The Wizard and I stood in a candlelit room, staring at the box. It was small, gilded at the edges, and strongly locked. He told me that it contained a Philosopher’s Stone, an Arcanum crystal of such purity that, with it, anything could be possible.

I was rightly nervous. At the time, magic items had a way of twisting my stomach into knots. This was no different.

The Wizard turned the key, began to lift the clasp, but paused. He said that I should be the one to look inside.

Nervously I did so.

Erupting from the box were several coiled snakes, striking at me. I fell backwards in horror, grabbing them when I could, and throwing them across the room.

The Wizard was on the floor in the far corner, stricken by…laughter.

“Gullible boy, you think I would trust you with a Philosopher’s Stone?” he cried out.

The snakes, he explained, were constructed of paper, loaded with springs, and designed to make a fool of me.

I wasn’t always a necromancer, but I killed my first wizard that day.