Drimnie patted Thordem’s back as he threw-up for the fifth time since entering the dry, bone chilling tombs. The Dwarf couldn’t blame his younger fellow, he didn’t know what it was about this place, but it made his skin crawl as if scarabs were hatching under right below the surface. Drimnie wasn’t a superstitious dwarf, but when he stared at the ancient stone hallways and the runic engravings carved into them he couldn’t help but feel that there was something unnatural about this place.
“Oi…Boss, do we…do we have to do this? Is the money really worth it?” His apprentice whined, heaving as he tried to regain the breath lost during his upheaval. Drimnie sighed at the question, and for the fifth time answered it.

“’Aye. The gold’s as good as ours as long as we get to the burial room. Plus it’d be bad for business if we just up and quit on a job now,” Drimnie whispered and stroked his wispy beard, scanning over the walls for any pressure plates that might trigger a trap. He purely did so out of habit, though; he highly doubted that ancient North Men would have any such elaborate devices. It was such a simple job, he thought as he continued down the damp corridor, motioning for his student to follow. Most tombs he robbed had far more security than this; equipped with elaborate traps, dead ends, and guardians of some kind. Yet this one was utterly void of any such things, indeed this only contributed to its off putting nature, adding a sense of…wrongness to the entire complex.
“But boss! This place just feels wrong!” The younger dwarf whined as he ran to catch up.


“Damn Merchant-born hag.” Drimnie whispered to himself, followed by a quick curse to gambling debts, if it wasn’t for that one night spent drinking in that Halfling Pub, he wouldn’t have had to acquire assistance for this “big heist” as it had been described to him.
So far, the only big thing it turned out to be was a disappointment. At least he’d get paid twice as much as the effort was worth, all for bringing back the blade of some exiled king or some nonsense like that.

His thoughts were interrupted by the prodding of what he could easily describe as the biggest mistake of his long life.
“Boss? Did you hear me?” Thordem asked, clearly annoyed by the idea of being ignored.

“Shut the ‘ell up, Thordem.” Drimnie sighed in exasperation, “If you searched for treasure as often as ye’ talk, we’d be rollin’in more than just bones.” He snapped, gesturing at him with his large blunderbuss. Firearms were unusual weapons to own outside of a royal organization or noble family, but if you had the same contacts as Drimnie then it becomes a trifling task of stocking up on ammunition.
Both of the grave robbers stopped in their tracks as the hallway opened up with a gentle kick to a stone door courtesy of Drimnie, revealing a room that felt very empty. That was the strange part, though, they couldn’t see in this darkness. Dwarves naturally had superior night vision, making them suited for underground jobs such as mining. It had been the greatest of boons to Drimnie ever sense he began his illicit career, but now he found himself struggling to see the hand in front of his face.
“I…I told you there was something wrong h-here…”Thordem whispered, giving a sharp yelp as he was sent flying to the ground by a quick whack with the butt of Drimnie’s musket.

Not stopping to dignify the fool with any form of apology or acknowledgment, he slid his gloved hand into one of the many packs held by his heavy leather belt. Out he pulled one of the latest advancements from the Haderforge University of Tinkerers, with nimble hands he pulled on the iron lock, eliciting a low sizzle from inside the perma-glass top siting on the smooth wooden handle. He smiled and let go, causing the large room they were in to echo with the sound of the lock hitting the perma-glass. He felt his pupils dilate and saw Thordem flinch away from the muted, yet sudden, light.
Drimnie didn’t even smile at the lad, only looking him over to ensure he hadn’t dropped anything. He was dressed the same as himself, wearing tight leather armor custom made to house hundreds of pockets, not like the idiot knew where to find any of them. His chalk-white face was partly covered by a well groomed moustache and a small beard; two things highly respected in the more traditional Dwarven cities and so unlike Drimne’s wispy beard and shaved upper lip. What hair Thordem had on his head was obscured by the tough leather hood he had been ordered to wear, to prevent neck-sucker attacks. At his side was, most prominently, a small hatchet. A fine weapon Drimnie thought, equally useful for cutting away ancient doors as it was slaying that which goes bump in the night.

