Echo's of Gold

Beneath the gaze of the constellations, a dark silhouette crept through the ancient cemetery. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves hung heavy in the air as his heart trembled.

Daimion was a man driven by insatiable greed and visions of eternal wealth. The wind bayed demonic howls while rotting maps and whispered tales guided him. Each step was careful, each breath both excitement and insanity.

Finally, he reached a mausoleum deformed by time, adorned with inhuman carvings. Stories spoke of an indigenous priest of El Dorado. Daimion’s spasming hand ready to unearth glory. Frenzied, twitching in pain, but hope rising with each scrape as he shovels through centuries of history, finally a chamber lay exposed before him. With bated breath, he pushed the massive stone cover

Now gazing upon the priest’s remains a gold knife glistened at its heart, inscribed with twisted symbols. A demonic echo whispers about the constellation Saurus.

Daimion looks through the hole above witnessing the hideous constellation. Stars shimmering brighter than the riches below; a vision project’s of sparkle but not beauty, light but not hope, wealth but not comfort; Daimion’s mind shatters, for riches were never meant for man.