Tomb of Aznurhradi

In a hole in the ground lived a corpse. Not a pleasant tidy hobbit hole, but rather a dry sandy ill-kept one, albeit well-crafted many ages ago by long forgotten tradesmen to commemorate someone that they greatly loved, or who had a great deal of wealth or power at their disposal. As it turned out, it was all of the above.

Queen Aznur of Ul-Hradi was well loved in her time, by her own people, as well as those she came to rule. Which came as a surprise to those very people, who were not much predisposed to noble folk, regardless of where they cam from. And yet, it was so. For the Lady Aznur had a treasured gift of immense value unknown to the whole of nobility in that land and age. She possessed a golden humor and could laugh at herself; make light of mistakes, her own and of those about her. This was precious in an age of cruel tyrants and miserly ministers.

It was a crowning jewel in a life well lived. As she grew old, her people worked to create a beautiful mausoleum on the river, near the reeds and flowers she loved. So it was with some dismay that on the day after her funeral, her body went missing. Where had it gone? And who would have done such a foul deed to one so thoroughly embraced by her community? No one would ever know. Or so the culprit had believed.

Hidden away in a temple beneath the sands lay the unfading corpse of Aznur, left in another's place. That one was the Lord of Sands, BenhiRadu, and this haven below the ground had been crafted by the followers of that one-time sultan of the seering sun. Those treaders of the Way, that Golden Path, had constructed this secret place in cobwebbed eons beyond recall. Yet some tales lingered of the scale and reach of that lost Way, a power that echoed through the ages, if only in whispers.

It would have remained a mystery for eternity, but for the meddling of a necromancer in a far land. That mage of dark power had once reanimated a portly sage into the lithe body of a wizened rat. Such things were done in that day.

A gordian tale is rumored to have followed that rat sage through sea and sky, under rock and soil; ever on in search of a golden path to be set free.

The price of freedom was to lay the cursed fate upon another soul, and this was done, as that shriveled sage had more of rat in his nature than he would have supposed. The cursed one who was revived was none other than Queen Aznur, though fortune smiled on her, however wryly, by foregoing the rat and allowing her to inhabit her own old bones. Some claimed it was a gift of the Lord of Sands, but only he could say.

The riddle of her waylaid corpse and its true resting place was lost to the winds for centuries. Long after the last of her people had passed from the land, a roaming scrying scavenger of a man brought the first hint of fresh air into that dusty subterranean hollow. But that's another story...

If you like my work, consider supporting my patreon - www.patreon.com/imaginebetterw…

Cheers, J