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

had lain there, or really what had happened that I would leave a severed
arm to the depths of these catacombs. Again I felt the need to deliver it to
Fell for analysis.
"What do you know of this 'civilization?'" I asked Soego later on.
He thumbed through his book, "They have been here many centuries, I
think, taking care of those that have passed away in their halls. Such
devotion to duty is no longer necessary... it is almost a crime."
Morte growled, "You just want to kill them. Sentience threatens the
Dustmen."
"Tell me about the Silent King."
He looked at me, eyes peering over the edge like an intrigued predator, "I
have never seen the Silent King. I wish I could tell you something about him,
but I have never seen him. Presumably, his throne room lies beyond the
crimson doors, but I cannot gain entrance... Hargrimm, the skeleton priest,
will not let me."
"And Hargrimm?"
He sighed, "A stubborn one, but admirable in his piety and devotion to duty.
He is my strongest rival here, and he has kept this civilization together for
many years. His passions stem from his piety and devotion to duty...
admirable qualities, but misplaced."
And when we finished chatting, he left to proselytize the word of the
Dustmen for yet another day.
On the third day we had recovered enough to venture out and take a look at
this nation ourselves. While Dak'kon remained in meditation, Morte and I
stepped out of our cell.
The heart of the Dead Nations was a temple of iron and stone. The familiar,
ornate stonework was well-kept and polished here. Whereas the rest of the
Nation was built in chaotic and desperate patterns of violet and blue, the
floors were tiled in beautiful, ordered precision, as if the temple was built
first and the rest of the Nation had to make do on the scraps of color
remaining. While the temple was dark, dismal, and hollow as a tomb, there
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