Mal, you keep your mouth tight as you wade through the water and flammable gas, having to endure another 50 ft before finally rising up some limestone steps to a rather long hall.
A few passages seem to branch north and confuse your mental mapmaking, but mercifully on closer inspection those passages have wholly collapsed. What remains are three closed doors on the south side. The first two are soundless at a quick check, but at the third you hear a lot of confused moaning...another torture victim, a horror rised from the dead, a hungover halfling...one of those probably.
Finally, at the end of the long hallway is a closed door leading further east...you only hear a faint rattle of chain beyond.
Mal returns to the Fisters and reports, "After 50 feet of sewer, it escalates to a hallway. Four doors: the first two are soundless, but behind the third I heard a lot of confused moaning... another torture victim, a horror raised from the dead, a hungover halfling... one of those probably. Behind the fourth door at the end of the hallway, I heard a faint rattle of chain."
Let's clear that wing out, if we can. Grim, you up to it? Just stay back a bit, and I can take the hits for a bit, Donal turns back to the halfling, No nasty traps, eh?
The priest nods.
So be it.
I will keep to the rear of the group.. my magic is strong, but I am still greatly injured.
Tibs stays near the back but gives a nod indicating he is ready.
The swolen wood splinters and cracks as Gorn puts some umph into it...the door doesnt 'open' exactly, rather its more accurate to say the chef moves the chunk of garbage out of the way. A quiet room, dark and empty...save a partially buried sarcophagus on the south wall. Only about half is exposed, the rest being under precisely 9 feet of limestone rubble.
Crypts, Donal mutters under his breath, Further desecration of the dead. No less than I would expect of the Dead Three... Shall we check the next one? Mal, if you will...
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Through a combination of powerfully swinging Shellcracker and powerfully just moving crap out of the way, Gorn wins his way through the obstacle and into the room. He breifly inspects his great hammer to make sure it wasn't harmed in the entering.
'Why have I never used this to tenderize meat? I bet it would make a good tenderizer. I'll have to check. Maybe I could tenderize and crack pepper at the same time!'
Stalking forward, he spies the south wall. He takes his hammer in a firm two-handed grip.
"Dead guys always have the best stuff and the least need for it," he grunts, swinging Shellcracker at the part of the sar-co-phag-us that he can see. (Sometimes he's not so good at syll-a-bles, but who's to gainsay that.)
*KhawhAm Bam SLaM*
Steel on stone. After the first crack, the ancient capsule rapidly sorted itself to sand. And through that crumbled aperture, the shriveled face of a demihuman smiled in its sleep. But you also notice disarray, beyond this most recent disturbance...someone has been here before to plunder the dead. Whatever riches this obviously important historical figure possessed they have either been greater hidden or previously looted.
Mal arches an eyebrow and points to the two doors that had noise behind them.
Gorn, respect our companion's belief. The Doomguides protect the dead in their rest. Grim is no doubt disturbed by your attitude toward the dead, Donal admonishes the big man.
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"But he is resting peacefully," Gorn states, looking confused.
"Right now he is sitting above the salt in a massive feasthall. The ancient oaken timbers above his head are thick as my thigh. Before him on great fires roast savory haunches of elk and boar, covered with drippings of honey and sage and garlic.
To hand his cup is filled with golden southern wines and rare northern ales. About him flit golden-haired beauties, well bestowed of chest and plump of lip and narrow of waist.
He looks down upon us and laughs, laughs, he laughs that we might take care of what to him and all is a broken shell. It served him well of life but now he gives it as little thought as the new grown snake might think the old skin, freshly shed.
Pray for their spirits, aye, but the concern yourself not with the mortal leavings.
... Or mayhap he burns in fires for misdeeds. And then, who cares?
We are judged by our actions unto the living, not the dead. As I am sweeter with a full purse, I merely seek to make the world a better place!"
Why don't ask Grim what he believes? The Lord of the Dead protects and guides the dead to the underworld. The remains are oft entrusted to His care. Your actions spit on the service of priests like our friend, Evandur, Donal speaks as a father to son, care in his voice.
The middle door of the 3 on the south wall leads to an identical chamber as the first. The difference being this sarcophagus is not covered in rubble.
The priest imposes his body between Gorn and the tomb.
Gorn, as a friend, as an ally and as the one who will be likely tasked with your care... either before your death as an adventurer or after you pass beyond because you are an adventurer, I am asking that you stop desecration of the dead and their resting places. Even if you have no regard for these points at all, I tell you such greed has released powerful spirits and undead from their prisons and done no end of evil to those who freed them and to the world at large.
