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

my surprise, the karach edge silently split into jagged fangs.
"Ravel... leave him be. I will answer your questions, not them. "
"What of the cog-box?" Ravel turned to Nordom, sneering. "What does IT
know of choice?" She snapped her fingers, like the sound of cracking bone.
"There is only obey and obey, hmnnn?"
"Query: What does Nordom define /choice/? Define: CHOICE: The act of
choosing, selection; the right or opportunity to choo-"
"Nordom, stop. This is between Ravel and I. Look, Ravel --"
Ravel turned to Morte. "Skull, skull, skull..." Ravel clicked her tongue after
each word, and her smile widened. "Your expression is difficult to read
without the skin wrapping, but I feel your FEAR from here. Coming here was
not your choice."
"Well, I didn't have anything BETTER to do except go to one of the Lady's
mazes and meet one of the evilest creatures ever to set foot in Sigil, so I said
'sure! Why n-?'"
"Morte, be quiet. Ravel, I..."
"'Be quiet?!'" Morte clacked his teeth. "Like the hells I will! I think we've
listened to this crone rattle her bone-box enough, and now she's got some
pair of stones, saying I haven't got any skin! So WHAT if I don't?! Obviously
the fact SHE has skin has done wonders for HER looks! Does she think I like
being NAKED all the time? And another thing-"
"Morte! Cut it out! Ravel, look --"
"The succubus..." Ravel squinted. "Did she have a choice? Mayhap in her
smooth-skinned mind of soft silks and hard truths, MAYBE choice... tchhh.
But no. A Sensate MUST experience all, and to refuse to come - NOT a
Sensate would you be. Still no choice!"
"Ravel. Enough of this..."
"The tiefling. The FIERY one." Ravel cackled softly, and her eyes kindled, as if
amused. "No choice. At. All. When you feel instead of think, there is little
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