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

Kelm glanced at the other guard, who was perfectly content to remain
silent. "Annah. Something's... colder about this place. One moment I'm
trading dirty rhymes with Vruk here and the next I feel this chill down my
spine like someone's dug and smoothed my grave."
"You do not feel it?" Dak'kon muttered to Annah, "The echo of bleak
oblivion, like a null point in the foam of Limbo, where thought and spirit
bleed dry."
She bit her lip, and I began to feel it too. It wasn't the emptiness of the
village that was unsettling... it was the dark air that emptied the village:
regret and hopelessness, thick enough that I could almost taste it.
"We need to speak with Pharod," I declared.
For just a moment Kelm paused, as if by instinct he wanted to repeat
Pharod's edict that he not be disturbed. But with a tired gesture he waved
us past the gate.
There are chills that prick at the flesh, like needles of ice. They cause one's
hairs to rise, they settle into the skin and numb it. When the cold creeps into
one's flesh it becomes paralyzed with shivers, when it seeps into bone and
joint it carries the creaks and weariness of age.
And then there are chills that burrow past the flesh, and into the soul.
Pharod's mangled body lay limp at the base of his blood-spattered throne.
"Da!" Annah choked out, "What happened? Who did this to yeh?!"
Like lightning Dak'kon's hands shot out and grabbed Annah's wrists. His skills
were considerable if they could match the speed of Annah's hands.
"Look away," he said softly as Annah struggled in his grip.
"Pike off, gith!" Annah snarled, "I should shiv yeh right now!"
Dak'kon adjusted his stance and held her tight. Those thin, frail-looking
limbs held a deceptive strength, "It is a kindness for some things to not be
seen. It is a mercy for some things to not be known," his voice was like the
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