Even with the aid of Jolánka and Djehuti, Senemheb is unable to close the heavy stone doors. However, as they push they notice the water's flow has slowed down dramatically, only up to their waists as it teeters out. The slaves' mummies begin to float out of their chamber to bob in the main chamber.
The coffin takes another chomp, this time at Djedefre. However, perhaps the damage it had taken or the aasimar's watching its movements causes it to miss, clamping shut mere inches from the cleric's most extended limb.
"Can't get the door closed!" Seneheb yells. He tries to keep pushing but his feet slip on the watery floor and he fails to get his full weight behind his pushes.
"Is there any way to open the southern door!?" he asks no one in particular, but trying to look for options to their dilemma. Meanwhile, he just tries keep closing the door - perhaps the lowered water pressure would make it easier.
Djehuti shakes their head. "I don't see any way to open them from this side!"
The false sarcophagus finally falls apart, lid from box, as Amal and Luke's combined efforts lay the construct to rest. As the heavy, gold-leaf covered box falls with a thunderous splash, the water stops rising. The party finds themselves - on average - up to their ribs in water, with the raised platform giving them a half-foot more.
From this side, there seems to be no way to open the southern or western doors, but every few seconds they hear a faulty mechanical clicking for the next two minutes. After this, twin sounds of unlocking mechanisms are heard and the southern and western (previously locked) doors open. The water in the central chamber also starts to lower, being drained out of previously unnoticed "rubble drains". The slaves' mummies float down to the floor as the water level drops.
Thoroughly drenched and some sporting bruises of varying severity, the party recollects themselves. Looking through the northern doors, the party sees a grate and the end of an aqueduct that used to supply water for this trap from the River Sphinx. Investigations into the trap panel in front of the western doors reveals that it would have triggered the electricity and the flooding mechanism and is now harmless.
Jolánka breathes a sigh of relief as they survive the experience.
"I'm starting to understand some of your annoyance, Luke," she comments as she inspects her tome for water damage.
Djehuti frowns and looks around at the floating mummies. "I can't imagine Pharasma would appreciate this treatment of the dead," they comment to no one in particular. The elf wades through the water to investigate the now-broken sarcophagus and the floating remains.
"I'm starting to understand some of your annoyance, Luke," she comments as she inspects her tome for water damage.
"Yeah?" the Taldan puffed, still breathing heavy, adrenaline just wearing off. Hell of a drug, that. Hell of a comedown from it, too. "Trappin' your tomb to drown people in a bleedin' desert? Killin' your own builders just so they can't reveal said trap?" He looked to the desiccated corpses bobbing in the water like so many corks. "Yeah, someone has to be annoyed," he burred.
Though probably less so than Akhentepi himself if the miserable old bastard was watching from whatever hell he called afterlife now. After all, the trap had apparently failed. Luke examined the aqueduct system beyond the northern doors with the others (after lighting a new torch, his old one lost and floating in a cistern somewhere). Ingenious stuff in its own way. Ancient Osirion's engineering deserved that much credit. Yet as with so much else of theirs, a misplaced effort. And like other complex mechanisms, prone to failure. The young man didn't know what part of the water trap had broken over the centuries, but thanked the stars for it.
"Thanks yourself," he said at Djedefre's acknowledgement. "I'd be dead and buried - literally - without that lightshow of yours."
The offending coffin lay broken in a perpetual yawn. It brought to mind another thought, one he gave voice to. "What, so this - all of this...?" The torch let out a small roar as its wielder indicated the vast, decorated chamber with it. "All of this is just a decoy? Akhentepi is somewhere else entirely?"
Hell's horses, how paranoid could a man be?! As paranoid as only the rich and powerful could be, he answered himself, distrust famously growing with one's fortune. Madness. Utter madness, Luke concluded. What he left aside was how his own presence here proved the old warlord at least partly right.
Much like the kid. "You were right, kid," he sighed in Amal's general direction, he who had warned against the sarcophagus. "Well, partially." Yes, credit where credit was due, but best not to let someone so young get too confident! Pride goes before the fall and all that. Also, more importantly, hubris was plain annoying.
"... Still stealing every gold tooth from the guy's dusty skull when we find him, though." With that, Luke marched straight for the western doors, now more motivated than ever.
"It IS interesting that the man for whom the Tomb was built for appears to not actually be buried in it. There are cenotaphs in Ustalav for people of wealth and privilege, but it's usually because their bodies were cremated to prevent rising as undead. And it seems unlikely that all the treasures we've discovered thus far would be left here if its intended occupant planned for his actual resting place to be somewhere else. Unless he was more than just a minor military official."
"So, where is Akhentepi, then?" Senemheb sits down on the edge of platform and starts removing his boot. Once off, he pours out good amount of water and then repeats the process for the other boot.
I'm going to get blisters...
He stuffs his feet back into the boots, clearly in discomfort.
"I think we had an uninvestigated pathway back up..? Maybe the real tomb is that way."
Seneheb gets up, takes a few steps to test the feel of his wet footwear and starts moving - and almost trips on one the mummies that had floated out from the chamber.
"Should we pay our respects to the working class, and move these back to their resting place?"
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"Of course and I will offer the blessings of Ra to them. Hopefully it doesn't anger their spirits but I am trying to be respectful. Unfortunately I have no means of drying them out to prevent water damage."
As he goes about praying over each mummy he adds, "I still think Akhentepi is somewhere in this complex but still hidden. As shown with the traps we haven't found everything - yet."
