A shadowy figure in a hooded cloak moves quietly between the gravestones. A misty slither of fog hangs lightly above the overgrown weeds of the once well-trodden cemetery grounds. The figure stops amidst an above ground tomb. Removing a crowbar from somewhere within the cloak, the figure begins to pry at the ancient, heavy stone slab that lays atop the tomb. With great effort the stone slab begins to slide glacially across the top of the tomb. The innards of the ancient grave are too dark to see within. A withered, broken grin is revealed across the face of the figure in the cloak. He removes a curved silver dagger, gripping it in the hand opposite the torch. Throwing back his head he shouts to the vast vacuumed starlight in a long-dead tongue. Raising the dagger, he plunges it deep into his chest, cackling madly as he moves to set himself ablaze with the torch. A bloodied, cackling, ball of flame collapses upon the lid of the cracked tomb. A thin stream of boiling blood runs from the