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The bustling desert city of Wati is near bursting with excitement. Adventurers from every corner of the Inner Sea region have assembled here beneath the hot Osirian sun to explore the tombs of the city's necropolis, waiting only to be assigned their first sites for exploration. Surrounding the participants, the public has gathered to observe the ceremony as well. There is a festival-like quality in the air, and numerous street vendors are hawking goods and refreshments to participants and spectators alike. Some merchants have even brought what can only be considered adventuring gear to sell as last minute convenience items to explorers, while others advertise that they'll buy recovered treasures and antiquities from those who visit their establishments.
In front of the imposing edifice of the Grand Mausoleum, an immense awning has been erected between decorated pillars in the market to provide shade for the priests of Pharasma overseeing the lottery. Beneath the awning, two urns sit atop a table elevated a few feet above the ground on a wooden stage constructed for the event. The high priestess of the Grand Mausoleum, Sebti the Crocodile, sits behind the table, while two acolytes confer with her at either side.
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Mahmoud stands comfortably at the edge of the square, where the other members of their group agreed to meet. The Five of Shadows, he thinks to himself. He tries to remember how they came up with the name, but he draws a blank. One of us must have suggested it-- ah, maybe because we were sitting together in the shadows of that tavern? The Tooth & Hookah wouldn't have been his first choice for a gathering place, but he had to admit to himself that it was quiet and cosmopolitan-- catfolk and dwarves and other foreigners weren't really out of place there, and it meant he could stay relatively unnoticed if he should happen to run into any of his former associates.
It was a successful outing, at least, for the five of them had agreed to join the treasure-hunting expedition into the necropolis district. Each of them surely had their own unspoken reasons, but Mahmoud didn't mind not knowing them. As long as he could rely on them to do their parts, he was sure the spoils of their expedition would be significant enough to sate any of their appetites for gold. And each of them seemed trustworthy enough, and skilled at their various areas of expertise. Together we look like the shadow of a hand, he smirks. I guess that makes me the middle finger.
Mahmoud himself was grateful that the priests of Pharasma had agreed to allow him to join an expedition. He knew they weren't happy about the directive for the city to open the gates to mercenary interests from overseas, but apparently it had been good for business so far. All the inner political workings of the temple and the rest of Wati were a little too complicated for Mahmoud to follow. However, he knew that they respected his loyalty to the goddess, and that he wouldn't allow the remains of the restful dead to be desecrated. That made him an ideal candidate for this mission.
He draws one of his daggers and flips it end over end, catching and tossing with seemingly no effort as he watches the throng of people. He spots some beggars and buskers on the far side of the square, but he doesn't see anyone he recognizes. It had been a couple of years since he himself performed in public, though he still practiced in private to keep in shape. The thrill of being in a show just wasn't the same now that he wasn't part of a troupe. He smiles. I have a new role to play, he thinks, and the Lady of Graves draws all souls to watch.
Having gathered in front of the Grand Mausoleum with the rest of the group, Tribim shifted the shoulder straps of his rucksack; more a canvas bag with strings for the shoulder, but it held everything he thought he might need to survive the necropolis. Turning he looked at the broad entrance. How many times as a kid had he passed by dreaming of 'breaking' in and stealing enough to take care of gramps and granny? Now he would actually get to do just that legally Shifting his weight he rests his right paw on the pouch holding his chakrams, and the left on his shortsword. He thought it smart to bring the only weapons he owned, without them he wouldn't have been helpless, but he might have looked that way.
Standing there in the morning sun he wondered how long the selection may take, the sun was already baking down and he hoped he wouldn't regretted leaving the cooling robe and turban in his rucksack. He was more comfortable in just the kilt and heavy sandals, but he was usually smart enough to stand in the shade. However today, he needed to stay with the other members of the Five of Shadows. He smiled to himself as he thought about the name. He didn't remember who recommended it, that night sitting in the Tooth and Hookah but he liked it instantly. But he was glad Sharifa had put out the word that she was working with a fellow to get a permit to 'explore' the Necropolis.
