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Your memory of this tomb is foggy. Its stone walls stand entirely conquered by lichen and moss, the scent of which mingles with the damp stone and the oppressive stench of decay. A distant water drip echoes in the darkness.
You appear to be alone. A tattered tunic, soiled with dark stains, covers your body. New urges assail you from within: hunger, cold, and thirst--demands unfamiliar to steel. You put them aside. There is something you are forgetting. Something important...
A curse.
You turn just in time to meet the <span class="mu-i">wekt</span>, newly risen from the tomb in which he was interred. Skin and muscle have long since eroded, leaving nothing but grey bone. Two wells of bluish light shine out from its sockets, seeking the intruder it has been geased to punish.
Though the wekt is a only shadow of the man it once was, it is far beyond the capabilities of this puny goblin. As much as it cuts your pride, you must flee. You attempt to do just that and fall back, tripping on something warm and soft beneath your feet. The wekt climbs out of its crypt, its clicking fingers reaching out dumbly to steal your breath. Should it touch your blade, it will siphon your magic. You scramble backwards on your hands and feet, and the thing beneath you groans.
It appears to be another goblin, still breathing thought its head is soaked in blood.
>What do you do?
>Try and save the goblin at risk to yourself, you were forged to protect, after all.
>Abandon the goblin and flee the chamber, the wekt cannot follow beyond its domain
>Drive your point to the neck of the goblin, a last mercy, for to be drained by a wekt lies a fate worse than death.
>Write-in
