The shell followed his wayward subordinate into the dense wooded area. He ordered his old and new comrades to follow at a distance in case of an emergency as he hiked. Along the way, he used his immense physical strength to dislodge the axe blade embedded in his right arm, leaving it broken and abandoned.
Using his link, he moved through the night until the first rays of the morning sun peeked through the canopy. He reached a clearing and bore witness to what he believed was once a battlefield overtaken by the forest. The grove looked breathtaking with the morning sunlight as a backdrop, but the shell lacked the ability to appreciate it.
Finally, he felt he was close enough to directly communicate and spoke out loud towards his connection link, "There you are. What are you doing here?"
A small man reacted to his words and began pleading and bargaining endlessly. The shell didn't care, he would just kill this man and ask his runaway skeleton why he had come here. Then he would see if he could make use of what he assumed was a battlefield. However, some of the tiny man's words caught his attention.
He didn't want to die? Why not? His life would end eventually anyway, so why did it matter how?
Before this confusion could be resolved, the man threw his weapon and dashed away. Briefly distracted by his curiosity and confusion, the projectile caught the shell off guard, piercing his right leg. To a human, the pain would have been immense, but to him, it only slowed him for the few moments it took to pull out the dagger.
In the interim, the small man had managed to reach for the exceptional blade that stood out among the sea of rusted armaments. He screamed for a quarter of a second before sprinting blindly back toward the treeline. The shell was about to give chase when the target of his search made a move, killing the man with one of the rusty weapons lying around.
The purple-eyed skeleton then turned toward him and waved ecstatically, as if it hadn't caused him significant trouble.
"Huh. I presume you have a reason for all this?" the shell sighed and asked.
The skeleton nodded with jubilation and pointed at the now-fresh corpse.
"He escaped, and you wanted to chase him down?" asked the shell.
The skeleton shook its head and pointed again, this time lifting the fabric of the cloak it wore.
"The cloak? You did all that for a cloak?"
The skeleton bobbed in agreement, then pointed at the man's eyes.
"You want the eyes?" The shell felt confused as to why his sole intelligent subordinate was so eccentric.
Another nod.
"Very well, I see no harm, but why would you want them?"
In response, the skeleton pointed at its own empty sockets, bathed in purple light.
"I do not believe those eyes will work in such a manner."
A shake of the head. To the shell, this entire conversation was becoming uncomfortably confusing. The skeleton pointed at its own eyes, then at the cloak, then at the corpse's eyes, repeatedly.
"What are y—"
The shell wanted to say more, but before he could, his eyes filled with a new purple light. At that moment, instead of seeing just a regular cloak, he perceived a faint but noticeable greenish color surrounding the garment. Then he looked at the corpse's eyes and saw a tiny white light, much fainter than the cloak but present nonetheless.
"What is that light?" the shell asked aloud, bewildered. Through some trial and error, he discovered he could turn the lights on and off at will. The skeleton also seemed surprised, then grew even more excited. It frantically pointed to its own eyes until the shell roughly understood the message.
"This is how you see?"
A nod.
"Then what are these lights? And how did this come to be?" the shell asked, pointing at his own eyes.
The skeleton shrugged as if it hadn't the slightest clue. The only thing it truly knew was its fascination with the lights. As for why its master could do the same, it assumed only intelligent beings could perceive them.
"Very well. Take the eyes; they are useless in my hands," the shell decided, then turned his attention to the curved, ornate sword. Even to a layman, its craftsmanship was a work of art. He thought about the man's scream when he touched it. Though he hadn't felt pain himself, he understood that yelling was a response to it. He considered touching it but paused, thinking about his newly discovered ability.
He willed it, and his eyes responded, changing color and altering the way he perceived the world around him. The sword's color was a vibrant shade of black, more intense than the cloak or eyes. Yet this color was different, difficult to describe.
The colors on the first two items surrounded them, while the black seemed to cover the blade. Though he didn't know what the distinction meant, he decided to gamble and try moving the blade. As he reached out, something about the sword shifted slightly, and the shell sensed it.
Instead of grabbing the hilt, he touched his finger gently to the smooth and sharp blade. There it was...
He grasped the sword without worry and called over one of the skeletons he had stationed around the area. He ordered it to guard the blade and not to use it. He also had the skeleton equip the swordsman's armor, giving it a distinct and menacing appearance. Though it looked intimidating, the reality was that only a skeleton occupied that impressive shell, and the weight of the equipment made it extremely slow. This would suffice for now, as a temporary measure.
The shell turned to the other rusted and broken equipment and was about to confirm if he could raise a new platoon of soldiers when he heard a strange voice behind him.
"Gr-e-at-in-g-s m-ast-e-r."