Now that Djedefre pointed out the existence of a trap, Senemheb takes a look as well.
"I trust you if you say there's a trap." he says, having little insights on the matter. "Could we just poke it with a long stick?"
"No wolf cares for a rabbit with a doe in sight," the Taldan quoted through a no less wolfish grin at the ornate coffin. "Who cares about a secret trap on a secret door? There's the old bastard Akhentepi right there!"
It was a very pleased Luke indeed that walked into the burial chamber, sharp eyes a-glow with avarice and not a little spite. They'd finally found it, the heart of the tomb. And with it came both his goal and aspiration. For in truth this whole expedition had taken on a personal aspect throughout. Pilfering the ancient general's burial goods for monetary gains was one thing. But now the young man wouldn't be satisfied until that miserable miser's golden headdress sat on the brand he'd inflicted on his forehead! Just to rankle Akhentepi's spirit in whatever hell he called afterlife now!
All of which was to say that the foreigner didn't particularly care about secretive portals leading away from the party's objective. And less so for the northern doors. This even if the more sensible side of him wondered at why there would be additional passages here, at the supposed final point of the place.
Eh, probably not worth thinking on. Still... "You said the western wall is trapped, Djedefre?" Luke walked up to the opposite eastern wall. "But not this one?" He couldn't see any such trap there himself. But then he was also yet to spot the actual doorway apparently there too. Fortunately, one quick method to uncover both existed.
Rearing back for more impact, the Taldan stepped up to deliver a hearty kick at the wall. If that didn't loosen the secret door, then he couldn't be bothered to wait for Djehuti's lockpicking. He wanted to open that sarcophagus!
Luke's kick jostled the door, but while it didn't open it did prove unlocked. A crowbar would open these doors without issue, the sand and grit loosen by the Taldan's kick to reveal the door's edges to all. Luke finds a smaller chamber filled with a dozen loosely wrapped mummies, each wearing a wooden medallion bearing a faded painted white/pale blue spiral of Pharasma around their necks. The smell of the once sealed chamber is severely moldy, as if treatment of these mummies wasn't as thorough as would be expected of the deceased. They are stacked atop each other on the floor, four per layer.
Jolánka brings up the rear of the group and her eyes widen in awe at the sight of the burial chamber. She traces the spiral of Pharasma on her chest with a closed fist, something that will immediately stand out to the Osirion natives in the party, who've most likely seen that gesture performed with two extended fingers.
When Djedefre notes the presence of other mummies besides the tomb's owner, she shrugs.
"Look at the iconography we've seen throughout the tomb: the tapestry, the symbols on the walls here. It appears that Akhentepi was a pious man in life. Perhaps he offered to share his tomb with the local priesthood. Or they were members of his family interred here after he was laid to rest, hoping to join him in his small corner of the afterlife."
"Wait. We've already been cursed once. That sarcophagus might be even better guarded."
"It'd be best to leave it alone. We already have a lot of things we can sell."
Glancing back over one shoulder, the look Luke gave his young companion was one of disbelief - the sort of incredulous concern one reserved for misled children or the worryingly thick, perhaps upon these arguing how the globe was most certainly square. "... You just said a couple-three things I'm electing to ignore, chief among them that there is such a thing as 'enough' gold."
The kid had a lot to learn, he thought, electing not to note his own immaturity in spiting a corpse. Besides, they'd been over this before. That sarcophagus was most definitely getting ransacked and with the church o' cowards' blessing at that. The only question was whether it would be gentle hands or the Taldan's foot that opened the thing.
Though on the topic of gaining entry, the eastern wall sloughed off a century of dust and grit at the kick dealt it. Revealed beneath was indeed the outline of a secret doorway. Thusly distracted from Akhentepi's remains for now, Luke set to work forcing it open. What lay beyond left him more than a little confused, however.
"This... doesn't seem all that dignified, a little charnel closet with bodies stacked like cordwood." Poorly preserved bodies at that. The foreigner wrinkled his nose at the smell. Wasn't Osirion all about respecting the dead and all that, Ancient Osirion even more so? Pharasmin mummies? The general's family? Why would such distinguished people be consigned a position less prominent and mummification less competent than the damn cats seen earlier?
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"You've complained about the old Osiriani hoarding gold many, many times." Amal points out. "Does it apply only to them?"
He takes one look inside the room with the mummies. "Let's leave them alone. Third rule: Honour the Departed," he gives Luke a meaningful look.
They walk decidedly to the southern doors. "Should we try to open these ones?" They open them, ready to take the lead in the new room.
