「HAUNTLING」

The Ruined Heir sat upon the throne of he who had been his sire. The King, who indeed had been related to them, was hardly considered a father by The Heir. No, there had been others who filled that role better in their unlife. Others who had been lost to time. 

Until now.

Knightly armored specters marched forth to The Heir with great purpose. One carried a red scythe, eye at its side swollen with malice, another dragged forth a mortal. The mortal lived, if just barely, but they would suffice.

‘Have the mortal grasp the scythe.’ The Heir ordered in a sign language common among the Isles. Doing as told one knight forced the mortal’s hand around the hilt of the scythe and a change began to occur. The Heir leaned forward where they sat, clear interest in their gaze. 

would they still gurgle or do words?