The skeleton brandished a short sword, creakily advancing toward him with all the grace one would expect from somebody dead for hundreds of years. He and the stranger barely had a chance to size one another up before a rattling sound followed by the scrape of rusty metal being drawn from a sheath dragged Rumarin’s eyes from the man… and toward a moldering skeleton climbing out of its crypt, dust clouds still drifting from where the slab cover to its tomb had landed on the floor. Rumarin mentally steeled himself, and a moment later his ghostly blade sprang into his hand, summoned from some plane of Oblivion. A stranger stepped out from behind the column beside the entrance, smoothly drawing a bowstring to his ear and scanning the interior of the ruin before his eyes came to rest on Rumarin. Just then, a shadow darkened the twilight doorway. He bit off an oath, backing toward the entrance. A crash and a thunk sounded somewhere close to his left, followed by an identical sound to his right. Rumarin let out a breath, relaxing and pulling out a torch.Īs soon as the torch flared to life with a hiss, another sound broke the still air within the crypt- one that made Rumarin’s blood run cold. A few shards of pottery and worn chunks of stone were scattered about the floor. The space seemed to be only a single room, empty except for two ancient stone tombs and their attendant burial urns, still apparently sealed. Slowly he advanced, not trusting the ruin’s silence beneath the howling wind. First things first: these old ruins could harbor more than just rats and bone meal.
As his vision cleared, he shrugged back his cloak and drew his dagger. He shook his head, sending snowflakes and condensed water droplets flying. As he passed under the arched overhang, he couldn't hold back an audible sigh of relief. The stone steps were buried under deep snow and he nearly stumbled as he picked his way up the slope. He had been accumulating a truly impressive quantity of snow down the back of his hood, and while he had never before applied the word "cozy" to an old tomb, this one was as welcome as a roadside inn in this weather. Turning off the path, he began slogging his way through the deeper snow, kicking up small piles that then blew right back into his face. He had been considering digging out a shelter into a snowdrift and attempting to wait out the blizzard.
Rumarin’s knees sagged with relief as he glimpsed the outline of what looked like a hulking Nordic ruin just upslope, barely visible through the blowing snow in the twilight.
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