The Gift/The Perfect Crime – written by Womby – Narrated by Asclepius
Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a couple of great short stories written by Womby. Musical background “No More Magic”, by HorrorPen, at www.opengameart.org.
Slowly, ever so carefully, Feldring secured the final gem in place. The ornate cloak had taken several months to craft, and represented the culmination of his skills in textiles, tailoring and alchemy.
All that remained was the final step. Once completed, the cloak would cause its wearer to age rapidly, proving fatal within the hour. After two hours, all that remained would be an easily disposed of skeleton.
Feldring summoned all the skills resulting from many years of alchemy and completed the cloak.
Tomorrow he would present it to his wife for her fiftieth birthday, and the day after he would be able to invite the attractive wench he had secretly been seeing to take her place.
He had lost a lot of sleep working on this project and now, overcome with exhaustion, he collapsed onto the makeshift cot in his workshop and fell into a deep sleep.
Shortly after, his wife Portia tapped on his door to inquire if she could bring him some food. Hearing no reply she tiptoed in and saw him lying unconscious on his cot.
“Poor dear” she thought, “he works so hard.” The window had been blown open by the wind, making the room bitterly cold.
With loving care Portia laid the newly completed cloak over Feldrings sleeping body, and quietly tiptoed out.
The Perfect Crime
It should have been the perfect crime.
An informant had told Gratnor that Sir Ewan Masterton had the most impressive collection of gemstones in the entire Vale.
He also told Gratnor that Sir Ewan spent every Friday evening in the Hearth Inn after sending his only servant on a weekly supply trip to Owl’s Head. His Knight Marshall tower keep should therefore have been unoccupied.
The entry was ingenious. The powerful stealth potion had been obscenely expensive, but Gratnor considered it a worthwhile investment as he managed to slip inside unnoticed when Sir Ewan left for the evening.
Once inside, he headed straight for the hidden room that would surely be the place where valuables were kept.
Entering the room proved no obstacle for someone who had spent many years honing his skills as a thief. Surprisingly however the room was empty, save for a trapdoor that apparently led to a basement of some kind.
Cautiously Gratnor descended the ladder into the basement. Not wishing to alert any person or creature he might encounter, he felt his way along the wall in the dark.
After several twists and turns Gratnor came up against what felt like iron bars. A loud clanging sound behind him caused him to freeze in his tracks, and he suddenly found himself locked in a cage on the edge of a large room, as various people in robes lit torches.
In the centre of the room was a large altar.
As one of the people in robes approached his cage he recognised the face of his informant, who smiled at him, then turned to his colleagues and said “It is time. The sacrifice has arrived.”