Turning he realized the fellow was flipping his dagger end to end. As Mahmoud casually tossed the dagger, Tribim watched the blade for a moment, it seemed to be balanced for throwing. His left paw resting on the handle of his own shortsword, well really just a long knife, he knew the blade was too clumsy to juggle or throw, but it was more for show than anything anyway. The sound of pipes and drums drifting over the crowd from one of the street vendors. Wanting the other members of their group to take him seriously, Tribim resists the urge to lift his paws in the air and dance a little. The air filled with excitement, Tribim breaths deep, waiting for the clerics to begin their lottery
Mahmoud nods to Tribim in a familiar sign of recognition, a gesture that somehow manages to seem intimidating as well as friendly. He doesn't seem to be uncomfortable with the silence, and does not rush to make small talk while they wait together.
The camera zooms in on a street to the side of the Sunburst Market in the already-glowering morning sun. A lone figure on a disused corner stares across the throngs of people moving through the streets, almost absently repeating his call from behind a tall hand-painted wooden sign.
"Repent."
"Repent."
"Repent----"
"Excuse me, friend." With a smirk, the robed dwarf plants in front of the placard-sporting street preacher, interrupting his chant. "What exactly are we repenting and why?"
The street preacher frowns up at the taller dwarf, his grey eyes glancing briefly at his face before sliding away.
"Это не имеет значения. По крайней мере, не для тебя."
The taller dwarf adopts an imperious look, puffing his anvil-adorned tabard out and jutting his full beard to the side. "What did you say to me?!?"
"Repent." The shorter dwarf thumps his sign as he calls out his chant once more, then adds: "And then I said that it doesn't matter. Not for you-----"
At that point, a black fantail zooms right into the face of the preacher, squeaking and chirping. The preacher growls and swats at the spritely bird. "Fanny! Out of my face, you pest!"
"Now you're just being rude, sir. I will not be spoken to in that way." The priest of Torag looks about the square for a soldier to signal.
"What do you mean "late"?" the preacher peers up at the bird - almost as if the bird had spoken to him. "We said mid-morning and it's only---" He peers up at the sky.
With a grunt, the shorter dwarf, heavily armed and armoured behind his placard, abruptly pushes over the crudely-painted sign to the street as the priest of Torag steps back. He then stomps off towards the Grand Mausoleum with a clank, chased by the flitting and chirping bird.
"Stay out of my hair, you flying ferret."
"I'll pray for your horse, you crackpot!" the taller dwarf calls after him. A chortle follows.
Our camera angles downward from the retreating dwarf and focuses on the discarded wooden placard on the street, painted with a simple message:
Sharifa Unatti Al-Lostris, or just Unatti to her friends, leisurely strolled through the square. As she made her way towards where the other Shadows gathered, she picked out a few marks. Each of them were ostentatiously dressed, wearing enough jewelry on one hand to feed an entire village for a year. Perhaps when they were done exploring one of the tombs, she would liberate some of that wealth.
Unatti smiles warmly at Tribim, her favorite dance partner, and fellow worshiper of Bastet. She then nods a greeting at the stern faced Mahmoud, and stands next to them, impatiently bouncing on the balls of her feet. She hoped the announcements would come soon, as she disliked waiting around doing nothing.
Nodding back to Mahmoud, Tribim considered the former entertainer turned soldier. The man was friendly enough, born and raised there in Wati as well, but they had never crossed paths. Watching the priests on the wooden stage, he decided Wati was larger than he'd realized and getting larger with the opening of the necropolis.
Seeing motion from the corner of his eye, he realized Shaifa had joined them. Smiling back at her, he relaxed a little. She'd made no noise approaching, in his defense the crowd and the music was pretty loud. His friend having arrived he shook off the jitters and began to move his feet slowly to the sound of the drums and pipes off in the distance.
