Runch listens to the whispers. Their words are twisted and forbidden, not meant for the ears of mortals to ever comprehend. Even now, as the cold arms of death reach for him from the darkest recesses of his very soul, the voices remain hard to understand, as if the language was well known, but barely understood.
In the back of his mind, Runch hears a repetitive music, an eery litany of winds and pipes inhabiting the volutes of mist floating all around him. His mind has a hard time processing the notes, their associations and the tune they are supposed to evoke. The sounds fade away in the distance, forever lost to the scrutiny of his waking thoughts.
Runch opens his eyes to find himself in a strange place. He is lying on the cold stone floor of the dais. The spherical room around him looks the same, and yet, somewhat different. Everything seems dull and colorless. His eyes get used to the surrounding nuances of grey : there is no question this is the same space he and his companions, his brother, explored earlier.
Where is his brother Tudd? He was right there, fighting at his side...
Runch finds himself all alone. The fight. The injuries. It all comes back to him now. He checks his chest and can see an enormous gash right there where the undead hit him. It was real, then. Somehow, it all seems so far away, Runch can hardly believe this just occurred to him.
He lies there for a moment, amidst complete silence...