“W-what? Do I have something on me?” Thordem inquired worriedly.
“No, just shame.” Drimnie replied shortly, peering around the chamber they had found themselves in with the help of his newfound light source.

It was just as the entrance room and all the hallways in between had been, yet this one was filled with simple stone coffins, after a quick count he numbered them to be about fifty, with twenty five on both sides of the room. Other than those and the cobwebs it was strangely empty. No treasure, no obvious weaponry kept about, even the runes on the walls had become more infrequent. He hit his assistant once more when he tried to make a dash towards the nearest coffin.
“Are ye’ stupid as well as ugly?!” Drimnie demanded, placing a dirty boot on the younger man’s back.
For a full three seconds the buffoon couldn’t respond, too busy bumbling apologies and pleas for mercy. After some further ordering, he was able to regain his composure.

“I..I…ar-aren’t we robbing them?” Thordem mumbled from under his place on the ground.
“No. We’re robbing their leader. He’s where the real wealth will be ‘eld.” Came the sagely response, “’Sides, these are probably cursed, Norse might’ve been morons but they knew magic too.”

“Oh…I’m sorry…” Thordem mumbled again, wiping age-old dust from his face.

“If ya could be any less pathetic I’d put a bell ‘round your neck and call ya Kitty. Now let’s get movin’.” Drimnie growled, picking him up with a rough hand and tossing him against a coffin. Thordem yelped, and rubbed his spine in pain.

The two spent the next several minutes in silence, with the Elder slowly stepping nearer and nearer towards the end of the room, where the large entrance of rotten wood stood. He was taking his time, checking every stone he stepped on for a trap and every wall for a hole where darts could be shot from. He had learned from a Southern Pyramid that it didn’t matter how barren the room looked, there was always the chance for a trap. It was how he lost his last partner, tall as a tree, clever as a fox, and a damn fine drinker to boot. A thousand curses to those Snakemen that stole his life.

Finally, he had made it to where he could feel some sort of energy coming from the door. Perhaps it would be a magical treasure that was the prize?

He pressed against the door…and it was pushed open with the upmost ease.

“What in the name of Ranner?” He mumbled, for the first time in two hundred years he felt fear, not anticipation, for entering a tomb for the small fact that it had simply been too easy. Where were the traps? Where were the monsters? Where was the anything?! The reward outweighed the risk of this job far too much for him to be comfortable.
“Come on, old dog, suck it up. Nothin’ wrong with easy pay.” He reminded himself and pushed the tomb doors open, only to immediately jump back as he was hit by a wave of nausea, he felt his stomach clench and the steamy, sticky bile rise in his throat. But he pushed the urge to give in and strode forwards. He was Drimnie Soilsteal and he would not be conquered by the bestial demands of his body, lest he be damned a thousand times over! After the initial feeling passed, he felt it much easier to enter the room, the darkness of which seemed to devour the light from his Pseudo-Torch. A few more steps in front of him and he saw his prize: A large coffin, more ornate than the others with arcane looking runes etched onto the side.

“’Oi! Thordem! Get over ‘er and open this thing for me!” He called out behind him, obviously not going to open the clearly trapped coffin before him.

“Wh-What?!” Came Thordem’s squeamish reply, Drimnie just knew that the idiot had thrown up again. Bah, kids these days.

“You heard me, come on! I don’t wanna be in this place any longer than you.” Drimnie barked, yet the taint of impatience not marking his voice.

“W-well-“

“I’ll raise ya pay by a hundred Silvers.” He lied, knowing the young beardling was probably going to die somehow in the next few seconds. In preparation he dropped down on one knee and began to aim his musket, even if his suspicions proved false he could just shoot him himself.

The graverobber’s apprentice whimpered as he stepped into the final burial room for the first time, from outside it had seemed like the aura of the room had been overpowering, having forced him to his knees again. But inside it seemed more…subdued? No, restrained. The thought made him more scared than ever to approach the coffin, yet his hereditary greed gave purpose to each step he took.

Before he knew it, he had approached the coffin; He looked it over using Drimnie’s light. It was very plain besides the runes etched into it, almost saddingly so. What great leader had been disgraced so by such a simple burial? His teacher turned off his strange torch in order to remain concealed, this worried him. Not only did it mean he would not be able to see what was inside, but it also meant he couldn’t keep an eye on what was hidden in the shadows. He didn’t trust the old man, you never trust a dwarf who shaves.