He was relieved Sharifa had arrived but they were still waiting on the dwarf and the elf. Earlier, as he'd approached the necropolis, he thought he'd heard Epperson down one of the alleys ranting about 'repentance' or some such thing. Shaking his head, Tribim prayed, 'Dear Bastet, please don't let that dwarf start preaching when he's...' Not sure how to end the prayer he considered it for a moment ... smiling to himself as he moved with the music a little more, 'When he's representing the Five of Shadows'
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You see the helmet first.
A cacophony of equipment approaches through the square at a grumbling pace, bumping passers-by, tipping over vendor displays, and raising slow but steady ruckus as it winds towards the gathered shadows. A dome-like stony helmet leads the advance trailed by a long unfolded flag of canvas and circled by a pitch-black chittering bird. As mildly-inconvenienced street denizens part, you catch a glimpse of a sweaty dark-bearded dwarf under the abundance of kit. He eyes you all and grunts.
”Brought my own shade. It’s sodding hot.”
Once his equipment crashes to the ground, the stoic dwarf unfurls the large canvas tarp and sets about creating a makeshift sun shelter for the shadows.
”Got to keep to our theme, yeah?” he grunts.
When Sharifa arrives, Mahmoud shifts a little, as if something about the woman makes him uncomfortable, but he nods at her greeting and pauses his flipping of his blade to speak. "They should begin soon, though the high priestess does have a flair for the dramatic. She could be waiting for the light to be just right." His voice scratches a little, as if he hasn't spoken in a while.
Mahmoud also nods respectfully to Epperson. He admired the dwarf, perhaps because he reminded Mahmoud of some of the entertainers he'd worked with in his previous life. He's very good at distractions, he thinks with a smirk, but he is also surrounded in steel and spikes. He should annoy our enemies just as much as he seems to annoy other dwarves.
"Good thinking," Mahmoud says, in response to Epperson's tarp. "Tell me, has anyone heard from Xynithras?" He frowns. It would be just like the wizard to make a dramatic entrance while they were all busy watching the Pharasmins' lots-casting ceremony.
The ceremony begins as Sebti the Crocodile rises to her feet and looks over the crowd. "Silence. Let us pray.
"Oh, Lady of Graves, as we prepare to loot the possessions of your sacred dead, please forgive our blasphemies and give lenience in the afterlife to those who perish while following the laws of the land in their endeavors. Doom the souls of those who fail to show you the proper respect. Amen."
She then gives a brief history of the necropolis before concluding by saying, "Let the lottery begin! Although many of you have requested specific sites to explore, we must leave these matters to fate. The Lady of Graves is a far better judge of destiny than we of this mortal sphere. The gates of the necropolis will open at sunrise tomorrow. Use this evening to prepare yourselves for the task ahead. Let these rules guide you in your endeavors in this holy place: remember how this came to pass, every slave's hut is a memorial, and honor the departed. May you go with the Lady's blessing."
As Sebti returns to her seat, the two acolytes accompanying her each draw a wooden token from one of the urns on the table. The first token identifies the adventuring group, matching the token that group received when it registered for the lottery. The second token determines which tomb is assigned to that group. A single representative of the chosen group is then summoned to the stage to present the token his group received at registration to one of the acolytes. Once the group's identity has been confirmed, Sebti shows the representative the location of that group's first exploration site on a map of the entire necropolis. She also gives the representative a smaller, sketched map that shows the site's location in relation to the necropolis gates. Once a group has received its assignment, the process repeats with a new group.
It seems that fortune is smiling upon you, as the very first token drawn is that of the Five of Shadows.
But Wati's destiny was forever warped in 2499 AR, when the cult of Lamashtu unleashed the Plague of Madness among the city's thriving populace. Many of those whom the fever did not immediately kill were driven to murderous insanity, and within months, more than half the city had fallen in painful, anguished death. Most of the survivors fled Wati to make new homes elsewhere, but a stubborn minority remained behind, determined to reclaim their city. But even once the plague had run its course, their livelihoods collapsed as An and Tephu took over Wati's onceexclusive trade routes, and their floundering community struggled against recurring outbreaks of the undead from the city's many abandoned buildings-turned-tombs.
