Although he was no stranger to the dead and dying nor the magically compelled movements of corpses (both fresh and those long since buried), Tyrael still found his tongue curling with obvious distaste at the sight of the animated animals, the sickly-sweet scent of decomposition that filled the air around them just as repugnant as their (somewhat) skeletal appearance. His expression was one of thinly veiled disgust – his stomach rolling unpleasantly the closer he came to the peculiar contraptions that littered the graveyard. He gagged more than once, his mortal senses overwhelmed by the stink of rotting flesh, but curiosity drove him further into the graveyard – he'd seen Malthael disappear into it sometime earlier and the strange noises from various animals were unlike anything he'd ever heard.

Not to mention any time the dead started walking (never mind skittering around as though they were still alive) it generally meant trouble.

With a barely suppressed cough heralding his arrival, Tyrael stopped some distance behind Malthael, the angel's form difficult to pick out amidst the growing shadows. It'd taken some time to find him, the graveyard far larger than he had expected (and nausea forcing him to pause a number of times until his senses calmed).

"Malthael," he called unnecessarily (for undoubtedly his brother was well aware of his arrival already). The obvious question of 'What are you doing here?' was left unstated, the former archangel instead asked, "Have you found the source of this?" He gestured towards the grisly wildlife.