The moment he removed the lid from the coffin, the pattern of vulnerability was broken.
The runes etched across the sides began glowing brightly. And a dim pair of lights, like smoldering coals, began to fizzle, pop, and glow from within the dark coffin. Both Dwarves felt the overwhelming Aura of corruption and filth again, like worms squirming and pressing against them from inside, ready to burst out, the taste of blood in their mouth, overpowering their senses as they felt themselves unable to move. The shock was broken as Thordem made a high pitched scream when he felt a skeletal hand grab him by a leather strap and pull him down into the coffin.

Thordem yelped out a cry for help, but Drimnie merely watched, paralyzed by the aura he had never felt in all his years of tomb exploitation. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he could hear it; the yells of agony and wet ripping sound of flesh being torn, the slick squishing of blood running freely, and the pops of entire limbs being torn from their sockets. But then, it stopped with a final, loud sound of freely spilling blood and entrails.
Drimnie knew what he should be doing: Running. But his legs felt shackled to the coffin. He heard the discarded body of his short-lived partner be thrown from the tomb, and the runes begin to die down. In their place, though, he saw a pair of dim, coal-like lights somehow staring at him. They began to grow brighter and brighter, as if recovering from the drowsiness of sleep, before turning into weak flames.

In that instant, he felt a burst of willpower born from self-preservation. Giving a loud battle cry, he fired his still ready musket. In the flash of light that followed, he saw what he had awoken.

A tall skeleton, he had encountered and killed many in his line of work, but this one was horrifyingly different. It’s eyes of fire shown with intellect and authority, and instead of being blown apart by the lead balls, he was merely thrown backside first into his coffin. Drimnie could have sworn he heard the damn thing curse when it was shot, but that couldn’t be possible. Skeletons didn’t talk!
“By Neri’s breath…”He cursed as he turned tail and sprinted out of the tomb, not willing to wait to see if he had killed the beast. When he entered the larger burial chamber, though, he stopped, horrified. In front of him stood all fifty of the bodies that had been shoddily laid to rest.

They said no words, their eyes glowing ever so faintly. He couldn’t breathe, cold sweat arching down his brow while he fumbled to reload his musket, determined not to let this job be the end of his legend.

“Put the stick away, dwarf…” Came a raspy, airless whisper from behind him, he shrieked and tried to slam the butt of his gun into them, but his arm was caught by a pair of bony hands and snapped in two, offering as much resistance as a clay cup. The dwarf screamed curses and agony to the uncaring corpses as the Skeleton lifted him up by his broken arm, it’s eyes now twin infernos.

“Tsk, tsk…I do not know what it is you shot at me, but I did not like it. I also did not like the way you ran away, or how you are pissing yourself as I speak.” It listed off, it’s free hand poking into it’s offender’s forehead. Not waiting for an answer, it slid it’s fleshless finger down to be right at the edge of his right eye, ”Do you want to know the one thing I do like about you, though?”

Bawling was all the terrified Drimnie could do in response.

“I like how you woke me up.” It said with a grin in it’s voice as he moved it’s right hand into Drimnie’s left eye, holding him up by his face. In a flash, it stabbed the sharp tips of it’s fingers into his eyes, puncturing the cornea and not stopping until the body gushed out from within. The ancient warrior pulled out, removing the abused eyes with little effort and leaving him on the ground to the fate that awaited him. It stepped over the pathetic dwarf’s body, towards the five lines of ten naked skeletons arranged before him.
“Well, the good news is that the wizard’s plot worked and we survived. The bad news is that the wizard’s plot worked and we survived.” He chuckled, which he found impressive considering his lack of lungs. The fallen king looking at his very bloody, very dead hands, “Has this place always been this dark? “ He asked another question, hoping to illicit some sort of response from what had been his greatest friends in life, but none came. “Ah, I see…must be still waking up? Well…okay then. I’ll just wait. Right here. For you to wake up.” The skeleton sighed; this wasn’t a very good start to his glorious reckoning against the living, now was it?