Lier X. Agerate took up the often-disappointing task of treasure hunting when the sign industry went through its slump in the nineties. He was a competent sign man by trade, designing, writing and posting everything from the verse on the plaque in Mrs. Peterson's flower garden to the vintage billboard that advertised music events above the Chaos Theater in Twoson.
The latter joint had cheated him out of his fair pay on grounds of a loophole in their contract. Lier tried to settle it himself, but only ended up getting a the snot beaten out of him by three security guards and a restraining order by the Twoson district court. Poetic justice was served up in a cold dish a year later when the Runaway Five, a wildly popular traveling blues band that brought in a packed house every weekend, found themselves in another phony contract that left them in deep debt to the owner. Then, from clear out of the left field, an anonymous benefactor paid their debt in one easy payment of ten thousand greenbacks. With their debt paid, the band was able to move on to bigger, better gigs and in time soared to national fame and glory in the Blues Hall of Fame. Word spread of the owner's sleazy contracts and aspiring musicians came to avoid the place like a Burmese tiger trap. The business underwent "extensive renovations" that never seemed to start or end and the owner is rumored to be living it up in cheap booze houses in Fourside. To this day, the only significant purpose the building serves is an occasional hangout for organized criminals. But that's another story.
Lier X. Agerate's very name made him a sort of outcast from mainstream society. He lived in a humble cottage on the highest hill in the area around Onett. Yes, you might know that hill from the meteorite that slammed into it awhile back. That hill. If you speak to Lier about the night of the impact, he'll grin, nod with pride and reflect on the fact that he wasn't killed by the shock of impact because of his high-garlic diet and rigorous, self-designed weight-training program. If he doesn't go on about the benefits of his cutting edge work out circuits, he'll ask if you've ever admired his handiwork. At this point, it's best to compliment his physique and sign-making prowess and remember that you left the stove on or that you have to pick up milk at the drugstore before lunch.
I suppose Lier was really not a bad man at heart, just a little more eccentric and aloof than most contemporary sign makers were. But he did have a weakness that's sadly all too common in these times. He wanted more money than he could ever know what to do with and keep it all to himself. Maybe his mother couldn't afford to buy him new clothes as a child, or his father was cheated out of what would be a life-changing business deal, or maybe he watched too much trash TV after school. Whatever the reason, he made no attempts to stop wringing his hands enviously when hearing financial success stories or seeing someone command more than a hundred dollars at one time. He was not one to set his mind to working hard for a living, so he was always looking for ways to earn quick cash alongside his job.
His quest for easy money led him to prospecting in his basement. Nobody will ever know what gave him that idea, but he did it, by gum. Perhaps he remembered that Onett was founded about a hundred years ago because of a gold strike in the hills that burned out in just two years. Maybe it was something greater, a drive only understood when one reaches the rare stage of enlightenment where all is one and one is all and everything makes sense. It wasn't long before he hit a natural cavern. Most people would've been infuriated by the potential danger of their house collapsing and contacted their real estate agent, demanding to know why they weren't notified before they were sold the house. But not Lier. He quickly set up a one-man spelunking operation and ventured on armed with a pickax, a shovel and a flashlight. The natural cave turned into what looked like a crude, low, man-made tunnel that curved, then ended abruptly in a small chamber. What he saw there warranted a gasp of shock, then triumphant cry that rang through the cave complex like a joyous, if off-key, bell toll.
A boy named Ness gave the most compelling story of what Lier dug up. He was one of the first in a small circle of close acquaintances that Lier considered his friends, and trusted him to gaze at his magnificent treasure. It was a manlike idol about five feet give or take a few inches. Two lurid horns rose from either of its temples and the tip of the sword it clutched touched the ground. What struck Lier the most was that it was cast in gleaming, ancient gold. What struck the boy more than the thing's apparent value was the eyes. Its horrible, black-and-white eyes painted too large on the thing's head. They seemed to glare at him, not just through his own eyes, but into his soul. Lier told him after a minute with a breathy whisper that it would be best for him to leave before he got any greedy thoughts, all while wringing his hands as if for the firing squad. Ness wouldn't go any further with how he felt or indeed what exactly happened, and I wasn't sure I wanted to pry much further. By the way he shifted his eyes and scratched his hair, I could tell he was still unsettled by whatever really ensued in that cave beneath Lier's little cottage on that mild summer day.
The details of what happened to the idol after that point are sketchy at best. It was quickly sold to an undisclosed buyer at about the time the Happy-Happyist Cult gained a sudden spike in popularity, and subsequently violence, in Twoson. From there, rumors have circulated that the statue ended up in Fourside before vanishing into total obscurity. The few who had the displeasure of seeing it have said good riddance. I consider myself a fairly rational person. I'm as skeptical as the next guy about the phone psychics and UFO sightings in newspapers you can buy for a few quarters at the drugstore, but I don't doubt that the idol had a sort of influence on people that science hasn't been able to answer for yet. And maybe it never will. But I won't dwell on what can't be explained, only on what can. In the end of the idol episode, Lier ended up with a sum of cold, hard cash that totaled just shy of two million.
What happened afterwards is the tale of the rise and fall of a man whose ambitions and dreams were realized too quickly for his own good. It isn't a pleasant story, but neither is it too brutal. Not everybody lives happily ever after, and nobody gets the girl. But life usually works out that way, no matter how many people may try to pretend around or just deny the truths. Proceed with caution.