Grave-less, the bones lie, houses for beetles and spiders, and from their skulls, I can yet hear the whispers of the necromancer coaxing them into eternal dreams, echoes of the spell that brought these brave men to ruin. The presence of their sleeping ghosts fills me with a cold dread, but still I listen: one voice out of harmony, young, arguing, fighting. He has not given up.
I find the restless cadaver, bones bleached white, a sharp contrast to the black muck they’ve sunken into. My stomach turns at what I know I have to do, and so I pray.
Tale Told 