| rdfs:comment | - You see a dungeon hallway; dimmly lit by almost dimmer torches, moisture, moss, and slime dripping from its walls. The cell doors, though oak wood, have greyed to the point that with the glistening dampness, they almost appear to be impenetrable steel. And while you don't hear any, the very air hangs full of cries of pain and despair that have just died down to stillness, and have yet to be born.
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| abstract | - You see a dungeon hallway; dimmly lit by almost dimmer torches, moisture, moss, and slime dripping from its walls. The cell doors, though oak wood, have greyed to the point that with the glistening dampness, they almost appear to be impenetrable steel. And while you don't hear any, the very air hangs full of cries of pain and despair that have just died down to stillness, and have yet to be born. Suddenly, a cell door bursts apart, its splintered remnants shattering against the opposite wall. The force of its impact extinguishes a nearby torch. But just before the light vanishes, you glimpse a tall, emaciated, and withered form. Two dungeon guards rush towards the darkness. But two withered claws of hands stretch into the lighted area as if popping a bubble to grab each by their throat. As the guards wither into death, the emaciated remains of what must have once been a tall and burly warrior strides forth into the light, the unholy gleam of some strange grey light writhing from its eyes. It effortlessly lifts the corpses of the guards up, then negligently tosses them underhanded behind itself before prowling down the corridor. The two corpses twitch and shudder, then rise to follow their new master.
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* You are now in the Baron's throne room, which you have seen before. The Baron is leading his troops in a last stand against forces that have pressed them back into the room that was once the site of the Baron's triumphs. You see the Baron's troops are fighting against the zombified corpses of their own compatriots. Behind the zombies, you see the creature that burst forth from the cells, now encased in the metal of a definitive harness. It carries its helm in its arm, and its weapons are sheathed by its side. The armor, like the creature's eye, is wreathed in a grey light. As it watches, the last of the baron's defenders fall, and the baron himself is captured and forced to his knees. The creature strides forward and gives the smile of a predator that has just seen its prey fallen to it.
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* Now, the baron is strapped to a torture rack. Strips have been flayed from his naked flesh, and his skinless face is a mass of pulpy flesh and bone. The creature, who has been watching the entire process with a blissful smile, now silently motions to an insubstantial specter, who glides forward across the air of the chamber. The baron struggles and tries to scream with a throat that has long since torn its own voice out by trying. The specter hovers behind the baron's head, then plunges its incorporeal fingers into the baron's brains.
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* You wake up shivering in uncontrollable fear, your bed drenched in sweat and all the other fluids that flow from a terrified body, too weak to do anything but stare at the ceiling, terrified, until the sun creeps its way into your room.
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