"Perhaps," says Moth aloud to himself, "I ought not to meddle in whatever dark magics are bound here. But I fear that I am a slave to my own curiosity. And in any case, such wards as these must be here for a purpose, and if such evil creatures keep a thing behind lock and key, then perhaps it may be turned to some good purpose." That said, he studies the runes on the chest until he feels ready, then chants a poem of protection as he attempts to unravel the wards upon the chest, using his own dagger where necessary to deface the dark runes.
The lizard tramples the ruins; poetically shreds the push of the sickle!