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

steel-cored spirit of hers. "…And know that this will NOT atone for the fall of
Shrak'at'lor. The Anarchs' verdict stands still."
She turned and rushed off to relay the message, and slowly Dak'kon
slumped to the ground with a deep, tired sigh.
“Dak’kon…?”
He didn’t say a word, pausing instead for a moment before soberly rising
back to his feet and sheathing his blade. His eyes did not meet mine as I
thought ahead to our next destination.
We slowly turned toward the south to find Lothar, the Master of Bones .
Chapter 50
Light filtered through multihued slivers of glass set in the window, lighting
up the broken-down hut in half a dozen colors. Like a ruined cathedral, it
held an ephemeral sort of beauty, and for a moment I savored it in childlike
awe, watching a single mote of dust drift among the rays: first blue, then
red, then violet as the night.
Annah hissed and nudged the grim ladder with the toe of her boot. The way
down was paved with death: bones from dozens of creatures, picked,
boiled, and polished clean so that they shone with colors pooling at the edge
of the purple patch. Each handle was clammy at my touch, and the parlor
beneath smelled earthy, and ancient as a tomb.
We descended in grim silence, and with each step I grew more anxious.
There was power here... I could feel it thrumming in the air and ringing in
my soul like a glass struck with a silver spoon. The chill of the grave kissed
my skin, lapping away pinpricks of nervous sweat like the tongue of an old
lover that had been spurned for too long. Long-faded memories lay buried
here. It was a tomb for dead dreams.
463