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

formed were rife with the detritus of humanity.
The Harmonium in Sigil weren't exactly the most friendly of factions, but
even in the seediest corners of the city I could trust that they, at least,
would uphold the law.
Two of the soldiers held the girl, a slip of a woman in a torn dress. Tears bled
the makeup onto her cheeks, and her face was wet with weeping. She
looked up and gazed at me with red-rimmed eyes, "Please... please... save
me from these men..." The girl's voice was so quiet, so broken.
A Harmonium officer, older and more scar-faced than the rest, caught me
staring. He was dressed in his ceremonial armor, and the fact that he was in
charge of the slavers made it all the more obscene. "What do you want?"
My eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"
He grinned, "Hardly the appropriate way to greet a Measure Two
Harmonium officer. Skatch be the name, and my men and I are gathering
recruits to teach them about right and wrong. As you can see, they're not
always willing... but we'll make them see the light eventually." His voice had
an unctuous tone to it, almost soothing, "You'll make a good recruit, I
imagine."
"I'm not interested."
"That's too bad." He gestured to his men. "Ignore the girl. Take him."
The power of the Art was boiling in my veins before I knew it, a
moderately-difficult twist of fate that I could best be described as a karmic
inversion. Balance in All Things, as Dak'kon so often intoned, a spell that had
been scribed in the Circle of Zerthimon itself. It was useful, if limited for a
githzerai - but for an immortal, the effect had few downsides. I gave the
slightest smirk as I felt the spell take effect.
The Harmonium rushed me, axes swinging, spears stabbing. A polearm's
pierced edge impaled me, and I felt the blade tear through my belly and
rupture my organs. My stomach clenched, the fluids gushed deep inside.
Just as I coughed and tasted the blood on my lips I could see the Harmonium
officers around me doubling over with gurgling screams, the same wound
appearing on each of their bodies. Those that didn't double over in agony let
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