It took almost half a millennium for Wati's fortunes to reverse thanks to the church of Pharasma. With the tacit permission of Osirion's Keleshite sultan, a Pharasmin priest named Nefru Shepses marched on Wati in 2953 AR with a small army of alchemists, masons, and morticians under his banner, intent on consecrating the entire city to the Lady of Graves, beginning with a new, monumental temple to Pharasma called the Grand Mausoleum.
Over the next 30 years, Nefru Shepses and his followers recovered the bodies of those slaughtered in the Plague of Madness from their hasty, makeshift graves and the Pharasmins walled off that portion of the city that had been abandoned, transforming it into a metropolis of makeshift tombs. Thousands of corpses were given formal burial rites and reinterred in this dead copy of the living city, which continues to serve as Wati's necropolis today.
The consecration of the city and its necropolis revitalized Wati, and though it never reclaimed its dominance among the cities of the south, over the next 1,700 years Wati grew until its necropolis - once more than half of the city - took up less than a quarter of the city's total area. Today, long after the necropolis's completion, Wati continues to produce a great variety of grave goods for Osirion's honored dead. A steady stream of burial figures, canopic jars, embalming fluids, prayer books, and sarcophagi sail downstream on the Sphinx, outpacing Wati's crop and textile exports. Even Wati's criminal underworld revolves around death, as competing gangs regularly raid the necropolis for valuables and even human carrion.
"Let me approach the priests on our behalf," Mahmoud suggests quietly, and makes his way up to the stage with the token representing the Five of Shadows. He waits patiently for them to confirm his identity and give him the directions to the necropolis site that Pharasma has chosen for the company to plunder.
Hearing the dwarf before he saw him, Tribim turns and watches his new acquaintance approach. The fellows helmet reminds him of the stone oven his grandmother uses to bake bread on Fireday. He wonders how the dwarf stood all that armor in this heat. Of course, he really didn't know anything about dwarven anatomy or if it was that different from catfolk or humans (who he was fairly familiar with) but he almost felt sorry for the fellow.
Hoping Mahmoud was right about 'beginning soon, Tribim couldn't help but want to aid Epperson. Moving near the dwarf he took one end of the tarp, "Here, let me help you set up the tarp." As he started to tie off the tarp, he hears Mahmouds question, shaking his head answering, Mahmoud, "Not a pip!"
Hearing the service begin, he steps into the shade of the tarp and politely bows his head. As the prayer droned on, he tried not to fidget or look around, he knew several folks nearby revered the 'Lady of Graves' so he didn't want to seem rude. He listened to the history, most of which he knew and the rules seemed fair enough.
Nodding when Mahmoud volunteered to go fetch the tokens, Tribim steps nearer to Sharifa, adding softly, "I'm ok with Mahmoud dealing with the Pharasmin." Turning and smiling he winks at Epperson, "I'm happy to stand here in the shade, right?" Thinking how if they were going to be in the sun all day, he'd have put on the long linen robe and turban in his pack, he gestured towards the tarp, "Good idea by the way. I was wondering how you'd stay cool in all that armor.""
The site you're given is the tomb of an individual named Akhentepi. It's located in the northwest portion of the necropolis and, interestingly, predates the Plague of Madness by a full eleven years. With the rough map you're given, you'll have no trouble finding the location, but exploration isn't supposed to begin until tomorrow morning.
Mahmoud thanks the priests and acolytes, impressed that they show no obvious signs of favoritism towards him. He bows respectfully with his hand curled into a circle over his heart and brings the map and the information back to the rest of the group.
"Akhentepi's tomb," he explains quietly, checking that no one else is close enough to overhear. "I don't think I have ever been there. It's in the northwest portion of the necropolis, and it was built a few years before the Plague. Is there anything we can deduce about it, with that knowledge?" He looks around at the group. "It may help inform our choices about what to bring if we can work out some idea of what we might face." Mahmoud speaks these suggestions slowly, like he is working them out as he speaks.
”Good idea by the way. I was wondering how you'd stay cool in all that armor."
