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

new, and I looked around warily, wondering what could've done this, and
whether it was still here.
"It's shifted..." Morte murmured, "The whole city's been shifted."
Still numb with the shock of it all I found myself fiddling with a handful of
dust, watching it spill from between my fingers. That wind carried the sand
away, whipping it into ribbons until it vanished in the distance.
"Trias..."
Curst must've been right on the edge of Carceri, held back only by the
thinnest margin of belief, the faintest flicker of good. Trias didn't have to do
much to break that tenuous link, but I was certain he had something to do
with it nonetheless.
I stood up, alert as a hound and scanning the rubble.
"Do you smell that?" I whispered.
"What? Smell what, chief?" Morte turned around.
"I'm... not sure." My gaze shifted, head flicking this way and that, trying to
trace it. There was a faint miasma in the air that smelled of dread and
rotting dreams. And it was familiar.
"If you're going to spook me chief, you could at least be specific about it."
"I sense it as well," Dak'kon's voice was low, almost muted by the
unsheathing of his blade, "We have encountered its like, bound as the
condemned on the Pillars of Silence."
~~~~~
"Seeking to remove yourself from this box, eh? That spell is the worst of
them all. Basically, that particular spell draws energy from the current owner
of the box and uses it to power one of the spells of confinement. That isn't
the worst of it," Shilandra smiled softly, as if in pity, "The fiend inside can
smell this energy and would more than likely hunt down that person should
it escape. It's really a no-win situation to own that box. Either it drains you
dry of your energy, or the fiend within kills you."
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