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

And so we continued down, deeper into the Drowned Nations into caverns
too dark and perilous for even the ghouls.
There were rooms high with graceful pillars, built by men who yearned to
touch the sky with their creations.
There were halls with walls ensconced with mummified bodies, holding
bones and shrouds like babes returning to a mother's cold breast.
There were crypts that held the shells of men long forgotten, their dust held
in sarcophagi whose features had been long-eroded by the waters dripping
from above.
And lastly, there was a crumbled, hollowed-out lair fetid and foul with the
dung of the blubbery reptilian denizens here.
And with the last battle's end Dak'kon's supernatural strength faded, and he
sighed a weary sigh, leaning against the wall with a heavy hand. Morte
probed his teeth with an idle tongue, searching for a molar or two that had
been loosened with the chain of battles we had endured.
I don't know how or why a Collector had found his way so deep into warrens
that even ghouls would dare to tread. Perhaps he had been slain in the
catacombs above and dragged down here through a side tunnel. I didn't
care.
All that I could see was that glint of bronze he clutched tightly in his hands in
fingers frozen with death.
"Finally," I whispered in satisfaction.
The sphere was light to the touch, as if hollow. While it was unremarkable in
any way, it made my skin crawl at the touch. The surface curdled under my
fingertips, and the mere feel of it gave me the impression that it was an egg
just about to burst open. To make matters worse, the faint smell of rotten
custard emanated from it, so putrid and thick it made my eyes water.
"Yes!" Morte cheered, "Now we can go make ourselves sodden with drink
and bounce coppers off the bar girls!"
While I was in a celebratory mood, I didn't care to raise the sphere aloft and
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