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

I nodded.
She concentrated for a moment, and her voice took on another, deeper
tone as she intoned the words: "Here their Prison ordained in utter
darkness..." She paused, and spoke normally. "For the third part of the Key,
go talk to Nabat over there." She yawned mightily, shooing me off. "I'm
exhausted. Take this, and then leave me alone for a time. I need to think
about my next step here. Farewell."
What she handed me was a worn spell scroll, and though it was otherwise
featureless, I immediately sensed the power contained from it. Hmmm…a
spell to hurl my enemies screaming into the Abyss? I'll take it.
Nabat was an angel-faced man, his eyes squinting nearly shut as if unwilling
to watch the world's horrors or to let the world see the horrors inside him -
and yet his face was creased with smile lines. His voice was friendly and
lackadaisical as he greeted us. "Hi. I hear you're looking for a certain Key."
"Let's be quick about this," I grunted. Just a few more to go.
"The caretaker of the town dump is a man named Kyse. Scuttlebutt has it
that he's got plenty of gold hidden underneath his floorboards - and that
there's a gang of ruffians who're planning to take it from him. I've got my
reasons that they don't. Go talk to Kyse and get the story from him. Do it,
and I'll give you the Key. And if you're interested, I can show you some tricks
of stealth."
"Why is this so important to you?"
"Does it really matter? What if I said he was my grandfather? What if I said I
wanted revenge on the people who are going to try to attack him? What if I
said that I wanted that money for myself? Does the motivation matter?
You're getting what you want - the Key - and I'm getting something out of
this for myself."
~~~~~
Odd that I could get nostalgic over a dump like this. With its piles of trash
and piled like bricks and mortar with curving paths in between, there was a
hominess to it that reminded me of Ragpicker's Square, so long ago when I
first awoke in Sigil. The caretaker himself was a scruffy old man who reeked
of garbage, bent over with weariness yet somehow more vital than most of
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