ooc: We used to call it frem. (Fine Red Mist)
As each of the companions closes on the form, realization dawns on their faces. Roderic is clearly saddened and horrified, Rosalia's fair features are marred by lines of worry and fear. Even Tuk's stony countenance seemed to twitch, but maybe its just the wavering torchlight.
At the foot of the modest cliff lies the slowly crumpling body of Grok. A thick black ooze leaks out of the slumped body, particularly from the conspicuous wound across his throat. His skin sags from high points on his bones, and even the bones can be seen to be dissolving under that thinning membrane. In a few minutes it is unlikely anything will be left of Grok but a black puddle.
Tuk notices with cold detachment that Grok's equipment seems to be melting away as well.