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Description
From the dust of forgotten dynasties I stir, my bones knitting together with the grit of the desert and the whispers of the old gods. My empty eyes kindle with a fell light, and by ancient rite I call my servants forth, not from the living but from the long-interred; they claw up through the sand, these skeletal legions, their ribcages yawning and limbs clicking into place. They march to my silent command, a grim tide of bone, and into their hollow forms we pack the sands of cursed hours, the pottery shards of fallen cities, and the desiccated hearts of betrayers, each addition a grant of power, each sacrifice of flesh and bone making us more terrible and whole, an army of relics growing fat on the spoils of the dead, our strength an echo of the kingdom's former glory amplified into an eternal, unliving now.
