In the far-off land of Galeria, there is a tale often told in hushed whispers. A tale of a dark sorcerer, a human man who bargained with powers so foul, they dare not be named. This man, Dalroth, was vain and ambitious beyond belief. He delved into tomes no respectable scholar would glance at, studied tombs considered forbidden and profane, and in return, gained powers beyond imagining.
Legends tell that Dalroth sold his soul to the Dark Gods, in exchange for his sorcerous abilities. They also tell that he could soon level buildings with a flick of his wrist, summon minions from alternate planes of existence to do his bidding, and bewitch foul rulers to ally with him. In a few short decades, the sorcerer went from shunned outcast to feared oppressor of an entire kingdom.
But there were those who stood against him. The bold Galerians who dared to defy the sorcerer called upon the High Elves from across the mountains. The elven queen, boundless in beauty and virtue, did come to their aid. It was a long and difficult war, and cataclysmic magics were cast, scarring Galeria forever. But in the end, the armies of the sorcerer and his allies fell. Light came to the land for the first time in recent memory, and the people did rejoice.
But of Dalroth himself, little is truly known. Some say he was killed by the Queen herself in single combat. Others claim he was thrown into the void, cursed by the gods he had foolishly bargained with. Others say he escaped, and steals naughty children in the middle of the night. Though centuries passed, Dalroth still remained on the lips of the Galerians, if only in hushed whispers...
...and it made Asha chuckle every time she heard it.
If there was one person in Galeria who did not believe the tale of Dalroth, it was her. At least, not entirely. She had come over the mountains in search of the truth of the story. Not of the powers that Dalroth had accumulated, but the riches. Having spent more than a month in Galeria, she was now certain that these illiterate peasants were so afraid of a tale passed down over time that they had entirely forgotten the real story. Sure, Dalroth, was a powerful ruler. That much Asha and her fellow elves knew. But dark powers? Hardly. What was more likely was that he had a well-hidden, trap-laden tomb full to the brim of shiny goods that no other treasure hunter would be brave enough to tackle. Which is exactly why she would be the first to claim it.
It had been a tough month, though. The Galerians knew little of the location of Dalroth's resting place and if they did, they weren't sharing. It had taken a hefty bribe for the old man in the previous village to divulge the location of the tomb. Hefty enough, he said, to get him out of town before something bad inevitably happened. It was all the money she had left. If this lead didn't pan out, it was back across the mountains for her.
So she found herself at the entrance to a cave, at the end of a long abandoned forest path. Gazing into the darkness. Asha spoke a simple incantation, and a bright ball of light shone forth from her hand.
It illuminated a creature of a rugged but beautiful appearance. At a little over a century old, Asha was fairly young among most elves. If she had been a human, no one could have placed her at over twenty-five. A decade's worth of restless adventuring had given her sun-tanned skin under white-gold elven hair. Though she had the slightly worn white tunic and brown trousers of a wanderer, a shrewd eye could tell they had once been of the finest fabrics. No amount of dirt or wear and tear could betray the near universal beauty of a high elf, though. Asha had facial features and body curves that any human woman would die to have. One had told her as much, while drunk at a tavern a few weeks ago. It amused Asha, the naturally low standards for good looks these humans had. She'd gotten more than one free drink in her travels from a lecherous man or woman, and a few fun nights from some of the better looking ones...
Taking a leather-booted step forward, Asha was hit by an almost unnaturally cold blast of air from within the cave. "An omen?" She smirked mockingly. She pushed forwards, into the magically illuminated darkness.
It was slow going, but after nearly ten minutes of careful creeping into the cave, Asha had found something recognizably artificial. A large set of bronze doors, still half ajar, a trio of ancient armored skeletons at their feet. She sidestepped past them, careful of any tripwires or magical sensors that still may be around. The room beyond was even more packed, the bones of long dead foes littering the chamber. Clearly this may have been the site of some last stand. Swords and shields of curious design still lay in the hands of the dead, arrows of clearly elven design in their backs or heads.
"Looks like the sorcerer's army was real after all." Asha muttered. "Now how about the sorcerer?" All of a sudden a small dripping noise could be heard behind her. Asha whipped around, seeing nothing but a tiny trickle from a nearby stalactite. She sighed a little. Perhaps her nerves were getting the better of her...
There was one more chamber to go. Past a duo of heavily armed, yet quite dead creatures whose skeletons Asha didn't quite recognized was what could only be described as a throne room. At least, it used to be. The ornate carvings, showing images of conquest and magic that made Asha uneasy, surrounded a large, empty chair. At the base of that chair, however, lay a skeleton. A robed skeleton.
"Well, hello there." Asha smiled. "Dolroth, I presume?" She took a leather boot, gently nudging it. It made no movements. Crouching down, the elf grabbed its arm and, carefully, flipped it over.
To say that Dalroth had seen better days was an understatement. His robes, likely regal once, were moth-eaten and in tatters. His bones were darkened with age, and his jaw hung open as though in some silent scream. Cradled in his hands, untouched by dust, lay a dark box made of some mysterious metal.
Jackpot. Asha reached down to grab--
A massive bolt of magical electricity pulsed from the box, zapping the elf in one quick strike. Asha tensed up, her muscles spasming, eyes fluttering. There was instant, massive pain, and then she fell to the floor, unconscious.
Everything was still for a few moments. The air became calm again. Then, almost imperceptibly, the box in the dead sorcerer's hands began to leak. A dark black fluid began to seep outwards, running over the skeletal digits and down onto the floor. This slime, this sludge, flowed, unnaturally, along the floor and in Asha's direction. The thick black fluid continued onward, onto Asha's boot, under Asha's trousers, up Asha's leg... The slime disappeared up her pants a singular destination in mind.
Asha awoke in a start, her muscles aching and a strange feeling in her crotch. Wiping a loose strand of bright hair out of her eyes, the elf struggled to stand. "Hnngh, what the fuck?" She swore, getting to her feet and looking back down at the dead sorcerer and his box. Kicking it in anger, the ancient box popped open, its lid flying off to the wall. Now unafraid of being zapped, Asha picked it up, examining the empty insides with something akin to fury. How could this be? All this, for nothing? She spent another hour examining everything. The throne room, Dalroth's body, even the skeletons outside. Nothing. The elf, forced by the approaching nightfall, was forced to leave in defeat, staggering back out of the cave into the fading light of day. And somewhere else, far off in another plane, a dark god chuckled in amuseument.
It was a day later, and Asha was horny. She'd made her way back to the main road connecting Galeria to the land of the elves, and she had just enough coin remaining to get her there. The almost painful disappointment she'd felt after crawling out of Dalroth's tomb was still there, but alongside it was a growing hunger in her loins. By the time she'd made it to a small roadside village and its inn, she was ready for two things: a tall tankard of ale, and something to fuck.
