The darkness hung in the old tomb's nighted halls like tapestries of a ghostly kingdom. Glinting pinpricks of dust flittered to the ground, disturbed for the first time in centuries by some errant gust from a nameless wind. The great jade sarcophagus laid upon a cracked lapiz-lazuli dais untouched for untold years, the silence unbroken since the death of the old dynasty. A thunderstroke cracked; a blast of dust and smoke burst as the sarcophagus lid shuddered open. A withered hand juddered from the gloom: grasping the lid, a skeletal husk heaved into the dim light. A skull wrapped in skin dry and pale as parchment loomed aloft. It gaped and gasped, coughing fitfuls of dessicated beard into the stagnant air like a dandelion clock. The figure looked, squinting its wrinkled eyelids uselessly over the sockets from which eyes once gazed.