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"I do not have regard for any of those points. The very ground you tread upon is more like to have been someone at sometime, but we do not cower on a tabletop just so we do not disturb the dust of ancient kings.
So too, are you saying you do not believe in Valhalla? Or the Elysium Fields? Or the Abyss? I thought you called yourself a cleric. Hence, if you do believe in those places, is not _there_ where the dead rest? So which is it, cleric? Are the dead resting in the higher realms with their deity of choice, or do they rest here in their broken shells?
As you ponder that, I will wait for you to examine this tomb to see if wards and the like now chain some powerful spirit to this place. I will wait. But if no wards exist, we can see that no powerful spirit is trapped to be released, and we need not fear it.
I choose to live life for the living, and let sleeping spirits fear me!"
I will not attempt to debate while we stand in enemy territory. My message is simple. If you value my friendship or support, you will not further disturb these Tombs or the slumbering dead.
He pauses.
But if the dead themselves attack you? Their leavings are up for grabs. Be a good fellow and save your strength for moving foes rather than the vague promises of looted wealth.
After all I'd not give away your cooking tips or seek to steal any of your cook books.
The dead do not need it, I see no reason to not make use of something that would make our job here easier.
Tibs remarks to Grim.
We can discuss putting it back later, but if it would serve to keep us alive longer, then... why should it gather dust in a tomb?
Mal listens in front of the door with the noise behind it that's NOT at the end of the hall while the morality debate plays out.
As the group debated graverobbing, the halfling took a more practical approach analyzing the sounds he heard from the 3rd door on the south wall...
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I will not attempt to debate while we stand in enemy territory. My message is simple. If you value my friendship or support, you will not further disturb these Tombs or the slumbering dead.
He pauses.
But if the dead themselves attack you? Their leavings are up for grabs. Be a good fellow and save your strength for moving foes rather than the vague promises of looted wealth.
After all I'd not give away your cooking tips or seek to steal any of your cook books.
'Steal my cooking tips..." Gorn repeats, looking more confused. Then a great broad grin splits his face and he gawfaws mightily. "Ha! HAHAHAHAHaha! Oh that is rich! Steal my cooking tips! Ha!"
Gorn grounds his hammer and rests upon it. He never was one to be hurried and finds this no different.
"My good man, you treat cooking as if it needs all the skill of making mud. 'You take water, add flour, and then you get a cake!'
Sirrah, I could take a well-bred, educated man, lead him by the hand to the kitchen, and lay out before him all the finest ingredients, each one chopped, prepared and measured by mine own hand. Then, upon me stepping back and laying the most detailed recipe before him, the resulting product crafted by his hand would be almost, entirely, the -opposite- of what he was trying to make.
Take thine own skill. My good Grim, I've seen you take mere seconds to heal a lethal sword-wound back to supple, pink flesh. I've seen you do it so many times I think I could imitate the words and draw the sigils in the air with immaculate precision. But would any harms be righted by my pantomime? Nay, sir, nay! A thousand times nay! Because my soul is not the same as yours.
And therein lays the rub. 'Tis the spirit that makes us, O man. Luminous beings are we. Not this crude matter," he casually massages a boulder-like bicep. "You must feel the life-force around you. THAT is what makes us, us."
Having spent his steam, he nods at Tibs to come join him. "And I say the dead have attacked me. The men upstairs were dead when they attacked me...they just didn't know it yet. And I say they were under baleful influence of some Specter of Darkness that resides in a sepulcher such as the one before us. It is only by uncovering and searching out such evil that we can truly save the world and make it way whole bunch more gooderer for all the fuzzy-wuzzies and tiny babies out there that have not our strength.
You are of course free to prove me wrong, but 'twould seem that it will take more time to do that then it will for Tibs and I to lift the top from this stone coffin and inspect its contents for Overall Goodness. Any items failing the test must needs of course be confiscated.
Tibs? You ready?
Oh, and Grim? They say if you must resort to violence you've already lost."
Do as you will then but know that Kelemvor will judge your actions accordingly. Tomb robbers have no favour in His eyes, nor do they in mine. I want no part of your finds. I will stand guard with Mal to ensure that nothing ill comes upon us while you insist on this ill founded course of action.
Expression stony and slightly offended he moves to guard the area so the group isn't ambushed, putting the larger mission at hand in the destruction of the cults.
Donal shrugs, Respect, my friends. I value Grim's healing and wisdom over any ill-gotten gains that might come of offending him. That is all I am saying. All choices have consequences, and affect someone else. I would not spit on your belief in Valhalla, just as I would not leave you behind just to save my own skin.