Epperson produces a lemon from within his rucksack and bites down on it whole, peel and all, the juice splashing across his face as he watches Mahmoud approach the podium.
”I’ve got ways of keeping cool,” he says, giving a voluntary shiver at the sour taste assailing his senses.
”Akhentepi's tomb…. it was built a few years before the Plague. Is there anything we can deduce about it, with that knowledge?"
The dwarf ponders things internally.
Before the plague, eh? Still could be cursed.
Epperson pipes up.
”Before the plague, eh? Still could be cursed.”
Watching as Epperson draws some fruit from his rucksack, Tribim blinks, but says nothing. Nodding as the dwarf says 'he's got ways,' Tribim decides dwarves are even stranger than humans.
Turning his attention back to the 'event' Tribim, is relieved that Epperson didn't offer him any of the lemon. Not caring for citrus in general Tribim had a strong dislike for lemons. Honestly he didn't understand human craving for sweet foods, but sour? That made even less sense.
As Mahmoud returns with the map, Tribim moves closer to see the location. Raising an eyebrow when Mahmoud explains he'd not been there, Tribim tries to remember if he'd heard anything about the person or place. Trying not to chuckle when Epperson adds it 'still could be cursed.' Considering Eppersons often shared religious beliefs Tribim would be surprised if the dwarf declared someone, or something 'not' cursed.
Shifting his feet, he looks towards the sun as he steps back under the shade of Epperson's canvas lean-to. Asking, "Should we wait here for the elf, or assume their going to meet us at the 'Tooth and Hookah'.
Mahmoud nods slowly. He tries to remember what they'd said the night before, but the details were hazy. He scratches his chin. "Might be he said he'd meet us there," he admits. "In truth, it seems there was no need for all of us to be here for this, but I thought that the priests might want to confirm all of the members of our group. Perhaps that wasn't necessary because they know me from my work at the Grand Mausoleum? So it might be that Xynithras cleverly predicted that he wouldn't be needed right away." He winces, not sure his purse or his wits can handle another bout of drinking at the tavern.
”Whatever, doesn’t matter to me.” Epperson taps the man-in-the-moon emblem emblazoned on his stony helmet, points to the sky, and rolls his eyes.
”YOU know.”
"No reason for us to stay out in this heat. Might as well wait for Xynithras someplace cool." Unatti says once Mahmoud returns with their map. "Maybe we can leave word with one of the guards or somebody should the elf show up here?"
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The church of Pharasma sends experienced priests into the necropolis every now and then to make spot inspections and deal with any major threats, but due to being woefully understaffed, they don't have time to make the area entirely safe.
Your knowledge of events preceding the Plague of Madness is spotty, but you vaguely recall the name 'Akhentepi' as being somehow related to the military.
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The Next Morning at the Site
A rectangular stone mausoleum sits alone in what appears to have once been an actual cemetery. The trunks of a few dead trees poke out of the sand around the tomb, and a hot breeze whistles through their desiccated branches. A set of massive stone double doors is affixed to the northern side of the structure, beneath a facade bearing the likeness of an Osirian man. Windblown sand is heaped around the crypt, partially burying the doors that lead within.
The doors are on concealed hinges and swing outward. Traces of mortar along the seams and jamb that have since crumbled or been chipped away are telltale signs that the doors were meant to be sealed permanently.
In addition to the information above, you notice signs of a crowbar or similar tool having been inserted between the doors at some point.
Mahmoud mutters a brief prayer under his breath when he sees the doors. "O Lady of Graves, forgive us for defiling this place of sacred rest, for we do it in Your name and for the glory of Your temple." He looks around a bit guiltily after doing so, and digs a shovel out of his pack. "Well," he says, "let's see if we can get this sand cleared away, yes?"
Having hung out with the other 'Five of Shadows' members until late, Tribim returned to his grandparent's boat and his hammock. Fortunately, they still woke early and Tribim was able to eat some fish for breakfast as he readied for the day. Meeting the others at the arranged time, he told them what he knew as they headed to the crypt. "If I'm remembering correctly, 'Akhentepi' was a military man, but I don't remember to what extent."
