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

We needed some rest.
~~~~~
Okay, let's review. Cranium rats. One or two are easy to handle. A handful,
sure. Just stomp the little buggers if you're quick. A dozen and you're in
trouble. The bolts of lightning I could take, the crushing psychic blows were
a nuisance. And yet I continually had to reevaluate the true extent of
cranium rats' powers.
"BEES!!!" Morte screamed, and to my horror I watched as the rats huddled
together, and a cloud of buzzing insects materialized above them. Brown
and gray specks swirled, a thousand wings beating in a terrifying hum. The
rats could summon.
Morte might not have much in the way of fleshy parts to puncture, but the
primal horror of being swarmed by a cloud of stinging doom never left him,
even after death.
Of course, at least Dak'kon and I had eyelids...
"Ow ow ow ow! I can't see!" Morte cried, snapping blindly at the swarm.
Now and again he crushed a bee or two between his molars, but more often
than not Morte's attacks served as an invitation to his tongue. His efforts
merely enraged the swarm further.
"Just attack the damn rats!!!" I yelled. With the insects blinding and biting, I
couldn't gather the focus necessary to cast my spells. Could the little
bastards have been learning? I hoped not.
We continued exploring after the battle ended, scratching the bug bites.
Morte moaned. His tongue was patterned with small, bleeding specks and
his eyes were so lumpy with stings that it looked as if they had been put
through a pickling jar.
We soon stumbled across a long-abandoned alcove, perhaps a preparation
room for the Dustmen. The shelves were ancient and carpeted with dust,
but rooting around there were still a few stray supplies left. A jar of
embalming fluid, a few bandages...
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