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[Sethos]

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The Chamber of Ancients, so empty now but there in the throne whose back is to the south a small figure sits curled upon its cold stone frame. His heavy and intricate cloak wrapped tightly around him, all is covered save for his eyes.

Sweat drips down his brow and down his nose, his breathing is heavy he hears them. Hundreds of them surrounding the hill, knights from Britannia. Loudly their clanking plate mail boots sound upon each step. Then the banging…at the secret Ancient Door.

His eyes widen.

‘No! Impossible! How did they find me here!”

Jumping rather quickly from the throne he paces about the room, their pounding becoming louder and louder…then cracking, metal on stone, wood on stone.

“A ram!” He thinks aloud throwing down his cloak as the temperature in the chamber seems to rise dramatically.

With a loud crash the door flings open and they are on him…dragging him outside. Hundreds no thousands of them he counts. Lines of soldiers stretching from the hill in every direction as far as he can see their eyes, all of their eyes watching him. Glowing, like cats in the darkness their eyes glow these monsters. The drag him up the steps screaming violently to the top of the hill, to the skull.

No…it’s not there the skull is not there. A giant stake…they tie him to it spitting at him, invoking the virtues to smite him and they begin to pour oil over the wood below, over him. They shall burn him yes. He closes his eyes for a moment then slowly he opens…

Slowly his mind flows away, the sounds the smells of this his death scene fade away. Then he feels something, a tugging at his robe, not a violent tugging no like that child.
He opens his eyes and shrieks in horror and shock.

The soldiers gone, now ghouls, yes rotting children sores and puss. Their parents following close behind them. Ripping at his flesh growling and laughing…he begins to hyperventilate as these beasts begin to chant something in unison whispering to him, yes how they love to whisper.

He cannot breath, his limbs grow weak, no he cannot die, no he cannot die. Then he blacks out, right there after a few convulsions, he vomits and finally falls into a sleep there atop the hill just as the sun begins to rise.

A Umbran watchman will go home in the morning and tell his wife the most peculiar tale about the odd boy in green who threw himself up the hill, screamed bloody murder, tore at his garb and then suddenly was silenced just before