As Liandra approaches, the body lets out a sputtering cough. Calling out in a raspy voice.

Is someain thaer? Git back ye bloody cultists, cannae ye see am dyin' awreddy. Don't need no halp frae th' likes a ye.

As the man manages to tilt his head up ever so slightly, those of you with eyes accustomed to the dark notice that the man is blind, his eyes poked out in a brutal bloody fashion.
At his waist, a bony trembling hand grips a dagger.