"Miss Eastberg! Miss Eastberg!" the voice cried out. It carried through the crowd of people, the high-pitched tone clearly indicating that it was not only a child, but a gnome child at that.
Standing near a booth selling magical components, a blonde-haired woman turned, her face seeking the source of the voice. From a distance, she looked like any other woman in the crowd, her skin a golden tan and her body clothed in a flowing maroon dress. Upon closer inspection however, it was clear that there was something off about her. Perhaps it was the way she stood, seemingly at unnaturally stiff angles, or perhaps it was the purple tint that the veins beneath her skin had, but it was obvious to the casual observer that the woman was not quite as normal as she appeared. Only the thick, tinted glasses that covered her eyes managed to hide the fact that she was, in reality, a creature known as a death knight.
As Beckyann Eastberg turned, a young gnome child ran up to her, a piece of paper waving in his hand. He skidded to a stop before her, panting and trying to catch his breath as he thrust the letter up at her.
"Miss... Eastberg," he gasped. "I've a letter for you from my father!"
Beckyann looked down at the gnome child, her black-tinted lips curling into a smile as she reached out and gently took the letter from him. She recognized the young gnome at once; he was the son of a gnome named Spanner Copperzap; a person that Beckyann often worked with to advance her studies in archaeology and ancient cultures. Together she and the gnome had funded several expeditions in various areas around Uldum to investigate some of the ancient tombs there. Their relationship was mutually beneficial, allowing the gnome to pursue his love of archaeology and Beckyann to get her hands on the beautiful treasures and lost art that such tombs contained.
She studied the letter for a moment, noting that it was indeed sealed with Spanner's normal wax seal. Curiously, she ran a manicured finger across the wax, breaking the seal and opening the letter up to read it. Gnomish script covered the page, neat and exactly to the point as Spanner always was.
Dear Miss Eastberg,
I hope this letter finds you well. I would like to first extend my thanks for the wonderful troll death mask that you sent to me. I know it was likely difficult for you to obtain it since the site where you said it was uncovered had been submerged. Surely your unique constitution was helpful in retrieving it! The piece fits well with my collection of these masks, and I am very grateful.
The piece itself was unique in some ways when compared to the other masks we've examined. Upon close scrutiny of the mask, I discovered a line of glyphs inscribed on its inner surface. Further analysis of the surface of the piece has convinced me that this mask was never worn by a dead person! You can imagine my excitement when I realized that this death mask was likely used in rituals for the dead rather than as a ceremonial burial item! I am sure this has already piqued your interest given your fascination with burial customs!
I digress though! I took the piece to an associate of mine that I normally use for such research since I cannot speak even a small amount of trollish. The glyphs, when roughly translated, tell the tale of a witch doctor or 'Hexmistress' who was rumored to have great power amongst this particular troll tribe. The glyphs actually spell out a legend about this Hexmistress, telling a tale of her rise to power and her discovery of a method to 'harness the night' for unrivaled and inexhaustible energy! An amazing tale right?
It gets better Miss Eastberg! The glyphs tell of the fall of this Hexmistress, and how she was overwhelmed by her own tribe, lured to a false throne where she was trapped for all eternity. The tribe itself died off to some curse, with this mask being the last relic of the group. The best part though is that the glyphs give enough of a description of the structure that the Hexmistress was imprisoned in for me to make an educated guess as to its whereabouts! It's in Stranglethorn Vale! We can GO there Miss Eastberg!
I am sure you are as excited by this development as I am. If you are interested in another expedition, I would be happy to continue our previous arrangement. I will supply the equipment and ten percent of the costs and you supply the other ninety percent plus any incidental damages. I'm sure from the sale of the previous treasure troves we discovered you will be able to draw enough funds if you have sufficient interest.
Please respond as soon as possible if you would like to do this, as the business associate that I contacted to help with the translations is overly interested in what she translated, and you can never trust a goblin! I don't want her getting the jump on us!
Awaiting your reply patiently,
Spanner Copperzap
Beckyann folded the letter up, a smile on her face as she thought about what the gnome had written. A hidden tomb! One with a potentially powerful source of magic in it, and certainly rare and valuable treasures that she could pick through! Such chances did not come along all that often, and Beckyann was practically gleeful at the idea. Treasures left in tombs were for the dead, to comfort them in their afterlife and as far as Beckyann was concerned, since she WAS dead, all such items were gifts for her if she could simply find them.
Beckyann looked down at the gnome child who was practically bouncing from one foot to the other and gave him a charming smile, or as charming a smile as was possible when one was dead and one's mouth was filled with dripping black ichor. She patted him on the head with one of her cold hands and nodded, "Tell your father that I accept his offer. I will meet him in four days in the valley just north of Stranglethorn Vale. Our previous arrangement will work nicely and I believe this will be quite profitable, and a good learning experience, for both of us."
The gnome child nodded once, offering the dead woman a bow before scurrying back off through the crowd. Beckyann watched him go, her baleful blue eyes tracking him from beneath her stylish glasses. When he was lost to sight, she turned, thoughtfully looking over the items that the merchant was selling. If she was going on another expedition, she'd need to make sure she was well stocked with magical components.
She'd let the gnomes do the bulk of the work in hauling the equipment, providing security, and doing the actual digging, but they weren't so skilled at undoing magical traps that such tombs often contained. With her knowledge about the burial rituals that many races practiced, she would lend what aid she could to see that the venture was successful.
Although Beckyann was dead and rarely felt much of anything, the thought of the journey, of the learning and sheer novelty of acting the part of the wealthy patron of such an expedition sent a thrill through her. There was little she could enjoy in her existence now except knowledge and the pursuit of wealth that she never had as a poor peasant living in Corin's Crossing. It would be a grand adventure, and the rewards at the end of the trip might be more than she could even imagine.
Still smiling, Beckyann Eastberg went back to her shopping, the energy and bounce in her step a pale mockery of true life to any that observed her.
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