You step over the body of a dead Goblin, and it's master, a vicious wormlike thing referred to only as "Fud."  To the left of you, wiping blood off his holy maul is your lifelong friend, and party Cleric Elrond.  Elrond was hurting, bad.  The tall Human started this journey with over 200 hp but is down to 80.  No healing potions left, and he refused to use his divine help on himself.  You smile;  As much as you wish you could force your friend to heal himself, you respect him even more for his commitment to the quest.

     To your right is the newcomer to the party.  Bittorrent is a Skaven, a humanoid rat-like creature who never should have been here.  You protested, but the young bastard was too determined so he came anyways.  He's been getting beat down for weeks now with no sign of recovery.  The stump on Bittorrent's backside stands straight up in preparation.  A month ago, that stump would have been a 7-foot whip, a deadly weapon indeed.  But that tail is gone now.  Chewed off by a vicious pack of scavenger Doges while he lay unconscious after being thrown off a steep cliff.

     Behind you is the bodies.  You don't need to look to see them.  The pictures of them are burned into your retinae, into your very soul.  Exelem, the Pixie Druid, such a bright future now nothing more than a pile of wilted flesh.  Aave and her familiar, Bat, both at death's door, poisoned with an antidote only you can retrieve.  You will move on.  You must.

     You step into the Necromancer's antechamber.  The magical orbs floating through the room give a red glow, lighting the room.  One the opposite side you see them, the antidote that will save your friends.  You take a step forward and an image flashes through your head.  The face of a long dead warrior, your mentor- Polka of the Dot tribe.  Your mind races in confusion.  It's as if she was standing in front of you, still clad in her legendary Ethereum Shard armor.  "Is this real?" you ask yourself.  "Why now?"

     A single word leaves the specter's mouth before the vision vanishes.  Auction.

     "Auction?" You say aloud, angry that you've allowed yourself to be so distracted at such a critical moment.

     "Auction?" Elrond answers back.

     "Nothing...nevermi-"

     "Did you call for an Auction?"  The voice seemed to come from nowhere, and everywhere at once.

     "I shall let you bid on your friend's life.  All I require...is your soul"

     "To the Abyss with you!" You cry out, brandishing your chipped and dulled broadsword.  "I'll never give you my soul!  Come out and fight!"

     "Ahh, I don't want you to give it to me.  Simply...loan it.  The spell to save your friend will last 6 - 48 weeks depending on the Lunar and Parachain cycles which feed my power.  Until then, they are stabilized and will survive.  But they must stay with me until such time as the spell is complete, or they will surely perish from that despicable poison running rampant through their veins."

     You look back at Aave and Bat.  They are both breathing a little easier than even a moment ago.  A loan...just a loan... You think to yourself.

     "You said a bid.  What are the stakes?"

     "Well," The sorcerer's voice boomed throughout the underground room, "If you lose, I keep your souls.  And I keep your friends.  If you win, you get your soul back, and your friends, and I shall have life put back into your dead mate and the mouse."

     Images of Exelem flash through your head, picnics, battles, laughter.  "You...can bring her back?"

     "Yes.  If you bid soon.  The cycle has almost begun.  I can bring her back."

     Your mind races, trying to think of all the possible results to each decision.  But as soon as you look back again and see one of the small lizards that inhabit this dank dungeon beginning to chew on Exelem's torn pixie wings, you know that the choice was already made.

     "Do it."

     "Excellent." 

     A bright green flash fills the room, you hold your hand before your eyes but the light shines through.  Bones appear in front of you and you realize that it is your own bones, your fingers being highlighted by this bright light through the flesh of your hand.

     As soon as it comes, the light fades, leaving you in dim red again.

     "The auction is done, the wager completed.  For I am the Master Sorcerer, the vizier of the Underground Tower, the son of Polka of Dot herself, I. Am. Kusama!"

     "What now Kusama?"  You purposely interrupt the voice, partly out of annoyance, and partly out of genuine confusion.

     "Now?" Kusama laughs, and the vicious mockery surrounds you, increasing your fear.  Your uncertainty.  Your doubt.

     "Now, we wait."

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