∴ An Ensorcelled Sword ∴
Flickering shadows set the hairs on your bare arms on end. The torch in your hand sputters despite the still and stagnant air. For the briefest moment you consider turning back, but caution falls silent beside the thrill of the unknown.
You note what looks like a worn sarcophagus in the middle of the chamber. Carved from the same stone as the cavern itself, the casket is unremarkable – but for what lies on top of it. The sword seems hyper-real against its decrepit surroundings. Harshly downturned quillons gleam darkly against the broad steel blade.
Stepping toward the sarcophagus, you choke down a nervous laugh. You’ve heard enough folk tales to know how this ends: a shambling corpse emerging from the casket, hell-bent on restoring its treasure. Forcing back superstition, you grasp the green leather grip.
A moment’s suffocating silence. The sarcophagus remains undisturbed. Chiding yourself for your childishness, you exhale deeply and turn the blade in the torchlight. It’s so striking that for a moment you fail to notice the bleached bones of your own transfigured hand against the hilt. Continue reading