"Ti´lar´s Folly" by Kyle ´Khet´ Wolff

            Ti’lar twitched his wrist, the lock snapping opening easily. Just as he eased the door upon a faint snick could be heard. Cussing he dropped to the ground just as a bolt buzzed angrily through the air where his head had been. This was not a good start.

            Slowly he pulled himself up and looked around. Muttering quietly the room flared to brightness as he spoke the last word of a spell of night vision. The room was like any noble’s, finely furnished showing off their wealth that he so obligingly ‘relieved’ them of. The plush red carpet was of Southern make, most likely the Ec Anad. More inspection revealed many small bumps in the carpet, traps.

            Rolling his eyes he began a rather foolish looking dance, hopping and jumping and twirling through the room, expertly avoiding the step-traps and slit-traps hidden in the room. Smiling to himself he came to a stop at a rather elegant armoire. Northern make. Shal’atal. Whoever this noble was he was rich. Running a trained hand over the armoire he checked for traps, wires, even runes that could bring harm upon those who did not know the words to freeze the spells.

            Finding nothing Ti’lar slowly eased the door open, waiting for the tell-tale snick of a trap wire being released. Perhaps this time it would be another stink trap. The last time that happened he smelled worse than a Kim’amar Troll for two weeks. Hearing nothing he pulled the door open and looked inside. Nothing. Feeling some hope he hadn’t known was there crushed he turned and looked back around the room. His eyes wandered to a tapestry which seemed to move slightly, though there was no wind in this windowless room.

            Resuming his foolish dance his landed in front of the tapestry and slowly pulled it open. Behind the very expensive decorum was a wooden door, slightly ajar. Sliding the door open Ti’lar grimaced as the hinges squeaked, echoing over and over down the dark tunnel. Slipping inside he made his way cautiously down the tunnel, noting which stones were press-plate and which ones were likely to blow up.

            At the end of the tunnel there was yet another door. First checking the door for traps or alarms and finding nothing he then proceeded to pick the lock. After what felt like hours, and seventeen picks broken, the lock finally clicked open and the door swung away at its own accord.

            The room beyond was filled with treasures beyond any measurable amounts. Gold was piled in heaps upon the ground, rubies and emeralds and sapphires and amethysts glinted in the dull torchlight. Crowns and gilded swords and ornate suits of armor lined the walls. Coins of all kinds, from the Ec Anad of the South, the Shal’atal of the North, even some from the reclusive Eifhem of the far West were present. Slowly a grind spread across Ti’lar’s face as he stepped into the room.

            Lost in the beauty of the uncountable amounts of treasure, gold, jewels, and anything else of wealth his foot landed on a press-plate. Looking down his eyes widened in shock as he heard the door slam shut behind him. As he turned he was looking at nothing but a blank wall, no different from all the others. There was no door, in its place was a suit of armor made of gold.