Lorian Duskthorn, a sly thief known for pilfering cursed treasures, slithered into the Tower of Echoing Shadows under a moonless sky. His target: the Nightshade Amulet, a jewel rumored to grant eternal life. To his surprise, the tower was abandoned—no guards, no spells. Too simple, he mused, tucking the amulet into his leather satchel.
But as he stepped outside, the amulet burned through the satchel and stuck to his chest like molten iron. A voice, faint and desperate, hissed in his mind: “Help me… before it’s too late.”
Confused, Lorian traveled for days to find Malakar, a reclusive sorcerer said to have crafted the amulet. He found the old man in a crumbling spire, surrounded by cracked spellbooks. Malakar’s laughter echoed when he saw the amulet. “You’ve doomed us both, thief. I didn’t create that thing—I trapped a vengeful spirit inside it centuries ago. And now you’ve woken it.”
Before Lorian could reply, shadows in the room writhed and formed into a towering figure with hollow eyes and clawed hands—the spirit. “At last,” it rasped, reaching for Lorian. “Your flesh will be my vessel.”
Thinking fast, Lorian swiped a rusty rune-disc from Malakar’s desk mid-conversation and hurled it at the spirit. The disc shattered, useless. The spirit sneered. “Mortal tricks cannot bind me!”
But Lorian noticed something: the voice in his head wasn’t the spirit’s—it was the amulet’s, begging for aid. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the amulet and pulled its magic into himself, ignoring the searing pain. His veins turned ink-black, and the spirit roared as its form began to fade. “No! You cannot—”
“Guess I just did,” Lorian spat, collapsing as the spirit vanished.
Malakar stared, horrified. “You’ve fused with the amulet’s curse. You’re immortal now… but bound to contain that thing forever.”
Wincing, Lorian staggered to his feet and flashed a grin. “Forever’s a long time. And I’m very good at escaping.” He tossed a silver dagger in the air—stolen from Malakar’s belt during the chaos.
As he limped into the dawn, the amulet’s voice returned, softer now: “Thank you.” But beneath it, Lorian sensed a new tremor—of fear.