Approaching the mausoleum, Tribim was pleased they would be inside during the warmer parts of the day. Looking a t the massive stone double doors, Tribim moves a little closer pointing at the scratches on the stone, "It looks like someone tried to pry the doors open with a crowbar or something similar."
Having not brought a shovel he drops his pack, digging around in it. He pauses for a moment as Mahmoud says a prayer, then pulls out the copper bowl he uses for his lunch. Smiling as Mahamoud says they should clear the sand away, he holds up the bowl, "That's what I was thinking." and starts helping shovel the sand away from the doors.
After peering at the stonework around the door with a discerning eye, Epperson grunts acknowledgement of Tribim’s astute observation and begins scraping sand away from the door with his shield, using it as a makeshift shovel but keeping the spikes clear of scraping the crypt doors.
Only when the group is roughly half-way through clearing the sand away from the entrance, a lone, robed elf strides carefully towards them, staff in his right hand. Though the temperature is warm, he wears a dark cloak with the hood drawn up to shade his face and eyes from the sun. He holds his left arm out at shoulder height, and a reasonably-sized hawk, his familiar “Neferu”, perches on a leather bracer at his wrist.
Grinning, he calls out, "Why good morning, fellow shadows. My apologies for my late arrival. I got up early this morning with naught but the best of intentions, to join you here for the initial start of our adventures. Alas, it was not to be."
"Twould seem I was destined to be distracted, almost by fate, as I stumbled upon a small fellow of rock gnome heritage, and he claimed to have the most interesting tale to tell about old Akhentepi here, and his tomb, and thus the two of us got lost in a discussion of the rumored dangers of the tomb before us and many of the threats which lie therein."
Xynlthras pauses a moment, blatantly ignoring any looks of irritation from his teammates, a mischievious gleem in his hazel eyes. Xynlthras continues on with his overly dramatic, and likely improvised story which pretty obviously serves as little more than his excuse to get out of the physical labor. "But sadly, there was, in the end, nothing of value to be found in that conversation. Over the course of our discussion, as well as a few glasses of ale, it soon became clear that HE was describing Akhentep-o the third, a minor lordling who was well known in his time as the owner of a pack of rather viscious fighting dogs who spent his time far to the south of here rather than the object of OUR quest, and the owner of this tomb, Akhentepi. And so you see, I am late, but with good reason..."
Another pause as the elf glances about, giving Tribim a wink and offering in the Catfolk's native tongue, "You think they bought that? Probably not, eh?
Mahmoud takes a break from shoveling sand and holds his hand up to greet Xynlthras. "Hail," he says with a peculiar lilt to his voice. "Glad you were able to find the place." He stretches his shoulders and opens and closes his hands a few times before going back to his labor.
Epperson looks up as the elf approaches, grunts, then gets back to shovelling.
Looking up from digging away at the sand with his bowl, Tribim raises an eyebrow at Xynlthras comment about whether the others believed him or not. Turning as mahmoud congratulates the elf on finding the place, he shrugs, "মই নাভাবো যে তেওঁলোকে সঁচাকৈয়ে আপোনাক বিশ্বাস নকৰাৰ কথা বিবেচনা কৰিছিল, দুৱাৰবোৰ খুলিবলৈ তেওঁলোকৰ আগ্ৰহ বেছি যেন লাগে।" he then turns back towards the sand and keeps shoveling.
"I don't think they really considered not believing you, they seem too interested in getting the doors open."
It's hard work clearing away the sand, but you're able to get it done with an hour of sweaty work. The doors lack exterior handles to grasp or sections to push on for leverage, but between Mahmoud's crowbar and Epperson's shield, you're able to force the doors open enough to pass through. You do notice that there are no handles on the interior of the doors, either, so it's probably best to leave them open while you explore.
