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Driskoll laughed.
When you
worked for Old Oswald as a scroll tender, you had to make your own
entertainment.
"I hear that
laughing!" Oswald called from the doorway. "Scroll tenders do not laugh!
Now, stop dawdling and get to work!"
Driskoll
sighed.
"Here's
another one for you." Oswald tossed a roll of parchment through the open
door. Driskoll barely managed to catch it.
"That one
came from the ruins," Oswald snapped, "so be sure you add more purifying
crystals. You never know what kind of evil magic is in there."
As Driskoll
gripped the scroll, he felt the irresistible urge to read it. It was
almost as if the ancient paper were calling to him, whispering: Open
me. Read me.
"And for the
last time! Don't read the scrolls!" And with that, Oswald slammed the
door shut, making the whole back wall of his house tremble.
Of course,
telling Driskoll not to read the scroll made him want to do exactly the
opposite. Gripping the tightly rolled paper, he crept around to the
other side of the cauldron, making sure to avoid the sparks from the
fire underneath the pot.
He took a
quick glance around the cauldron. Good. The door was still shut.
Flopping
back onto the ground, he settled into a comfortable reading position.
Slowly, he unrolled the parchment.
What he saw
nearly made him fall into the flames.
There, on
the browning, aged paper was a charcoal drawing of a dagger. The sketch
was vivid in every detail. The dagger's broad blade almost seemed to
poke up off the page. A Knights of the Silver Dragon emblem was
emblazoned on the dagger's hilt. And beneath the drawing, in looping
cursive writing was a caption that read: The Dagger of Doom.
But that
wasn't what had so frightened Driskoll.
What
frightened Driskoll was the name etched on the blade: KELLACH. |
