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[A Lost Soul]

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“Praise be to the liar, for without him, we would not value truth.” –Author Unknown

Fumbling with alacritous movements, a lone figure draped in torn black garments frantically traversed a mountainous spear of land cutting deep into an oceanic bay. A small sextant adorned the figures garments, only rising from its place of rest to translate the heavens above.

As afternoon progressed, the unabated fury of the suns luminescent appendages stretched down to the earth, each immaterial limb painting a searing epitaph of numbers onto the cloudy, fatigue stricken eyes of a haggardly thaumaturge.

“So many numbers… does each six I see haunt me? What of Seven? Of five? Or nine? Coordinates in betrothal with celestial, numbers baking themselves into my very mind! I long for the hellfire I was denied, at least such flames are honest in their pain!”

Traversing the ever thinning terrain, the figure fell harshly to hand and knee, an exasperated sigh drowned out by dilapidated cloth and banished from parched lips escaped the necromancer’s now decumbent form.

“67 57’N, 92 48’E”

The necromancer spat out the co ordinates in debility as he greedily plunged his hands into the virgin soil. With renewed intensity inspired by avaricious motivation, the necromancers ensanguined hands dug frantically into the twilight. After hours of animalistic excavation, a tint of morbid grey protruded through a matrimony of blood and soil.

The figure clutched the object, culling the treasure from its earthen tomb, revealing a sterling laden chest, tarnished and covered in an embroidery of soil, a once radiant production reduced to lackluster antiquity. As the midnight air struck the chest, the tightly sealed cover volitionally ascended, revealing a trembling note within its shadowed womb.




“Esteemed conjurer, your diligence has brought you to a proverbial crossroads. Within this sacred coffer, I present to you two paths. Beneath this note lies a draft in the amount of five hundred thousand gold pieces, it is now yours. Your first path is lined in royal crimson; you may travel the road of sacrifice and once again bury this box.

In the second path, beats the falsity of covetous. You may deliver the scroll contained within to the location below. Upon delivering the scroll, you will be rewarded tenfold for your efforts. Know your actions will not bring about noble consequences should you walk the path of sin.

Choice is your freedom.”




A twisted scowl crossed the necromancer’s pallor lips, as the shadowed silhouettes of two parchments rose ominously out of entombment.

“There is more to this then choice, my unknown benefactor. With prophetic intent did you place this here for discovery, and with blinded eyes do I cede my life to faded ink and sundered parchment.”