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For Marcos
By now, the Inquisitor had realized that he was doomed to his fate of dying in this ancient castle...the same that housed an unknown ancestor of his, in fact. He lay there, broken, burned, but alive.
He felt something in the air...a tickle of something odd...
Through the door of a room in this vast hall a sound was heard. It sounded like a hammer was being taken to the door. Marcos turned to see this strange occurance even as the afore-heard hammer broke apart the doorway easily and out stepped a large skeleton, wearing a crown upon his boney head and a rotted red robe clung to his skeletal form. However, such an unholy creature was doomed to fail in this room, where the waters were rising, mud made the water slushy, and the tilt of the room made it hard to stand in. As the skeletal king stepped out and wandered for a moment, he tripped on something under the water and fell, submerging himself in the depths, his hammer being slung from his hands that could not easily hold on to it, and so it was lost from its grip.
The marilith was completing her shifting of size, and now small enough to fit through the opening. She slithered through the door and through the hall, looking for the escape route that the others had taken.
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