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

Voorsha was a rat-faced, middle aged man in shoddy clothes. One hand
rested on his dagger, the other fiddled with his collar. He hadn't expected to
see anyone else down here, and wariness warred with relief until we made
introductions. After that, what sparked in his eyes was opportunity.
"What are you doing here?"
He stared at me blankly then shrugged. "I'm a... trader. This is my storage
area."
I looked around. A still, some goods covered with a tarp... it certainly wasn't
hard to figure out what was going on. "What do you store here?"
"I don't see that that's any concern of yours."
"I'm just curious..."
He shrugged. "Well..." He gestured vaguely. "Ale, mead, and... other goods."
"What are you so nervous about?"
Voorsha began to fidget. "Nothing... Can we change the subject?"
"No, I think you're up to something and I want to know what."
He glared at me then sighed. "I'm... bringing the stuff in through... alternate
channels. The guards don't know..."
This guy was either a great sneak or very good at bribing, because he sure as
hell was a terrible liar. "You're a smuggler."
He frowned. "I'm a bootlegger. Sounds better than smuggler, don't you
think? Say... how'd you like to help me out... for a piece of the business?"
"What kind of help?"
"Well recently there's been an unusual amount of... activity down here.
Loads of trelons swarming in, this stink of sulfur that wasn't here before. I
think I even saw a few fiends through one of the deeper tunnels. Mostly
they keep to themselves but... there's a gehreleth nearby. It's been trying to
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