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

"Besides, most o' these coffins 'ave been overturned an' looted. I've waded
about in 'ere before. After a scrape or two with a ghoul I slunk back out,"
Annah's lip curled,
"What do yeh hope to find here?"
"Nothing. That's why we're headed to the Dead Nations."
"The Dead-"
I pointed down one long hallway that branched down from our path. At the
end stood those old iron gates. I strode down, pushed them open with an
ominous, heavy creak.
Annah tensed at the sight of dozens of undead toiling to keep their nation of
bone and gauze intact. There were skeletons replacing old tiles in the mosaic
floor and dusting the walls. Zombies pushed desecrated bodies for
re-wrapping to preserve their quiet dignity. Ghouls had half-eaten wererat
corpses slung over their shoulders to present to their brethren. Their
mouths and claws were bloodstained, and their eyes seemed sated, if only
for the moment.
"Come along," I beckoned to Annah, "It's safe. They won't hurt us."
Her eyes were wide as saucers, but she slowly approached and padded
silently behind me.
"Ahhh the manling returns," Acaste hissed, "Bold as brass and proud. And so
succulent..."
Standing face-to-face with her I squelched the small giddy urge to spill the
secrets of the Silent King. 'He's dead as a doornail!' I'd say with mixed glee,
and loose the ghouls against the rest. I would never betray Stale Mary or
Hargrimm of course, but it was strange how such secrets could tickle at the
back of your mind.
"You have your offerings," I growled, pointing at the wererat corpses that
lay at her feet. Small dead cranium rats had been added to the pile, "Now
leave us be. We wish to speak to Hargrimm."
The old skeleton-priest stood in the central chamber, proudly watching over
his people. But he turned when he saw me approach, and a timorous flicker
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