Rose stood in the back of the dining hall clutching the large ceramic urn tightly in her arms. Her small frame, lost in the sea of others making up the court of Lord Gula, was braced against the wall struggling with the heft of her prize. It was her first time in such a place and it showed. Her unkempt hair, matted with twigs and debris and ragged patchwork clothes would have normally been all it’d take to deny her entrance to this part of the city. It was plain as day that the “Necrelite” were better than her.

A bell rang and a hush fell over the crowd as she used her elbows to push herself upright and made her way towards the main table.

Finally, it’s my turn. Better not blow it.

Soon she found herself standing at the front of the crowd, before a large wood table. It’s planks twisted and warped into cracked splintered ends. They intertwined with gold-ish bronze trimmings that looked about as old and tarnished as the man slouched in the middle. It’s faded brown stain with a glassy varnish matched the look in his eyes.

She presented her offering to the main servant who peered down his nose at her before reacting. The urn, plain and lacking any embellishment despite its size, had a large chip missing from the bottom and was covered in as much dirt as she was. In fact, it lacked any remarkable distinction at all. Perhaps that’s why it hadn’t already been taken from the well-picked over pile she’d found it in. It was an overlooked vessel in a sea of opulence.

“This is what you have to offer our Lord?” The servant scoffed and grabbed the urn from her outstretched arms.

The crowd chuckled.

“It may not look like much, but it’s old.” Rose paused, “And it’s still sealed.”

Lord Gula sat up and raised one hand to hush the crowd, motioning his servant to present the offering. He placed his ear against it while tapping the side. With a small smile and a gleeful giggle the Lord addressed Rose directly.

“It’s been a long time since someone’s given me something like this. Sealed urns are quite the delicacy. Tell me child, what do you desire?”

“Passage, Lord. I need to cross the river.”

“Ah yes, passage. Everyone wants to cross the river. Why else would they come to me?” He paused and looked at the urn again.

“Yes, Lord. I want to join my mom-”

“Save the sob story child!” Lord Gula interrupted. “I don’t care why you need across, just that the price is paid. A hefty price at that.”

Lord Gula lifted his spoon from the table and smashed it against the top of the urn, cracking the top before plunging it inside.

“And that price,” he continued, “will all depend on how this tastes.”

With that, he lifted the spoon to his mouth and began to devour the remains inside.