“You speak for all, then?” Alleria asked, her gaze sharpening on the Forsaken. She noticed flecks of herbs sticking to his collar, his bony fingers discolored by some sort of green paste. The whispers began, as they always did, cold and hissing, as ephemeral as shadow. Twist his brittle bones until he speaks. Crack them open, find the marrow, spill his secrets…
