I have to admit that this didn't actually happen -- it's a composite of several experiences, good and bad, during the time I hunted in the desert tombs.



Escape At Twilight

The day was hot. The wind and scouring sand
blew through my armor till they scorched my skin.
It seemed indeed a desert without end;
I searched the dunes to find a way within,
but all was trackless sand both east and west,
till suddenly my journey seemed complete:
for as Sunrifter's light lay down to rest,
the stairway of the Tombs lay at my feet.
Slowly I trod that dark forbidding stair,
with echoes of my steps the only sound,
whose eerie cadence seemed to say "Beware,
lest you be not the finder, but the found!"
An ancient tale the hieroglyphics told;
in torchlight shone a scarab made of gold.

A smell of deep corruption seemed to greet
my wary nostrils, and the dusty floor
displayed the marks of strange misshapen feet;
some shambling creature stalked this way before.
Though fearful, still I dared the northward hall,
till to the east I found an empty room
I hoped was refuge. Shelved against its wall
were jars and crates, cobwebbed in dusty gloom.
But in that dim corroded door I saw
a skeleton, an undead fleshless foe,
attacking me with sword in bony claw,
with eyeless skull alight with evil glow.
'Twas face to face with death I struggled there
and called on Ben the Mighty in despair.

A lucky blow in battle, fear-empowered,
shattered the bony limbs and rusty sword,
and slew the thing. I trembled like a coward
and icy sweat like rivers down me poured.
I breathed relief, escaping from my doom:
"O praise Miranda, nothing worse can come!"
'Twas then I heard more steps outside the room
and felt my hair on end, my heart go numb.
The steps dragged closer, and with every breath
the stench of rot grew stronger in the air,
a foul miasma, redolent of death,
a stink my mortal lungs could hardly bear,
till clearly in the door the monster stood:
a rotting feeder sought my flesh and blood.

The looming creature blocked my path to flight.
I drew a breath and gagged. It struck me twice.
Determinedly I raised my sword to fight,
and vowed to sell my life at dearest price.
I traded blow for blow, and reeled with pain.
I faltered, but no longer tried to flee;
I swore that in this battle I would be
a hero living, or a hero slain.
Its reeking claws resounded on my shield.
I struck a blow, and pieces from it fell,
of shoulder, arm, and rib-bones now revealed
in foul putrescence and a charnel smell.
It staggered back. I dealt a final blow
and cut the thing in half from head to toe.

'Twas then I fled, and through the blood and dust
I ran in darkness, ready sword in hand,
and climbed and climbed until I breathed a gust
of desert air, and felt my feet on sand.
I left the Tombs, and never looked behind,
but gladly saw the harmless stars and sky,
and crossed the bare and windy dunes to find
the lights of Milltown, welcome to my eye.
In Milltown Inn I thankfully arrived
(though tracking blood and ichor as I came),
and, grateful to the gods that I survived,
I raised a glass in their immortal name.
Through many times of triumph or regret,
That great escape I never will forget.