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

So it's quite easy to conclude that undead are another manner of beast
entirely.
Individually, each one of us was a seasoned enough warrior that we could
handle a couple of Vargouilles ourselves. With a makeshift phalanx, the
winged beasts faced us head-on, unable to flank or surround any one of us
completely. Those that tried to fly past risked a severed wing.
And when the last Vargouille fell, the path was open to us.
We entered….what I could only describe as some kind of butchery. The
metal gratings of this alcove were crusted over with old, dried blood, as if
this room had been used to store the leavings of a charnel house. I could
imagine the floor covered with splayed severed limbs and gutted torsos. If
this was a warehouse of flesh, perhaps the initial waste disposal for Marta's
chamber of horrors, then it has seen frequent and recent use. The stench of
rotting meat was thick in the air, and scuttling sounds rose from the
darkness below.
The sanguine decor also served to hide the triggers for some traps in the
metalwork.
While the coffin at the end of the chamber yielded only a grotesque
collection of limbs (who the hell wanted to store such things?!) stomping on
the flanking metal grating a little yielded a passageway down.
Yep. Just as bad as I expected.
Within seconds I found myself doubled over in the corner, spilling my guts
into a puddle of what once had been blood, time and filth had transformed
the crimson pool into a ruddy, foul-smelling ooze. The sight of yellow vomit
splashing into that mass set my stomach spasming once again.
"Oh good gods- HURGKKK!!!" Splash.
The chain reaction had me going until I was weak in the knees and
trembling. Trying not to look at the mess on the floor, I spat the remnants of
my last meal against the wall. Even Dak'kon looked queasy. Then again the
yellow pallor was natural for him.
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