After slashing your way through legions of the evil Paku King’s imps and gremlins, diving farther and farther into the depths of his underground lair, you finally stand over his stinking body, triumphant, unwavering, and wrench the Mace of the Four Winds from his cold grip. Revenge at long last! Unfortunately, you spent your last scroll of identify on an iron chain a few floors up, and as the Paku King’s death rattle snickers through the caverns, the Mace of the Four Winds melds itself to your hand. It’s been haunted!
And again through the caverns echoes a new sensation, the chill of all the tortured spirits of the monsters you slew, their silent, unanimous shriek clambering underneath your skin, scraping across your bones, and sending you to your knees. It becomes clear that your climb to the top will not go unnoticed, that an entire horde of the undead now awaits your ascent.
“Well,” you grunt, gripping the Mace of the Four Winds tighter, “how better to rid this curse than to destroy every last spirit haunting this crooked place…,” and you rise.