“Do tell, Jarl.” You fling your arms out in a gesture of disbelief at the whole situation.
The Jarl holds his right hand forth in a fist, the ring he carries on it pulsates a deep blue.
The coronation guests speed towards you. Without being able to react, their hands all reach for you and bury you in a mass of ghostly hands.
You’re unable to move as the Jarl is inches from your face, his blue ring quickens its pulse.
You are being ripped apart. You try to scream but there is no sound.