The Kestrel Key of Krakken
Dr. Gene Hammond knew his patient was dying. He had done his best to save her, but the cancer was too far along. Had Ms. Malone been diagnosed sooner, there would have been a chance to save her. As it was, the breast cancer was in stage four and the woman had very little time left to live.

"How are we doing today, Ms. Malone?" Hammond asked as he looked at the patient's chart. He was making his rounds at Beth Israel Hospital in Boston. He saw Ms. Malone every day for the past two weeks.

A noise came from the woman in the hospital bed, but Hammond could not make out what she was saying. Hammond looked at her and nodded. "I will give orders to increase your morphine drip," he said sympathetically. She continued to make noise and lifted a shaky hand. She pointed to the small closet in the room.

Hammond was puzzled, but he opened the door and looked in. There was what looked to be a small seceptre lying on top of her shoes and clothes. "This thing? That's what you want?" he asked as he looked back at her.

"Take it," she croaked out in barely above a whisper.

Hammond reached down and picked it up.