❛ is this supposed to scare me? ❜
The wet sack was gently opened and revealed it's terrible contents, the pale flesh an explanation to the foul smell the emanated from it. From blackened tipped fingers to ruined stumps of wrists, the hands all pushed together in a cadaverous appendage king.
At first glance it was a terrible sight to behold: one, two, three, eight hands each with what appeared to be a match within the sack. Why a group such of this? What was the point? Upon closer inspection it would become clearer for whom they once belonged by the certain rings they still wore. Golden with a ring of ring points surrounded a pupil of a solid diamond. Kirin Tor.
Hunched and hooded, the creature who had brought the bag would keep steady upon the warlock's face as it opened it's hand to him. A thin, growl of a voice would gurgle forth as it spoke as clearly as it could muster. "Payment."
The clawed hand would reach back to it's body to draw aside the cloak made of the same thick, dirty cloth of it's hood to reveal the ragged remnants of a tabard. The Forsaken. An old rag for sure, but it would check out. Along with the bits of broken, green oozing flesh amongst the piecemeal armor it bore along it's fragile bound frame.