It’s heard first: a sound like sticks clacking together. The form’s magical strings—barely holding the bones together under the weight of rusted, aged armor—lift the legs one at a time, body swaying for balance. Hollow eye sockets of pure white bone stare forward and the jaw jitters as if the dead are speaking with no words. The solid skull of the shaking horror slowly turns, shifting its attention toward you. With seemingly new life it rushes at you, raising rusted steel in hand, ready to strike.

[Defeated] The final blow to its frame sends individual bones spiraling through the air as if a spring had been sprung—no longer held together by dark magic.

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