Luke, perhaps half-heartedly with Amal's judgment over his shoulder, pokes about the dozen mummies and finds nothing of value.
Senemheb peers into the chamber over Luke's shoulder.
"Important enough to be embalmed, but not important enough to be buried in their own rooms. Servants, perhaps?"
He looks at the shoddy treatment of the mummies, and the Pharasman symbols on them. "Whoever did the embalming wasn't very good at the job. Maybe done by some followers of Pharasma, instead of the old gods."
Senemheb realizes that the pile of bodies must have been the slaves used to build the tomb and then killed to keep its secrets. While the bare minimum was provided for their transition into the afterlife, attended by the less popular at-the-time Pharasmin church, these slaves were merely bricks in the wall compared to Akhentepi.
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Amal frowns. His family had never been one to condone slavery and differential treatment. Quite the opposite, actually. "Seems that whoever is involved in building this place has broken the third rule long ago."
"My parents told me stories about this. It's considered a great honor but I would pass on such an honor."
"Nobles are nobles, it seems, in Ustalav and Osirion alike," Jolánka comments as she carefully wraps the glowing organs in cloth and stows them in her back. She was no naturalist, but she imagined back in Wati proper she could find such...or maybe an alchemist, who'd be interested in purchasing them.
"I don't suppose any of you have spare embalming fluid I could use to preserve these until we return topside? They might be worth something to the right buyer."
"You've complained about the old Osiriani hoarding gold many, many times." Amal points out. "Does it apply only to them?"
"It applies to shoveling your gold into literal holes in the ground," Luke replied, torch flaring in indicating the ornate chamber. "Obviously, I will put it to better use."
A use he wasn't overly eager to share. Family matters are personal by nature. That said, any use was better than these self-aggrandizing death traps as far as the Taldan was concerned. Let the group believe he'd carouse away every copper earned here and it'd still be more worthwhile than what Akhentepi had built. Alright, fine, so he himself had squandered the last he had on a nice headstone for his own father, but at least that slab didn't try to murder whoever set eyes on it.
And on the topic of killing and Akhentepi's compound not being worth a single brick of its construction, butchered slaves. Luke's brow sank another notch as Senemheb explained the likely nature of the poorly preserved mummies. Well, that sealed it. This place had claimed lives - many lives - even before anyone set foot into it? This monument to a bigwig's vanity had not just eaten up untold resources, but the very lives of the people building it? The young man felt his anti-authoritarian fire flare up. Even decadent Taldor would struggle with such a gross display of inequity.
All of which made Luke feel vindicated enough in his prejudices to march right up those steps to the culprit's sarcophagus.
"Alright, you slavering warmonger," he said in retrieving his crowbar and looking over the coffin, "Consider this restitution long overdue."
Getting some payback for the whole branding ordeal was a nice bonus.
Jolánka's eyes widen at Luke's bitter words and she offers a sad smile.
"Father would have liked you," she says gently.
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Djehuti does what they can to disable any traps on the sarcophagus.
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As Luke, Djehuti, and Djedefre step up to the offending coffin, Amal neared the northern doors. The Taldan's boots clacked on the raised stone, echoed by something mechanical clicking beyond the northern doors. Amal, perhaps due to his heritage, felt something was amiss mere moments before the northern doors swung open, the heavy stone pushed in by a sudden torrent of water.
The roar of the flooding trap drew all eyes, even Luke's, who barely caught the sarcophagus rise to tower over him and open its lid. While nothing lay inside, the box hopped forward as if to swallow the Taldan whole. Djedefre didn't have time to notice, nor Djehuti to disarm, the trap on the platform as Luke - crowbar in hand - came at the sarcophagus. At the same time, electricity arcs between the pillars to strike anyone who was on the platform.
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Amal is taken completely by surprise. When he had suddenly been run through by a shiver of anxiety, he had assumed that the threat would come from the sarcophagus, and turned sharply around.
The heavy doors caught him in the back, sending him to the floor belly first. The backpack took the brunt of the shock - though he's sure he'll wake up with a nice bruise tomorrow. If he survives.
Like a particularly clumsy turtle, he struggles back to his feet. For the first time, he curses himself for offering Jolànka to carry her things as well as his own.
He spits out a mouthful of water, moving as fast to the southern doors as possible. "We need to get out of here!" he cries out.
A whole lot of things happened at once. The most notable of these events was the sudden opening of the northern doors, beyond which lay not riches, another passage or even more mummies, but instead - somehow - a flood of water. The Taldan could only look on in shock as Amal was washed aside.
What the...?!