A1 - Tomb Antechamber
This rectangular room is empty save for some engravings and fixtures upon the walls, a pair of heavy stone doors to the north , and an immense stone wheel against the south wall. The air is stale, and a layer of dust and sand covers the floor, lying in a thicker layer to the south. All four walls bear sunk-relief engravings and hieroglyphs, while small stone faces are affixed to the walls at about shoulder height in each corner. The stone wheel to the south is engraved with a large spiral and is set in stone tracks in the floor and ceiling.
You all recognize the engraved stone spiral as the symbol of Pharasma but can't identify the small stone faces. You do notice that each of the faces has a receptacle sized for a torch.
You recognize the hieroglyphs as an ancient form of Osiriani but are unable to decipher their meaning.
The hieroglyphs read, "Akhentepi's tomb is well defended, and those who defile it tempt the wrath of the gods. The only thing the Lady of Graves despises more than the grave robber is the unsuccessful grave robber. Turn back while you can."
Epperson checks out the stonework. He grunts and frowns at the wheel.
”That’s probably some sort of entrance portal. I wonder if those four corners torch sconces got to be filled with torches - maybe even lit ones - to get this big stone bastard to move.” He taps the stone wheel with begrudging respect.
Mahmoud nods, narrowing his eyes at the stone wheel. "It looks heavy. That is not going to be easy to move. I'd guess that it was built to keep the living out of the tomb, but if you want to try putting torches in the sconces to see if there's a cunning mechanism, we can try that. Otherwise it looks like we'll have to try to shift it."
When Unatti arrives at the entrance to the tomb, she is wearing very different attire(minus the obvious catfolk features + a veil over her face) than her companions have seen her in before. She is clearly dressed for a hopefully successful adventure.
She too joins in helping shovel out the sand blocking the entrance, wordlessly getting right to work. When Xynlthras shows up, and offers his lame excuse, she replies in kind.
Finally, they uncover the door, and enter the first room of the tomb. She sets her pack down, and out jumps a completely black cat wearing a silver collar. "Anya, these are the other Shadows I told you about. We're gonna help them explore this tomb. Make sure you behave yourself, and remember: Don't touch anything!" The witch says in a mock stern voice.
Chuckling at Unatti's response to the elf, Tribim keeps digging. As the doors open, he removes his ioun torch from his pouch and sets it spinning around his head. When he realizes Unatti is removing her pack he turns. Seeing Anya, he nods politely to the familiar and moves through the doors into the tomb's Antechamber.
Seeing the stone wheel is set in stone tracks, he moves toward the wheel while Epperson and Mahmoud discuss it. not sure if the torch sconces relate to it or not, he asks, "Should we try and move the wheel first?" He turns and looks towards the others, "Either way we should search it for traps." Turning back he begins to study the wheel, lightly running his paws over the engravings.
Mahmoud nods and steps back. "Good thinking," he says shortly.
The wheel, while extremely heavy, isn't trapped. He also doesn't see any 'cunning mechanism' linked to the torch sconces.
Having gone over the wheel thoroughly, Tribim shakes his head, "I don't see any traps, or any mechanisms that may lead to the sconces." He stands up straight and steps away from the wheel, "We should just be able to push it out of the way."
”Anya, these are the other Shadows I told you about. We're gonna help them explore this tomb. Make sure you behave yourself, and remember: Don't touch anything!"
At the appearance of the cat, an insistent chirping emanates from one of the shadowy corners of the antechamber. A moment later, a flittering, chittering jet-black bird descends on the dwarf. The regularly-dour dwarf yells out in surprise.
”Ack! Fanny! It won’t eat you! Get back!”
The tweets cease. The bird seems to have vanished. Epperson looks around as if unsure of the source of the noise, then glowers at Unatti.
”Right?” Epperson’s raised eyebrows implies a shared understanding.
The dwarf considers the torch situation.
”I’ve got a pair of torches. Anyone got two more?”
Turning from looking at the wheel towards Epperson, Tribim shakes his head 'no' and points up towards the spinning ioun torch. "They make the pack too heavy." He smiles slightly, "Besides, one of my regulars gave me this."
