things?"
Because I don't want my ass handed to me again by a gang of smelly thugs.
"Because I may need it to solve the mystery of who I am."
After a moment, Mebbeth nodded. "The Art may help, it may not, and ye
must not rely on it ta solve all o' yer problems." She sighs. "Child, it's most
like only going to add another chip to yer pile o' questions..."
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