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

'Psychosis.'
I hold the point of a knife pressed to the man's throat, my hand clamped
over his mouth and breath hot and heavy in his face. I begin to stab... slowly.
The knife dimples his skin, and eventually breaks it. There is the hot rush of
blood over my forearm, the sound of strangled respiration, a horrible sense
of perverted glee... and it is over.
'Mind-Numbing Tedium.'
The experience couldn't have been more than a few minutes long, but hours
seemed to pass...
I sit in on a long, boring lecture in the driest, dustiest hall in the University of
Chalm in Sigil. I look about the vast hall, hoping to catch someone's eye to
pull a face at - but the other students are either asleep or staring listlessly
into space. I drop my quill pen, pick it up, and drop again... just for
something to do. I consider stabbing myself in the eye with it, just to see if
my senses haven't been wholly numbed by the incredible boredom...
'Bitter Loathing.'
Venomous tears of pain brimming in my narrow yellow eyes, I gather the
tattered remains of my small, scaled, red wings off the floor. I humbly back
out of Groba's study, gritting my needle-like teeth beneath sealed lips.
Sure, I'm only a spinagon - least among devils - but that's no cause for a pit
fiend to tear my wings off because he doesn't like the message I've brought
him! What will my gelugon master do, now? He certainly can't say anything
to Groba, and what use is a spinagon without its wings? I'll probably get cast
into the Pit of Flame for 'incompetence!'
Vengeance out of the question, there's little to do but shake my clawed fist
and hate, hate, HATE Groba with all the loathing my hard little black devil's
heart can muster...
'Consuming Impatience.'
I stand debating with Amnas the Horribly Slow, Keeper of the Lion Key, as to
whether or not my quest is important enough for him to relinquish the
artifact into my care. The whole experience is an exercise in sheer torment...
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