O name... Do you understand the anguish of the living dead?
We can no longer relish food or drink... the most exquisite meals are like ashes in our decaying mouths. The warmth of sunlight, a lover's caress, the rich, damp smell of cloud mushrooms... these no longer mean anything to us.
What's worse... now we discover that with time our memories fade, and with them our ability to think, to feel... we become appetite without pleasure, will without thought... in other words, mindless Shamblers. This is the destiny that awaits us all, from the most learned to the least.
They say the enemy of my enemy is my friend. In order to heal our affliction, we have no choice but to defeat the Bonelord who cursed us. And to do that, I must conduct a new experiment which requires a certain yellow poison sac belonging to the swamp weavers. Will you procure 5 such sacs for me, race? My people will be indebted to you.