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

in the dead-book, it was my turn to pay the ferryman."
"So how did you escape the Pillar?"
"Well... you helped me, chief. When you showed up at the Pillar of Skulls, I
pushed my way to the front. My obvious know-how and charm attracted
your attention - you knew that I was the head that knew the most. So I cut a
deal with you."
"Deal...?"
As Morte spoke, my vision bled into a fiery red, and there came a howling, a
horrible screaming tower of voices, chittering, screeching, hammering, ALL
of them begging, screaming to be freed, and Morte's voice: faint, almost
overwhelmed in the horde. He sounded desperate, frightened, and
pathetically, tragically lost...
~~~~~
"You. Skull. Speak."
The howling voices fall silent, and the tiny, red-lined skull, its cracked
features cast in a hellish light, turns its eyes up at me. Blood and ichor has
streamed across its features, and its teeth chatter, as if cold. "I... I c-c-can
help you. I know w-w-what you seek... all these heads... all their knowing...
just please, I beg you, free me. Let me help you. I'll tell you anything,
everything."
My lip curls into a sneer. I had come a long way for answers, and I would not
have all the lives lost and resources squandered because I had been cheated
by Baatorian trickery. "Will you? SWEAR it, skull. SWEAR you will serve me
until my End Days, or here you will remain."
"I swear. I swear... just please, please free me... I..." He mewls, swallows
sickeningly, his pride almost a tangible thing. "I... beg you. Let me help you.
Please."
"Very well," I nodded, and some vestigial feeling of mercy flickered, a dying
ember of warmth in my chest, "I shall free you."
My vision slid, as if I were moving, and the howling, screaming cacophony
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