A Thief's Pitfall Part 3: A Death Wish

Garak sat up and brushed himself off, the dust flying around in a cloud of smoke. He coughed a bit, then turned face to look at a rather large statue that depicted a demon of some sort. He didn't know too much about demons, but he knew enough that they were evil and vile creatures. The surprising part was that this statue wasn't there just a few seconds ago. “Now where did you come from,” Garak said as he reached slowly for his daggers at his sides.

“Garak.. Stoneswift,” a wispy voiced beckoned to him from where the obsidian portal stood, “Come to me... Garak.” He thought wiser to not go anywhere near the portal. Especially after seeing this demon statue appear out of nowhere. Instead, he stepped towards the unhinged wooden door that swayed and squeaked ominously. One thing he knew, he was going to get out of this strange place – and fast!

“Garak... come back to me...” the wispy voiced called out to him. He stopped before entering the archway that led out of this hell hole. A voice inside told him not to turn around, but his curiosity as a thief defeated his better judgment. Garak turned to face the obsidian portal once again. His blood ran cold as a sudden chill snapped up his spine. Standing before him was a ghostly visage of his dead sister, Dimona. She held her arms out as if to reach for Garak and spoke in a confusing tongue that couldn't be dwavish.

“Your not real! You be dead, I swear it to all dah' gods.” He trembled with fear and never before experienced such an encounter. Part of him wanted to run for the hills, but he couldn't seem to move his body. It was as if he were paralyzed right where he stood.

“No.. I.. am.. your Dimona. I've.. come.. to.. save you,” the ghostly imposter replied. She moved closer towards Garak. Her feet barely lifted above the ground in a hovering position. The imposter moved her hands to touch his face, when he swung his dagger through its face.

“Away fro' me demon! To hell wit ya!” The visage disappeared for but a moment, and reformed in the image of the demonic statue that was there just before. Its eyes glowed with a deep set of yellow, and its wings sprung out from its rock hard body.

Garak ran for his life in the opposite direction, slamming the broken door behind him as he went. Voices murmured inside of his head, but he kept shrugging them off the best he could. It had to be some kind of enchantment. Some kind of devil's play room. It wasn't real he kept telling himself.

He rushed around a corner and saw yet another door before him, but the faster he ran the further the passage seemed to be. It was as if he were running in place, but clearly he was running forward.

“Blast it all to hell. I'm not bein' aten by no demon.” He ran as hard as he could, but to no avail. Eventually he stopped from running altogether to catch his breath. Why couldn't he escape this darned place. It had to be a trick, it just had to be. He always found a way to escape. Even in the midst of the closest dangers. He looked behind him and noticed the demon was gaining on him.

He looked up at the ceiling and drew out his blades. “So dis' is how'd its suppose'd to be eh,” he mocked the gods. He turned to face the demon and rushed forth roaring with as much wind as he could muster, jumped up in the air, blades high in the air.