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

"Hrrghunnn... uzz khnnnd unnnsss..." She said
it with the silent sorrow of lament. Mary's tone wasn't that of a mother or
matron this time. It held the wistful passions of a woman, one who has had
to watch from afar as time changed those she knew, and struggle hardened
their hearts.
"I hope that you can rekindle that kindness someday, Mary. Farewell."
And so I stepped into the archway. The dim alcove was dry and empty, the
dust of decades, if not centuries, blanketed the ground. It looked like no one
had used the back door in ages.
"Here goes nothing," I muttered, and envisioned the Silent King: tall, proud,
and regal. I imagined him as a mummy, a lich, a ghost, wearing crown, stole,
or scepter. As I focused I could feel the air ripple, and there was the tickling
sense that reality itself was twisting before me. With a gut-wrenching tug,
the space before the alcove seemed to tear and ripple into a spiral of blue.
The chamber we stepped into was cold, dry as a tomb, and absolutely silent.
Tall skeletal guards encircled the room, standing so stock-still that they
could've been propped up to scare off intruders.
Dak'kon climbed the steps grimly behind me, and Morte looked back and
forth as he floated. The silence was unnerving, and the way the skeletons
stood sentinel was even more unnatural than undeath could be. I licked my
lips. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all.
The throne was set in the center of a platform, spaced with holes covered by
an unnaturally hard, glassy substance. Deep in the pits below was a mass of
shattered bones and grinning skulls. An eerie yellow light lit the chamber
from below, the shadows danced upwards as if they were alive.
"O Silent King," I said, kneeling before the throne, "I have come to plead for
my freedom. My mission through these catacombs is peaceful, and I do not
seek to disturb the dead. All I want is to find a small golden orb, its surface
vile to the touch. Please, if you would but-"
I looked up. Something was wrong.
The throne, built from the rib cage of a great beast with massive bones
shaped and curved inward, kept the king's visage in shadow. I approached
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