The Stranger beckoned the group into a grease-stained corner of the tavern, the air thick with the sour scent of desperation. He leaned in, his face flickering in the candlelight with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

"Listen up, 'heroes'—and I use that term with a massive amount of charity," he hissed, "I’ve actually done the heavy lifting for once and found a lead on a key that might finally crack this blasted box. Turns out, it isn't a key at all. It’s a bone, a femur."

He chuckled—a dry, rasping sound like sandpaper on a coffin lid.

"Word is, Malakor the Unshriven has it. He’s a Mummy Lord with a temper as dry as his skin and a serious hoarding problem. He’s clutching a femur from Elincia Caelumir, what never heard of her or the family, pick up a book read some history. She was quite the big deal a few centuries ago. The bone is etched with runes identical to the ones on this box. And before you ask, yes, Malakor and I have... history. The old dust-bag got his bandages in a twist because I used some of his sacred burial wraps for, let’s say, 'sanitary emergencies.' He hasn't let it go. Petty, right?"

He slammed a yellowed, grime-streaked map onto the table, his finger stabbing at a dark blotch.

"He’s burrowed deep inside Runclyd. Now that the stuffy elves and the fickle fey have left we are free to explore the depths of Runclyd once again. It’s a dungeon crawl, pure and simple—the kind of place where the traps are smarter than the 'heroes' and the shadows have actual teeth. If you’re lucky, you’ll only lose your dignity. If you’re not... well, I won't have to pay you."

The Stranger leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a sarcastic growl.

"I don’t know what you’ll need down there—holy water, better armor, or perhaps a new set of brains—but luck has been on your side so far. Here’s the deal: whatever gold, gems, or shiny junk you find in that hole? Keep it. I don't want your dusty trinkets there are probably more cursed items then actual helpful ones. I only want two things: that elven bone and the contents of this box once we get it open."

He offered a rare, sharp glint of a smile.

"Do this for me, and I’ll open up my personal treasure trove. You’ll each get to pick one item from a collection that would make a dragon weep with envy. But don’t start daydreaming about your new toys just yet—let's see if you can actually survive the Mummy Lord, without tripping over your own feet first."

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