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

intrusive, that sought to listen to the echoes of an entity's essence that lay
deep in its bones. It was a gift I grew to cherish, just as much as when Old
Mebbeth had taught me the Art.
"Can I talk to any dead body?"
Mary nodded, "Suhmmm. Uhhhhers tuh duhhhud. Muhhht yuhhhh
skuhhhh."
She shuffled past me and picked up a brush, helping another zombie piece
together the broken bits of a corpse that lay on a slab. Laying down a thin
layer of the stuff, Mary clumsily plucked up a chunk of bone and pressed it
against the resin before brushing another layer over it. One layer as glue,
another as sealant.
I helped her arrange and place some of the smaller bits, the ones that her
fingers were not quite dextrous enough to handle. "Tell me of yourself."
"Stuh-stuh-stuhhh Muhreee."
I wiped off a bit of the resin that got on my fingertip. The stuff was
well-watered and would've taken several good hours, perhaps even a few
days to dry. Given how slow the zombies were working, it must've been a
necessity. "How did you come to be here?"
"Duhhhhd luhhhnnn tuhhhmmm. Muhhhhmuhrrr guhhhnnn."
"I know what that's like."
She bobbed forward gently as if nodding, "Guuhhhd uuuhd zzzohhhhmmmb.
Cuhrrr fuhhrrr kuh-kuwht whunnns. Turrr dehhd."
While I didn't exactly approve of the defilement of graves committed by
Pharod and his ilk, for a while I couldn't find myself caring much about the
sanctity of the dead either. The spirits of the dead were gone, with no
passions or cares of what would happen to their corpses.
Yet here were the Dead Nations, committed to preserving the dignity of the
quiet ones. It was a strange sort of empathy that these undead held. The
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