The promise of riches untold await them in the island nation of Scarb, but when the rag tag band of tavellers in the employ of a veteran vigilante are made wise to an ancient evil lurking beneath the royal castle will they turn and run, or step fort...
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It had taken outrageous effort on Davith's part to locate the source of the oncoming storm, but if the visions Draqrin spoke of were to be believed then this had to have been the place. Looking down at the Neolithic tomb, the wizard let off a heavy sigh and patted his breast pocket before heading down the hill. The tribe of elves that lived in the plains of Anchorthymn seemed to be the prime suspects when it came to dark magics such as that which had been described to him not because they were known for such deeds as a community, but because one member of the tribe had been solely responsible for the most powerful surge in black energy in the last ten thousand years and this was his resting place.
As he suspected, the inside of the tomb was younger than its ancient trappings. By design, the exterior had been made to look as though it was erected at the dawn of time when in reality it was only as old as the last millennium, with great columns of stone spanning the depth of the antechamber to hold up the ceiling that must have been crafted by the same handiwork still used in the modern era. Six shallow graves that contained orcish skeletons surrounded the centrepiece of the room; a large and immaculate sarcophagus displayed proudly on a stone platform toward which Davith now headed. Carefully sidestepping what he believed to be a booby trap, Davith noted that the walls were covered with druidic runes and incantations, some of which had been defaced with an infernal script, scrawled in a manner that might have eluded the less discerning onlooker. It was more than likely that the dwarves responsible for this excavation hadn't even figured out what a miraculous find this was.
When reading up on the tribe, Davith checked out many a book from his town's local library and in his pursuits saw that one name kept repeating itself; not a name that was relevant to the history about which he was reading, but a name in the list of people who had checked out those same books. Apparently, back in 2956, a necromancer by the name of Gonlaf Thudwatts had set off in pursuit of the same knowledge that Davith Raesh pursued now, but instead of attempting to destroy the dark power at its source, she had meant to strengthen it and had left a paper trail of clues in her wake detailing the effort she had put into crafting an unholy sceptre capable of any necrotic spell under the sun. According to her journals, Thudwatts had burrowed into the earth to reach the submerged tomb that had now been revealed and cast a spell to enter its confines without breaking the seal where she had placed the sceptre in honour of the fallen warrior. It was Davith's job to remove that sceptre and if at all possible, destroy it. He took his wand in his dominant hand and began to channel the spell with which Ehjops' suffering had been ended almost ten years ago and prayed it would still be strong enough to vanquish this evil before it was reawakened when suddenly, he heard footsteps at the entrance to the tomb. "Who the devil are you?!" The voice beckoned. Turning sharply where he stood, and smiling unconvincingly, Davith saw before him a dwarven woman in perhaps her thirtieth decade with long brown hair braided into an adventurer's knot. She held in her right hand a pickaxe and she wore on her face the most menacing look of unease. "Hello there!" Davith stammered after a beat. "Hail and well met, you must be Horn Calforth." "And who might you be?" She scowled. "I'll have you know this is a private site, and I'll have to ask you to leave." Nothing vexed Davith more than when in books and plays characters ended up in turmoil that could easily have been avoided had they communicated better, so he vowed to tell her everything but where to start? How to sum up a decade of study in the space of a few seconds and explain away his presence in the tomb he really had no business being in was beyond him. "Hello?" She barked. He had introspected too long. "Can you hear me? I said you'll have to leave" "Okay, listen." He said calmly, lowering his wand. "You don't know what you've got here... This tomb... Belonged to a very powerful mage." "I know exactly who it belonged to; I uncovered the bloody thing." She snapped. "Years of research and excavation..." "Then you and I are alike." He stammered, stepping forward as he spoke. "We both know a lot about this character here and I'm sure neither one of us would like to see anybody hurt as a result of your findings." "No one's gonna get hurt if you leave now." She insisted, raising her pickaxe subtly. "I have a battalion of police officers over yonder hill who are itching for an arrest and it's been slim pickings all day." "There's no need for all that." He said gently as he tiptoed forward. "Just put down your tool and I'll explain everything. I mean you no harm, in fact, I mean to help you." A lie in the immediate present, but very much a truth indefinitely. "Citizen this is my final time of asking." She scowled as he stepped towards her. "Get out." "I'm not going anywhere Horn." He said, taking his final step and stopping before her. "Not until you've heard what I have to..." He heard a click come from beneath him and he remembered the trap he evaded before. Quick as a flash, Davith heard a hissing noise come from his left and saw a blade coming for his throat.
