The spectre seemed all but fazed by the words of those who spoke to it, merely letting out a disappointed sigh to the group who seemed fixated on resisting him. The skeletal hand lowered the noose. The illusion of the body disappearing before the hooded head looked to the more outspoken of the group, only darkness and dread being able to be determined inside of the hood. The dread inside the hood, made that instilled fear in the men increase to dizzying proportions, a fear almost made as solid as the grip of a blade or the oak of a door.

“If ye not hear warnings true,
Then ye will end blue.
I am no Hanged Man.
I am no living man.
Ye speaketh with Death true.”

The figure looked between the dwarf, taran, and the elf almost casting an insidious gaze at it hunched over in the normal visage of an older man. He let out clicks and sounds of indiscernible whispers came from his form, all different voices, but all of those who had been lost to those in the room. With a silent motion, the hooded spectre moved to the body of the man and reaching a withered hand into the body, phasing through flesh and bone before pulling out a faintly white light. In a swift movement, it shoved the light into the blackened void of its hood, engulfing its light with an inescapable blackness.  

“If ye seeketh the Hanged Man, 
I shall feast of souls plenty.
Yet, ye destiny betrays thee, 
No remorse received from me.”

The cryptic figure wandered over to the orcish body and did the same process with the light inside of that butler. Only then did the posture of the demonic being straighten once more, facing the group and holding aloft the noose again, only offering one last cryptic message.

“Fall towards the sky, 
Meet the ally, 
Trust not grandeur and spy,
Find the truth.”

In the blink of an eye, the being vanish with the candles of the room mysteriously being relit and the symbols of the Maker being unbroken and put back into place, albeit upside down. The only thing that remained the same within the room were the two corpses and the curtains which remained open, alongside the palpable fear that lingered within the room. The temperature of the room felt cold after the visage left, no warm embrace being left for those who continued to sit within the room. The silence hung, merely waiting for someone to cut through it.  

Who would be the first to speak after such an encounter?

What had the visage meant?

Was the party damned to death?