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

"I would speak with him," she says, then cackles. Her eyes gleam as she
points me out to the man. "The handsome one that leads your ragged
column. I would speak with him."
~~~~~
"Cutter? Ye feelin' all right, there?"
For a moment the storm of color, texture, and scent assailed me. I
suppressed the panic that welled up like stale vomit. Coming back to the
Festhall straight from what I could only surmise to be the Gray Waste was a
shock to the senses. "Yes... I'm fine. So, do the fiends recruit often?
Ghysis nodded grimly. "Ye can be sure o' that. Sigil's th' best source o'
fodder on th' Planes. Beats milkin' planets o' all their prime inhabitants... too
much work."
"So, any more advice on surviving the War?"
"Aye: whatever ye does, don't talk about th' Blood War with any fiend... or
any deva or archon fer that matter. Just don't talk about it, period, 'cause ye
never know who in the 'ells ye're really chattin' with. And all o' them get
mighty touchy when ye bring up th' War. It's their reason fer livin'."
"Anything else?"
He nodded. "Don't go through any portal unless ye're pikin' sure ye know
where it goes. Maybe ye 'aven't 'eard tales o' clueless planeswalkers
steppin' through a portal an' endin' up smack-dab in the middle o' a Blood
War skirmish. Know why ye 'aven't 'eard o' them? 'Cause those sods are
dead, dead, dead."
"Anything else?"
"An' whatever ye does, never sign on fer a tour o' duty, no matter 'ow much
jink they flash in yer mug. Certain death an' signin' on fer a tour in th' Blood
War are th' same thing, cutter."
"Why's that?"
"Chances are when ye sign up, they peel ye so yer tour o' duty is 'til time
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