The tomb robber grunted as he once more heaved on the shovel, the end of which he was using to pry open the door of a mausoleum. His pack was sitting on a smaller tombstone just a few feet away, yet still obscured by the mists. The door gave a loud groan as and Zephyn grinned, letting out a rough bark of laughter. "Hah! Ha ha! No dead man can keep out Zephyn Dragoon! Nosirree!" The door suddenly gave way, the stumbling backwards as a cloud of dust and mold spore erupted from inside. He did his best not to cough as he waved the dust from his face, before plucking his torch from where he had stabbed it into the ground. He also grabbed his pack from the tombstone stone and swung it over his shoulder, before making his way towards the entrance, drawing his broad sword. He glanced once more over his shoulder, making sure there was no one - or no THING- watching him. Satisfied he was alone, he made his way into the eerie monument to death, his torch high above his head, sword held low. He didn't really expect trouble, he'd never had much difficulty robbing the dead, they rarely fought back, but he felt obligated to be ready anyhow. Just after the entrance, there was a once white stair well, leading down into the unstable soil beneath the structure. His step was light and his mood cheerful as he made his way down the steps, lithely avoiding crumbling steps and caved in sections of ceiling, the biggest problem in his way being how to avoid getting the guano on his cloak, left there by hundreds of generations of bats.
He paused just before the last step, his instincts curbing his greed for once. Ge slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew a small pebble.
"Never hurts to checks…" He muttered to himself as he tossed the object into the large room before him, listening as it bounced on the floor. After he felt safe that there were no traps, he carefully stepped into the room, where his nose was immediately assaulted by the stench of some kind of oil. Waving his torch in front of him, he noticed a small network of trenches in the floor. The source of the smell, he reasoned, lowering his torched to one and laughing as the flame leaped onto the substance, crawling along the old oil and lighting the room. The fire showed him his desire, all he came here for; mounds of gold and silver figurines, gems gleaming in the firelight. His greed soared as he saw a casket in the middle, carved in it the likeness of an ancient warlord, chased in gold. Half buried in gold and rubble were dozens of skeletons, scattered across the floor; if the adventurer had taken the time to think, realizing there were no traps, and more dead around than most bandit gorups had alive, he might have avoided what happened next.
Overcome by the greed that kept bringing him back to this god awful cemetery, he dropped his torch and fell to his knees next to a large, gleaming pile of treasure. He laughed aloud as he shoveled handfuls of the stuff into his pack, his face twisted into a mask of avarice.
"Look at it all! Ha! I've killed for less! This man spent his life collecting all this wealth, and for who? ME! Ha ha ha!" His laughter drifted off as his eye once more cam to rest on the casket of the war lord himself. He snatched his sword from the ground beside him and, kicking a skeleton with a sword in its dead hand out of his way, scattering the bones, shoved the blade into the crack of the opening, growling as the large stone lid refused to budge.
He pause as a sound reached his eyes. A bat? No, he hadn't seen any since he left the stairwell. What could it be, then? He frowned as his eyes landed on the source of the scratching sound.
The casket.
A hand, remarkably preserved, puched through the stone, sending his stumbling backwards, before a sharp pain in his leg sent crashing to the floor amidst the gold.
A hand clutching a rusted old dagger, with no body beside, had stabbed him. He scrambled backwards, his face going deathly pale, as all around him the skeletons came to life, their bones creaking as their heads turned towards a single point: Zephyn.
He lashed out wildly with his broad sword from the ground, chopped the legs out from beneath one of the undead, deflecting the sword of another. He leaped to his feet, narrowly avoiding being kneecapped by an axe wielding skeleton, and wheeled around to grab his pack, treasure falling from the uncinched opening. He plunged towards the stairs, lopping the head of one, crushing the sternum with his hilt of another. Boney arms punch through the stone walls where more of the warlords braves were buried. As he bounded up the steps a roar came from behind him; The man himself, arisen from his coffin to once more kill his enemies. Hands grabbed at his hair and clothes, he attention wholey focused on the opening of light above him, the outside, if he can just keep running….
