Catacombs of Pandora

Spoiler warning! This section contains plot details about the game.

Lore

He was a rich man.

But more than his industry, it was his frugality that saw his fortunes grow. In a word, he was a miser.

He cut every expense from his daily life, and never left a shop satisfied until its clerk was reduced to tears by his relentless haggling.

Though not descended from wealth, his inborn stinginess was a sure ticket to society's upper echelons.

He hated only one thing more than waste: taxation. Why should he be forced to give up the money he had earned by rights?

The thought alone filled him with righteous indignation... And so he lied. But a serving girl informed the authorities of his under-reporting.

Rumour reached him that an auditor was to come to his estate. The treasures he had amassed would be snatched away! 'No," thought he. Better to die than to suffer such deprivation.

He knew he had to hide his fortune away - but where?

His determination to take his wealth to the grave would be his inspiration. The catacombs. A mass burial site on the outskirts of the city. No sane man would willingly set foot in those rat-infested halls. It was the perfect vault.

He crammed crate after crate with riches and carried the lot to their grim new home.

His peace of mind at last restored, he returned to his manor house.

Yet within hours, he found himself standing again at the catacombs' verge. The moment he left, doubt had crashed down upon him.

What if a thief were to prowl those tombs? What if someone had witnessed him coming here?!

Each scenario he envisioned was worse than the last, and each, he was convinced, more likely to occur. A captive of his doubt, the wealthy man soon found himself also a captive of the catacombs.

Man rarely hesitates to take what he can - even another's possessions. The wealthy man harboured no illusions, for he himself had oft resorted to tactics less than noble in his dealings.

And so he lingered there beside his hoard, checking to see if anything was missing. Hours turned to days, then weeks. The man erected a crude guardhouse there among the dead. Before long, that was the only home he knew.

Every few hours, he would open each crate and examine its contents. Reassured, he would return to his hut, but his reassurance was ever short-lived.

Insomnia ate away at him. In the throes of his obsessive watch, he had scarcely taken the time to eat.

Falling prostrate upon the cold ground, he realised he would soon join his silent neighbours.

But instead of silence, it was a strange whisper that met his ears. As he raised his eyes, he saw a curious chalice floating before him.

"What has driven you to death's door?" "Was there some pressing need to fulfil?"

The wealthy man nodded in assent.

It was a craving for certainty killing him now. The assurance that his riches would never be taken by another. Granted that peace of mind, finding peace in sleep would be simple. And so it was the wealthy man saw his wish granted.

When next he opened a crate to check upon his riches, he found within it the mouth of a new cavern. Its walls and ceilings square, it was a perfect mirror to the box that spawned it.

And upon that cavern's floor there stood a crate, identical to the first. Prying its lid open, he found within it another cubic cavern, and another in turn.

The man rejoiced. Surely he could wish for no more perfect hiding place than this. Yet it was not long before he came to know the dangers of perfection.

True, no man could ever reach his precious hoard now... Not even the wealthy man himself. Panic soon set in. He prised open the next crate, and stepped within it.

And again. And again. For what life remains to him, the man is doomed to continue in his fruitless pursuit.

Because he has failed to realise. His wealth is lost forever.

He had wished for immunity from theft, and found it. The chalice had made quite sure of that.

For a man with no treasures can never be robbed.

The price for his security was everything he had hoped to protect.

And so the man continued to pass from one box into the next.

Does he still live, a slave to cruel hope, or have his bones filled his empty trove? This, no one can say... 

Quests taking place

.....?^{[citation needed]}

Quotes

Heard during memory quests:

• Was my hidden fortune safe I wondered...
• The thought troubled me all night.
• But I know a place...
• The contents of this box will not be found.
• Not even by myself.
• Help! Get me out of here!