Teladamyr

Silas' body shriveled, feeling his bones, his skin, melt off of him. He would love to stay a human, but there's no survival in the Land of the Dead. He was bound to see his demise at one point while walking the diminishing grounds. He was a traveller. A bard, explaining stories to everyone he came across, none of them being true tales. Until he heard about the Grove. The Grove where he could be free, no rules, no one to berate him, no one chasing him. He would be independent...for once.

The creature's quills stabbed deeper into Silas' flesh. The poison, the venom, crawled through his blood stream, crawled through each red blood cell. The creature was tall. Almost 9 foot (only a guess of Silas'). It was the Teladamyr, the protector of the Land of the Dead.

The Teladamyr is a protector made of barely any skin, most of its body being seen as bones. Even though a flesh-like substance surrounds its body, it is thin and has the consistency of paper, causing the protector's bones to be seen very obviously. The Teladamyr's quills are deadly, which causes the person's or creature's skin to slowly melt off until they are nothing but bones. The protector is loud, not caring how quiet it needs to be. It's one of the most powerful protectors, it doesn't have any mercy or care for anything but its area. No one survived him. For your soul to survive, you must accept it. Accept your fate and your soul will survive to be just a follower of the Teladamyr. That's what Silas was doing.

His heart pounded, his head creating a migraine. He watched chunks of flesh, his flesh falling off his legs and arms, his clothes becoming looser and looser. His bones grew looser and his screams created echos throughout the trees. No one would save him. And he wasn't going to save himself. For his struggles weren't going to help keep his soul bounded to his body.