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

The man I ran into on the way towered over me. Slabs of muscle were
layered over his thick frame and a solid, well-worn axe was strapped to his
back. Though he stood with the resolute dignity of a warrior, he didn't
appear to be in the best of health. The man's skin was pale yellow and there
was an occasional pustule along his arms.
"Greetings."
He turned and glanced at me from behind hollow eyes. His eyes narrowed in
suspicion as he continued to glance around. "What d'ye want from ol'
Korur?" His voice was raspy.
"I have some questions..."
He turned his attention to me. "Why ye botherin' me for? I look the part of a
tout?"
"You seem to be a knowledgeable individual that I can learn from."
He sighed. "What ye be wantin' to know?"
"Are you feeling all right?" my eyes were fixed on a particularly large blister
on his neck, practically swimming with white pus inside. I forced myself to
look away. Getting a second tasting of the cranium rat I had for breakfast
wasn't going to leave a good impression.
"Nothin' a few years o' death won't cure." He coughed and looked up. "Air's
been getting worse in th' Ward o' late. By my reckon, it should level out
once th' Great Foundry settles... or a wind blows through from the Spire."
"What is with the air here?" the smokestacks of the Great Foundry belched
in the distance, "It can't be all from the Foundry."
He nodded, "It's mostly 'cause of all the portals." He had a coughing fit and
then returned his attention to me.
"What do you mean?"
"Lots of doors to the Lower Planes here let'n in bad air an fumes an such
from who knows what layer of the abyss. That's why this here's the lower
ward." He laughed. "A jaunt through this area is like breathin' in a meal. Salt,
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