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

It was the chill of regret.
Pharod tugged the blankets closer to him with gnarled fingers. As the
braziers dimmed he drew a circle over his heart as if he could ward off the
encroaching darkness.
And they came, flickering into substance from the shadows. One by one they
drew themselves from the darkness. Their bodies were warped and misty,
eyes gray with unshed tears. Serpentine wisps trailed from their scalps like
the hair of bloated corpses swaying in the cold sea. Their fingers were long
and needle-tipped, and they flexed as if eager to taste the softness of living
flesh.
Pharod's voice creaked when he spoke. "If- if you've come for me-" he
paused, trying to find the words, and they came out in a whimper like the
whine of a starving alley dog, "I have the sphere. I have it!"
Pharod held up the bronze orb, and that sickly yellow surface distorted
those bent and misty forms further. The creatures floated over to him
silently, and Pharod clung to the desperate hope that the sphere would hold
them at bay somehow.
"I have the sphere..." he whined. His throat ached, and tears welled up in his
eyes.
The sounds of smoke whipping against flesh filled the high hall of Illwind
Court, and there was the wet crack of meat and bone under a butcher's
knife. Somewhere in the din was a wet scream.
By the time the braziers flickered back to life, the blood had grown cold on
the stones.
~~~~~
The dawn was clear and bright over the clean, well-kept district. Sigilians in
richer garb, of silk and velvet and in bright, fresh-dyed colors, stared at us.
The air smelled clean, if a bit acrid with the slightest hint of smoke and
savory with the richness of fresh-baked bread. In the distance the murmur
of the city was growing. Sigil was stirring with the morning light.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
404