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

again.
He looked up suddenly. Few sensations were left to him, but this one seemed
to scream through the cathedral. The guards shifted nervously in a clacking
of bone and creaking dried sinew. It was the howl of something they all knew
well, something they had both embraced and escaped. The unseen hound of
oblivion swirled through the temple of bone, as if catching an old scent.
Hargrimm's grip on his staff tightened. He had no knowledge of how to
banish such a thing.
Yet quick as it came, the cold emptiness was gone in a flash. All in the Dead
Nations must have felt that. Perhaps... perhaps Hargrimm did have
something to bargain with now. Yes... maybe Acaste could be convinced that
it was the rage of the Silent King that swept through these halls this day.
He shelved that thought into the back of his mind. "Something terrible is
happening," Hargrimm intoned, looking up to the wall, empty sockets
staring past the grim mosaics.
“Or perhaps something beautiful” Stale Mary murmured.
He looked down then, at the rotting hand that clasped his. Her touch was
cold, and her body was so delicate: brittle and dry like ancient parchment. He
turned his palm up and their fingers clasped gently.
Slowly, Hargrimm set his staff down and turned to Mary. His bony white
hand touched her cheek, and she returned the gesture, drawing mummified
fingertips gently along his skull, tracing along his jawline. His ribs creaked
softly at her embrace, and his robes rustled beneath her sinewy arms. They
pressed together, cheek-to-cheek. Loose strands of what remained of her
hair brushed against his bones. He wished he could drink in the scent of her:
the earthiness of the grave, the tender musk of mold and age.
Mary was ancient and wise and beautiful, and her lips cracked as the words
bubbled in her throat:
“The shadows are returning...”
Hargrimm nodded then. Hargrimm, high priest of the Silent King and leader
of the skeletons. Stale Mary, wise counselor and mother of the zombies.
Whatever came of it, they would face it together.
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