Sealed Bargain

Whether months or years, time is lost in this realm of which I am trapped. The vaults of this crypt is but a mausoleum for insanity's morbid pleasure. The very labyrinthine architecture wraps and sways in a grid that is meant to vex the mind; I should know! I could admit that I am a different individual in every sense since the moment I stepped foot into the confines of this monument. Everything I have known of myself, or taught myself as how a boding instructor hovers over a student, have diminished. It was a gradual process. Me, an avid adventurer and entrepreneur of sorts would dare do anything for profit so long as it falls on a moral basis.

There was, however, no hesitation made on the offer of thirty-thousand crowns in exchange for an artifact, the mythical scepter Quothra. Legend had it this the scepter had been passed from offspring to offspring for fourteen generations until the death of Hoktorem IV; and the shortly after his demise, his kingdom fell.

Two other comrades escorted me in our grandest scheme for wealth. After a string of unexpected circumstances, all that remains are their blood on my hands. Whoever said success didn't come without little sacrifices? They would have done the same as I if they were at the other end of the figurative barrel, and in hindsight they would have been proud (if not envious) by the genius of my decision.

A real genius am I... Lost in the depths of a necropolis leagues from any signs of civilization, with only the clothes on my back and a rusted hatchet. I should thank my stars I never crossed any threats thus far. Yet, still... I must carry on...

What is that? A light ahead, filtering against the walls shown past an opened threshold? Does a person stir in these supposedly desolate halls? Fear not, I will take the responsibility at hand and bury the hatchet. Better to leave on mutual terms than a minor scuffle ensue. The weight of the shaft feels heavier than normal. Why do my hands have to be so clammy? Focus. Focus...

My feet press onto the ground in delicate silence, as I crane my head through the passage. In immediate surprise, I lose my breath at what awaits me. The golden sarcophagus of Hoktorem IV glistens in the corner of the room, under the effect of two torches lit on either side. To and fro I scan the perimeter for any sign of disturbance as I make my way to the relic in awe.

I hesitate for the beat of a heart before I touch the exterior; lest a mythical curse hex me. I cannot contain myself and squint as my fingers grace the cool surface. Relief besets me. No hex.

The seal creaks as a sleeping giant awoken from a millennium in slumber. Light spills into the confinement about which furls of dust roll and escape, followed by a stench of antiquated rot. I cover my face from the nauseating whiff of six-hundred years of decay and pull back. Never since my flight through the sewers of Muughaltris have I ever come across a scent so foul. I dare consider the days that would pass before I rid myself of this stench.

All thoughts dissipate at the sight of the relic before me. The remains of Hoktorem embrace a scepter half the size of his body, the red jeweled eyes glow back at me as if its reading my most secret intentions. Foreign scripts are engraved into the staff, pertaining to a language that has died centuries ago. I would not squander precious time contemplating the nonsensical jargon that is probably about imaginary hybrid human-animal sentient beings come to warn humans about a cataclysm that will never happen.

Gone was the false sense of imagination stemming from bedtime stories the day a group of scavengers broke into my home and murdered my mother. They wore grins of self-victory as they slit her neck, splotches of blood spraying my five-year-old self in the face. I was abducted to live a life in-and-out of slave camps until my escape at fourteen, which led me to a life of quick jobs and low pay which led me before this very staff. Funny the paths life presents us...

Thirty-thousand crowns, more than I could ever make grinding my spine to dust at manual labor jobs for over a decade. Tripled my profit. I may leave this place a prosperous man, but I want to lead a life of wealth. This beautiful relic is a one of a kind... Could make eight times more in the black market at least, after appraisal. Dispose of the prospector, weasel the thirty-thousand out of him, and consider it a bonus for this insufferable venture. Now to reap the relic of all its glory.

I tug with all my might to no avail, as if the emperor protected the scepter with his very life and died with it locked in his arms embrace. May it be life, death, or the gods that watch over him, the scepter will be mine. I grasp the trusty hatchet and hack, hack, hack away the limbs; bones chip and break and crack away until they shatter. Spools of brown, tattered gauze rain about the assault.

Finally, the scepter slips from release and I scoop up the metal with both arms. A hot sensation boils through my every vein, my muscles clamp as if gnawed at by sharp teeth, and I drop to my knees. Light emits from the symbols about the the staff, blinding my sight beyond a veil of white. I go to scream, but my jaw locks, as the inside of my throat feels as putty melting under a scorching sun. My mouth taste of tar and my teeth crack and powder. A humming sound pierces my ears, increasing in decibel as the seconds prevail. A neural shock scrambles through my system, as my bones lock.

Two clawed hands grasp my arms, but have no clue of to whom they belong. In a quick glance I notice the decapitated arms of Hoktorem are gone. A final screech wails through my ears until silence looms.


Darkness surrounds me. I have no sense of feeling beyond an awareness that I do exist. Where am I? I more drift than amble across the empty space. Have I experienced a sense of reincarnation? Is this space a vessel reminiscent of a womb or a pod?

A ovular red light dims in the distance. I transition toward it. Slowly, the image expands to show red shards. I can hardly fathom the images beyond the frosty surface. A little more effort shows a room much like the one I once stood, only larger. The room is dimly lit by torchlight. What is going on?

The scruffy top of a head pops up from below as a man presses his hands upon the areas surrounding the exterior. The salty-bearded man smiles, exposing a silver tooth. I know you! That's the man, the guy who offered me and my friends a reward for--