Yet more illness induced writing

She was a small girl, ratty in the way poor children could be, dressed in rags and with a downturned mouth. He wouldn’t have given her a second glance had he not spotted the string around her neck.
Looped into the filthy scrap of rope were pale shapes, like badly cut triangles. As he came closer he saw they were teeth. Shark teeth. As he drew nearer, even above the stink of her body he smelled the stench coming from her mouth, recognising the sent of necrotic flesh. Out of curiocity he reached out and opened her mouth. Her gums were black and slimey with rot and only a few stubs remained of her own teeth. The ugly pendant arouind her neck must have been to appeal to one of the many gods on this isle, a hopless entreaty from a child to save her from the poison she swallowed every day.
“You should have the black pieces cut off and then corterise the gums. If you can find a barber surgeon then he should be able to do it. If you pay him enough you might even survive,” he told the terrified girl. She could only wail in protest and no one on the street seemed inclined to interfere.
“The tongue seems to have blackened as well. I’d give it a month before you loose your speach completely.” Tears were dribbling down her cheeks and she beat at him ineffectily, her meager strength just enough to rock him as he knelt before her, his hand still clutching her jaw, fingers forcing her mouth open.
“You will die, I’m afraid.” Kane realised that he was, suprisingly. Swallowing rotten fluid from your own broken gums was a poor way to die. He wondered briefly if she had crossed paths with Decado. He tried to be comforting.
“You worship Stromfels?” The shark god may explain her choice in jewelry and was popular enough among the wave scum and their ilk. Through her tears she nodded.
“Offer yourself to him as a sacrifice. Throw yourself from a cliff into the sea, that way you may please him and in the next life he may bless you.” Kane had no idea whether it would work or not. He had seen ample evidence of gods and goddesses taking a direct hand in mortal lives not to dissmiss it as a possibility. Equally, if Stromfels was not in the mood to intercied with Morr on the girls behalf, being drowned or smashed against the breackers was preferable to slow poison.
Probably, anyway.

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