GREED
The sparkling gem nearly filled the palm of his hand. The sarcophagus was lined along the outside near the top with a row of others, identical to the one he had just removed. Greed is the bane of many thieves, but if one stolen gem is good, two would be better. With his knife, he started prying loose a second gem. His blade snapped, sending tiny shards of metal flying.
For untold winters, no sound had disturbed that silent chamber, the resting place of some long-forgotten sorcerer-king entombed with his riches. But the tiny sound of his knife breaking was enough to awaken the fell spirit of whatever doomed soul rested there. Something stirred inside the stone coffin.
He gave up on getting the second gem, and fled. He heard a rustling behind him, and the heavy scrape of stone. A skeletal hand caught his ankle and he fell, barely managing to keep a hold on his stolen gem. Even through his boot, the wraith's touch was a blinding pain. Its grip was cold, and strong as iron. With a desperate kick, he freed himself and ran on, barely a step ahead of the clutching undead creature. Traps in the outer corridor, so carefully avoided on the way in, sprung heedlessly behind him as he ran. He knew the lich, once awakened, would not give up its pursuit. Even the dead have no love for thieves.
Panting, he reached the sunlit entrance to the crypt. Only then did he pause to draw his sword. A pale beam of light came in from the ceiling, through the hole where his rope still hung. The thing from the sarcophagus caught up with him there, but halted at the edge of the light. The undead creature recoiled, raising its shrouded arms to cover its face. It hissed in anger, and it stank of the grave, but daylight was not its friend. With a single slash, he beheaded the thing and shattered its forearms at the wrists. The lich fell to the floor with a decrepit moan and lay still.
He sheathed his sword and set a gloved hand on his rope. Before he climbed up, he paused to look at the thing on the floor. It was clothed in tattered robes of pale white, almost the same color as its naked bones. It had a golden crown on its head. It still wore a jeweled necklace and bracelets, corroded with age. One severed, skeletal hand still clutched a gem-encrusted scepter. A small fortune in baubles. To the right seller, a large fortune.
He glanced at the gem still in his hand. There was blood on his wrist where he had been cut by a shard from his knife. His ankle still throbbed with a pain like frostbite where the lich had grabbed his ankle. Greed is the death of many thieves. He tucked the gem into his belt and climbed up the rope.
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This work of original fiction is © Poiniard (FanFiction ID 68338). All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of the author.
The sparkling gem nearly filled the palm of his hand. The sarcophagus was lined along the outside near the top with a row of others, identical to the one he had just removed. Greed is the bane of many thieves, but if one stolen gem is good, two would be better. With his knife, he started prying loose a second gem. His blade snapped, sending tiny shards of metal flying.
For untold winters, no sound had disturbed that silent chamber, the resting place of some long-forgotten sorcerer-king entombed with his riches. But the tiny sound of his knife breaking was enough to awaken the fell spirit of whatever doomed soul rested there. Something stirred inside the stone coffin.
He gave up on getting the second gem, and fled. He heard a rustling behind him, and the heavy scrape of stone. A skeletal hand caught his ankle and he fell, barely managing to keep a hold on his stolen gem. Even through his boot, the wraith's touch was a blinding pain. Its grip was cold, and strong as iron. With a desperate kick, he freed himself and ran on, barely a step ahead of the clutching undead creature. Traps in the outer corridor, so carefully avoided on the way in, sprung heedlessly behind him as he ran. He knew the lich, once awakened, would not give up its pursuit. Even the dead have no love for thieves.
Panting, he reached the sunlit entrance to the crypt. Only then did he pause to draw his sword. A pale beam of light came in from the ceiling, through the hole where his rope still hung. The thing from the sarcophagus caught up with him there, but halted at the edge of the light. The undead creature recoiled, raising its shrouded arms to cover its face. It hissed in anger, and it stank of the grave, but daylight was not its friend. With a single slash, he beheaded the thing and shattered its forearms at the wrists. The lich fell to the floor with a decrepit moan and lay still.
He sheathed his sword and set a gloved hand on his rope. Before he climbed up, he paused to look at the thing on the floor. It was clothed in tattered robes of pale white, almost the same color as its naked bones. It had a golden crown on its head. It still wore a jeweled necklace and bracelets, corroded with age. One severed, skeletal hand still clutched a gem-encrusted scepter. A small fortune in baubles. To the right seller, a large fortune.
He glanced at the gem still in his hand. There was blood on his wrist where he had been cut by a shard from his knife. His ankle still throbbed with a pain like frostbite where the lich had grabbed his ankle. Greed is the death of many thieves. He tucked the gem into his belt and climbed up the rope.
===========================================================================
This work of original fiction is © Poiniard (FanFiction ID 68338). All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of the author.