The Rat King gurgled, almost a laugh, a sickly sound that croaked out from the depths of the sodden effigy.
The vagrant within the fetor by the many-monarchs feet moved ever so slightly with a nod.
The multitude of voices crept through the shrine, some strange and unknown; slithered between ribs stained with wet putrefaction. Others sloughed from the rotten webbing masquerading as a face.
The most prominent ones of all seemed to come from everywhere, goading in an old, familiar tongue.
The hollow eyes of the King bored downward. Another of its inquiries pushed through walls in an ursine timbre, slipping off the shadows and into the awaiting recepticle below.
