hustin.art

The thief's fingers froze an inch from the relic when the dragonbone crown began whispering in High Elvish—a language dead for centuries. “Oh hell,” muttered the rogue, just as the skeletal sentinels stirred in their alcoves, their hollow eye sockets glowing ember-red. The wizard backhanded his shoulder. “I told you touching cursed regalia was a bad career move!” From the shadows, a dry chuckle rasped—probably the lich they'd forgotten about. The rogue sighed and reached for his daggers. “Worth it.”