Mahmoud nods. "Let me get them out for you." He takes his pack off and pulls out two more torches, and watches the dwarf to see what happens. He takes up a position on one side of the stone, ready to push if that is what they decide to do.
Once the torches are lit and placed in the holders, you see that they're designed to make a corona of flame surround each of the four heads. Nothing changes in regards to the stone, though.
This square room is starkly devoid of any markings or adornment. In the center of the chamber's floor, a square shaft drops straight down into darkness. A faint musty odor rises from the pit. A single piton has been hammered into the stone floor by the northeast corner of the pit, and a dusty length of rope dangles from the piton into the darkness of the shaft.
Upon closer examination, you see that the rope only extends three feet into the shaft before ending. It appears to have been cut.
Epperson observes the four lit torches, turns to the stone wheel, turns back and frowns at the torches, then gives an irritated click of his tongue.
”It’s always toil - not that it matters in the slightest, but I’d be happy to see some slick stonework before it’s all through. Oh well, time to heave.” He drops his pack and prepares to throw his weight into the stone wheel.
Epperson peers down the shaft containing the cut rope. ”Shortcut to get down to the bottom?” He then looks up at his teammates with a deadpan expression.
Upon the revelation of the hole in the floor of the room beyond the stone, Unatti ponders momentarily over Epperson's words. "Either that, or it's a diversion. Not sure I trust something so obvious." She peers around the room. "Maybe there's a hidden door?"
Xynl arches an eyebrow, muttering to himself before stepping over to the open shaft. He draws a single copper piece from his pouch and holds it out between his thumb and forefinger. Concentrating, he summons his will and arcane energies, as he casts the cantrip "light" on the copper. "Shirak."
And then the elf tosses the coin down into the darkness. "Shortcut? Let's see."
Chuckling at Epperson's 'Short cut' comment, Tribim steps out of the way as Unatti searches the room. Moving near to the pit, he watches as Xynlthras illuminates a coin and drops it in the pit. "Neet trick."
As the coin falls he kneels, reaching out to the piton, giving it a firm 'shake.' "If the piton is firm we can use it. If not I have some in my pack."
The glowing coin falls for approximately 50 feet before hitting the ground of the chamber below. The shaft appears to be in the middle of the ceiling, so climbing back out will be extremely difficult without a rope. There are ancient bloodstains leading to the west.
The piton appears to be secure.
Xynlthras shrugs at Tribim, "Glad you've got rope. Me? Not really a 'rope' guy." A pause, then he adds, "Looks like bloodstains. Not recent..."
Smiling at Xynlthras "I am indeed a rope guy." he gestures into the pit, "But interestingly enough, not a blood guy, especially if it's my own."
Dropping his pack near the piton, Tribim pulls his rope out. Tying the one end to the piton he drops the other into the pit. Lifting the original rope that looked like it had been cut, he shows the frayed end to the others. "Looks like someone was done dirty."
He looks to the two 'Shadows' that seem to have intelligent pets. "Wouldn't hurt if someone stayed nearby to let us know if anyone comes in."
Mahmoud watches the coin fall below, and grunts softly. Then he pulls a long coil of rope out of his pack and begins tying knots in it at five-foot intervals. "This should help," he says laconically, and holds it out for Tribim to use instead.
He looks back toward the entrance. "Whoever did that rolled the stone back and closed the doors after. I wonder how long ago that happened?" He ponders this question a few moments, a little uneasy.
Seeing Mahmouds longer rope Tribim tucks his shorter rope back in his pack. Nodding to Mahmoud, "Works for me." He fishes through the rope and pulling the other end out starts tying knots from the other end, hoping to speed up the process.
As he tied knots, Tribim shrugs, "Probably years ago, Maybe I'm just being paraniod." Nearing the middle of the middle of the rope he lets Mahmoud finish the knots and he ties his end of the knotted hundred foot rope to the Piton. Gesturing towards the pit, he smiles at Mahomoud, "Your rope, you get to toss it down."