Off with his head

As the tension in the garden reached a fever pitch, Vaises stepped forward, his face pale and his hands trembling slightly. He carried a large, ornate box, its surface etched with strange symbols that seemed to writhe and twist in the light.

He avoided meeting Aragon's gaze, and Aragon watched him with a blank face.

"My lords and ladies," Vaises began, his voice quavering, "I bring evidence of the threat that looms over our kingdom." With shaking hands, he placed the box on the table and slowly opened the lid.

A collective gasp rippled through the gathered assembly as the contents were revealed. Inside the box, secured by chains of an odd, glowing metal, was a severed arm. But this was no ordinary limb; the flesh was a sickly gray-green, mottled with patches of decay. Most horrifyingly, despite being detached from its body, the arm twitched and jerked, fingers grasping at the air as if seeking something to latch onto.