Just as Spiro readies to start firing and hoping to hit some vital bone, when he sees the newly formed skeletons up and run away. He shrugs at their unexpected fortune and moves to join the others wondering what happened to one of the halflings, as he sees the other helping them to their feet.
"Well that was... strange"?
"Is the lass alright?" - Rannock raised an eyebrow at Mos - "Should I take a look?"
"Is everyone else ok? Them skeletons should not be returning any time soon, but I can't let them roaming around the countryside"
Ping numbly pulls the cloak tighter around herself as she starts to reply to Mos. Everything she needs to disguise herself as Zeebo is under a tree some dozens of yards away. The words catch in her throat as she sees both Spiro and Rannock come around and spot her. What was the point in hiding now? Her cover is blown wide open.
"T-too late," she mutters as she bows her head. From the sound of her voice and the expression the others glimpse, she's about to cry.
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Not sure what to do, Mos awkwardly pats her on the back.
"It's fine...we are all friends here who have spile blood to protect each other. Any secret you have will be safe with us!"
He looks up at the others nodding his head and hoping that they are also people of integrity.
Mos feels Ping stiffen as he pats her back, but after realizing that he means no harm, she relaxes a little.
"W-where are my things," she asks. "I-- I wanna stop smelling like a goblin."
The risen bones of Boontah and his mob head for the hills, just as the straggler runs headlong into Hûnidark's fist as it rushes past.
The unfortunate wretch loses its head and staggers a couple of steps before collapsing in a pile of inanimate bones.
The hillside and ruined redoubt soon grow silent as the party regroups, amidst a unlikely discovery on Ping's true self...
While you've not seen the like before regards the necrotic mist, you are aware of the fell influence of Pharastuz - The God Reaper. His priesthood and cultists can command the risen dead and even the most petty of his unholy relics carry the taint of his necrotic magicks.
Though your mind is clouded by your disguise being revealed, there is also a nagging thought - you correctly identified fell necromatic magick at work, and rightfully warned your companions of such... However even for the most accomplished goblin shaman (and your not convinced Mulkkur was such), command of such spells should be beyond such creatures...
Hûnidark emerges from the redoubt slightly confused and shaking the bone-dust from his gauntlet, ”Why did they run?”