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The mean-looking halfling returns to the group and chastises, "are you done debating the benefits of following divine powers? And what's sacred before and after death?" He looks at Donal, Grim and Gorn.
"I hear between five and ten living creatures behind the next door. Can you get ready?"
I am ready... but what is the best approach here? We are ill prepared to fught greater numbers.
He thinks.
Use the door as a funnel?
Mylivanni for her part shrugged and offered "Whatever we leave behind will just be picked up by the next vermin to move in here. And right Grim, there's a reason intelligent races never attack across a bridge: chokepoint. Shields front, we should be able to hold them...unless they have mages or archers..."
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"Excellent! Then we have an understanding, and I'll not insult you further by trying to foist whatever ancient works of gems and gold upon you. Respect unto the lot of you for holding to your principles.
And, yes, for whatever the result of my most skuldugerous grave-robbing, 'twould be a fine thing to pick any doorway and take them out as they come. I've heard this referred to as the 'PEZ technique' though I'm unsure why it's called that."
Things having been seen to Gorn moves the lid off the sarcophagus to see if all the hullabaloo was worth it.
At first glance, it appears not. As before, the withered corpse (of obvious importance to someone some hundreds or thousands of years ago) has already been plundered for all its worth.
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Donal nods, satisfied at the conclusion of the conversation and readies his shield, gripping his war mace at the ready and moving into the choke point of the door.
Ooops - not looking at corpse so disregard that
Tiberius gets a whiff of something foul from the corpse, and certainly no riches to be had. Those damn necromites of Myrkul got first dibs, most likely.
Donal will take front, shield up.
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"Bother! Bother and confound!" Gorn swears. He hates an anticlimactic ending as much as any other, and this one most of all because he is affected by it. Had he been wrong all along?
"Oy! Mal! There are undead resting places to despoil! You want in on this?" he calls after the halfling skulker. It looked like there was nothing in the dead man's bones, but he didn't want to be rude and keep him out of the fun.
"Aye, Donal, I'll take up position behind you. We'll rush 'em good an' stomps 'em better."
Gorn felt like yelling WAAAGH! but wasn't really sure why.
The mean-looking halfling appears in the doorway after Gorn's request looking even more cranky, if possible. He could not believe the amount of noise that they were making. "Better be worth it." He mutters under his breath.
He pads over to the sarcophagus and hops up to take a look. He declares, "Something is off with the bedding of this sarcophagus. Its a soft white plaster, unlike the rough stone of its housing... it almost seems like a false bottom. Have at it. I'll have my share." He concludes to Gorn and walks back to his post watching the two doors with known activity behind them.
A surprising *splash* accompanies breaking through the plaster layer, the second corpse within the sarcophagus is suspended in some sort of red brine. Bobbing up and down in this fluid are 2 waxed vials containing a different colored liquid.
There is a certain regality of this inhabitant, perhaps the more important of the two...servant and noble or apprentice and master. Immediately you note 2 large moonstones where its eyes were removed making a sharp white contrast to the red of the fluid and black of the flesh.
A large bumpy incision carries down its chest, and upon closer inspection (by forcefully ripping apart its chest cavity) an ornate bag is found where the heart should be...something like painted shark skin.
Opening this bag reveals beans, perfectly preserved and seemingly shimmering with rainbow colors when viewed from certain angles...
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"Racken bracken fracken!" Gorn swears violently as his ham sized hands slice into the preserved corpse, as if taking vengeance for being so denied at his first effort.
"Some stuff," he declared, shoving the odd bits of valuables into a belt pouch to evaluate and divvy after this recent threat had been dealt with.
"Alright Donal lets do this," he says flatly ready for a fight.
Evendur feels sickened and dismayed by the sacrilege of his current allies. He resolves to re-consecrate the graves once the evil is purged here but he can't but feel something sacred has been lost.
Donal gives Grim an empathetic look, then returns his attention to the door.
Donal, this door, unlike some of the others, is not as swollen and stuck in its frame. If water ever gets this high, its a rare occurrence in a few hundred years. However, there is still a great deal of rot...every last fiber of the wood seems frayed to a hair's width and about to sever. Opening the door shouldn't be a problem, it will likely fall off the hinges.
Mal, is the door safe to kick in? Trapped? Donal whispers as he attempts to inspect the door himself.
EDIT:
Mal wasn't that kind of rogue. So, his reply to Donal is a shrug.
Seems strange... can you find a hole or crack in the wood to peek through?
The party takes a closer look at the door, but no new details are revealed.