Yet the event that drew his attention was a far humbler one. It was a single spark, a flicker of blue that travelled along the crowbar in his hand. In the split-second it happened, he didn't know what to make of it. But then his hair started rising. "Duck!" Luke yelled, he knew not for what, throwing himself half to the side, half into a crouch.
As it had so often before, the young man's instinct prevailed where his intellect failed. A great arc of lightning screamed into existence, shearing through the space his head had occupied only a moment earlier. The timely dodge meant it instead singed his shoulder, a fine trade. But of the many aforementioned events, this wasn't even the strangest.
For within the same second the sarcophagus he had sought to open rose of its own volition and opened itself. Yawning wide like the call of the grave it was, the sight was more than a little intimidating looming over Luke. Especially as its empty depth elicited a question more confounding than even an animated coffin.
Where the hell is Akhentepi?
"What the...?!"
The minute Senemheb turns his back on the group, they get pounced by a coffin. A coffin..! This tomb does not lack surprises...
Only battles he has had with coffins have involved putting them to the earth (and occasional cases of digging them up...), but they were not quite so animated. As such he wonders how to fight such a thing. There must be some magic involved, at least.
Djehuti, eyes focused on the sarcophagus, is taken completely by surprise by the lightning and jerks and spasms as the electricity courses through their body. It is a badly hurt elf that stumbles back away from the platform, pale skin smoking as they try to escape the deadly trap.
The party may now be looking for an escape, but the southern doors they entered this chamber through have closed behind them.
The sarcophagus lunges forward to bite Luke. Landing a blow, it then closes its lid around the staggered Taldan, sealing him inside itself. The irony of it all is Luke's last thought before it goes black.
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"The fool," Amal curses under their breath in their native language. The Taldane man and himself had been both branded for lesser crimes - surely he could have guessed that the sarcophagus would not unravel its secrets easily?
They spare a quick glance for the elf, who looks like they're about to faint. "Djedefre!" Amal cries out. "Djehuti needs healing!"
It doesn't seem like there's any way out. Amal rushes up the stairs, drawing their weapon - not even aware that their hand reaches for the khopesh instead of the scimitar.
They bring the blade down on the coffin that swallowed whole the would-be graverobber, but fails to create an opening.
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So this was what being caught in a mouse trap felt like. A crackling sensation with accompanying pain shot out from Luke's ribs as the heavy lid of the sarcophagus snapped shut about his middle, crushing him against its stone shell. As far as hurting went, this ranked up there for the young man; somewhere in between that kidney shot he'd taken in a bar brawl, and the aftermath of confessing to that girl he then learned was a distant cousin. Who proceeded to take it upon her to laughingly inform the entire family. At least the whole whizzing red thing had only lasted a few days. His sisters still wouldn't let him forget the latter affair...
As though sensing a challenge, the coffin didn't relent. It wasn't done with its prey yet. The hefty lid hammered down a few times more, treating Luke as were he a particularly tough bit of gristle, every 'chew' working his lungs like worn bellows. Wind knocked out of him and thoroughly incapacitated, he could do nothing as the animated thing then did what only seemed natural after such treatment and swallowed him. Trampling against his unsteady legs, the Taldan fell into the casket. The lid shut. And all was dark.
The shouts of the Vulture Court, the roar of the rushing water; these were muted into distant nothings the instant he found himself in this strangest of fates: locked in an Osirian sarcophagus a million miles from home. Eyes blinded, ears deafened and body gasping for a breath that only came in pained hitches, an unbidden thought entered the tight confines, wondering whether he was already dead. Yet the truth was worse still. Broken, battered, but still breathing, Luke was one step away from being buried alive.
And so he might have been if not for the proverbial light in the dark turned literal. Suddenly a golden gleam burned before the foreigner in the shape of an outline: the outline of the coffin lid. Sturdy though it was, the sarcophagus was not perfectly airtight. Crucially, it wasn't sealed against divine energy. Pure positive energy showered through this most miniscule of cracks running along the lid. It rained down onto the casket's occupant where it fulfilled its celestial purpose: begetting life. Luke felt his fractured ribs repair themselves.
"I'm not dead yet, you giant sock drawer!" he snarled, cathcing his second wind and spirit buoyed on this holiest of stimulants. Drawing his legs up, he set his feet against the lid and pushed.
Djehuti looks better as Djedefre's healing washes over them but the elf still looks frantic as their eyes scan for a way out.
Luke, revitalized by the blessings of the ancient sun god, forces the lid of the animated sarcophagus open wide enough for him to stumble out.