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

and that, working out the kinks. My voice was low, the rumble had a coarse
hiss to it from the neck wound, "Here. Now. Prove your words to be true.
Embrace your life as a petitioner."
He gulped. "Now... eh... hmmmn." He offered weakly: "Heh. I must confess
that I'm not quite ready to depart this life just yet."
The speaker flinched when I leapt towards him, clasping his eyes shut and
screeching. The knife fell in an arc, a bright flash like a crescent moon. His
shriek echoed throughout the chamber, even as my knife stopped just short
of his neck. When his wailing died into a muted whimper, all that could be
heard was a faint drizzling sound as he soiled himself.
"So, this great new life on the Outer Planes may not be all it's supposed to
be?"
The speaker was aware of his hypocrisy, but was afraid of the alternative.
"Perhaps not. Heh." He glanced quickly at the audience, tugging his tunic
down to obscure the growing stain on his pants. "Eh... well. Certainly not
now."
"That's what I thought. I've no more questions." I sat down, aching a little
from reviving, but satisfied.
He looked eager to wrap things up. "...then I shall end this session... um, I
shall continue to lecture here at the Hall, so... eh... tell all your friends."
Someone in the audience shouted: "Sure! So they can come see you mess
your tunic again!" The room filled with laughter.
"Eh... hmm."
The doors swung open, and the crowd parted with mixed reactions. Many
chatted excitedly at what they had seen, bright-eyed and enlightened as if to
say "Ah, so that's what it's like." Others were more jaded, debating back and
forth that while it was a fine performance, whether there was anything
particularly new about me committing suicide. But most managed to exit
with weak smiles, at best, while a few were much less dignified.
"Good sir," a pretty woman addressed me, swaying to block my path with
her fire-red gown. She had a heart-shaped face framed with brunette curls,
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