"Yeah, I've been to the Fourth Tomb of Nezarec… Ain't enough Glimmer on you for me to consider ever going back there. You're on your own." —Drifter
"That does not belong to you."
A woman's voice cut through the air and traveled to Drifter's ears at the center of the room. The altar he'd been searching for stood before him adorned with hallowed objects. Many were of Eliksni origin, much like the tomb itself. An ornate container rested on a lavish cloth surrounded by unlit candles.
Sounds he couldn't quite discern filled the silence of the room.
"I hate to break it to you, sister," he said. "You and your Acolyte buddies'll have to pass on this one."
The candles lit spontaneously, and Drifter felt the hair on his neck stand. The fire's warmth danced far enough for him to spot a simple, robe-like garment that kept the woman's face hidden. It shifted as she stepped closer.
Drifter unholstered the handgun at his side. She did the same.
The low noise escalated to whispers. More prominent, almost excited.
"My father searched for this piece for a long time. I won't let you stand in my way," she said, words laced with ferocity.
Drifter's grip tightened. If he'd been anyone else, her intimidation might have worked.
"Well, I'm not letting you stand between me and a big pay day," he responded. "It looks like we're at an impasse."
The whispers danced in his psyche.
Drifter took a shot.
The sound disrupted everything in the room and blew the candles out. The muzzle flash revealed shadows with long claws reaching for him as he scooped up the container from the cloth.
The woman fired back, but Drifter was already gone, sprinting through the depths of the tomb with the shadows at his heels. He ran until the smell of death gave way to fresh air, and the shadows halted their pursuit.
His fee was about to quadruple.