Once the prayers are complete Djedefre will search for any other traps or secret doors.
Djehuti helps move the mummified workers back into their meager graves, then uses some minor magic to clean and dry themselves up. "Would anyone else care to clean up?" they offer to the rest of the group.
Once the mummies and the party are taken care of, they turn back to their notes until the group is ready to move on.
As the party cleans up, checks their gear, replaces the rehydrated mummies, and regains their breath, Djedefre checks the western doors. The traps are indeed rendered void, and the lock on the secret door is undone, allowing a mere push of the hand to part the stone portal. Crossing through the short hallway they come to a secondary set of doors, these ones bearing both congratulations and warnings.
In Ancient Osiriani hieroglyphs, the doors' writing reads: "Bold are those who see this script. Surviving the Sphinx's riddle and now seeing the path forward to the resting place of a son of Wati. Consider now if your survival was not a chance to turn back. To remain blameless in the eyes of they who will judge your souls. Process only if you'd dare damnation and consumption."
Opening this door leads to a right turn down a flight of stairs, with a "secret" door visible to Djedefre on the left as he searches vigilantly for traps. The secret door and the stairway down aren't trapped either.
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"I'm sure it leads to trouble," Amal catches their breath, still reeling from cutting off large pieces of hard wood. "'Damnation'? There must be more traps ahead," they give Luke a meaningful look.
"In this case, and I'd defer to the more learned amongst us, I think the warning of damnation is the threat of the ancient Osirion deities punishing graverobbers."
Jolánka breathes a sigh of relief as it appears the majority of her notes, drawings and rubbings are intact.
She nods in agreement when Senemheb and Djehuti propose cleaning up and placing the mummies in a more respectful position.
Upon the group's discovery of a newly opened way forward, she smiles, shrugging a bit at the discussion between Djedefre and Amal.
"For all we know, it'll be both. But we are no graverobbers. Not yet, anyway. We've yet to actually leave the grave in question with anything from it."
"If we're not graverobbers, it is only because we haven't yet found anything worth of taking..." Officially licensed graverobbers, perhaps. But graverobbers nonetheless.
Senemheb reads the hieroglyphs a couple of times, to make sure he didn't make any mistakes in the translation. But now he quite sure of the result. And it doesn't sound very welcoming.
"Yes, sounds very much like traps. Or a curse." he has a heavy feeling in his chest, remembering the fate of his grandfather.
Djehuti nods as they write everything down in their notebook. They gesture briefly at one particular hieroglyph, head still down as they continue writing. "Damnation is a quite common threat but consumption is quite specific. I wonder if it might be a clue about what sort of traps we may encounter."
"For all we know, it'll be both. But we are no graverobbers. Not yet, anyway. We've yet to actually leave the grave in question with anything from it."
The foreigner responded with a quite strange gesture at this, rapping his knuckles against the torch held in his other hand. The shadowy hallway appeared to wobble disconcertingly, the light swaying at the motion. "Sorry," he apologized through an ironic smirk. "Closest thing to 'wood' available. You know, for knocking on wood."
Leaving the tomb with riches a-plenty was after all his hope. And rather than dimming it, the dire warning only stoked this ambition. "Warning-shmarming!" he declared. "Akhentepi didn't warn us before trying to squash, electrocute and drown us, in whichever order. Any text placed beyond that mess isn't a warning at all. The old bastard has already proven he's happy to see people die to protect his own rest." Here, Luke wasn't solely referring to themselves, but also the unfortunate builders whose remains they had discovered. "No, this stinks of desperation. It's a plea, that's what it is. Like a bully backed into a corner by his would-be victims, Akhentepi is imploring us to please retreat. 'Cause whatever is on the other side of this door is 'totally dangerous, also the gods will get very peevish, ooOoh'." His nostrils flared with a derive snort. "Like a kid threatening us he'll tell his mom."
The Taldan was, to be brief, not impressed. He strode right up to the door, what he was convinced was the final door of this complex, with confidence arguably misplaced in one still carrying bruises from the animated coffin. Still, just as with that encounter, the young man nevertheless did a cursory examination of the portal. No reason to tempt fate.
The search uncovered nothing of note, however. Precisely as expected!
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Amal can't help but roll his eyes. "Underestimatîng the threat is exactly what nearly got you killed." The words of his father come to mind. When people open a door to let themselves in, they never thought of what could be on the other side, waiting to be let out.
Something trapped.
Something cornered.
Something with nothing to lose anymore.
"If what was in the previous room was a friendly warning, then assume that whatever is coming next will be worse. If this is Akhentepi's last chance to stop us, then nothing will be held back." Amal adjusts his shield and khopesh to keep his guard up.
Finding no further traps, Djedefre opens the doors at the bottom of the stairs. Within the party finds the grave goods of Akhentepi, neatly ordered urns and chests coated in the dust of centuries. None of these vessels seem to be locked or sealed.
While most of these goods have decayed over the centuries, some items remain in usable condition. Two vials labeled with ancient hieroglyphs as silversheen, a masterwork longbow, a quiver of 10 cold iron arrows, a golden scarab clasp buried amongst the tatters of clothing, an onyx and silver holy symbol of Anubis in the shape of a jackal's head in profile, a polished silver hand mirror, and another sealed urn of nard.
"Something of worth, at last. But no sign of Akhentepi."
[dice=Appraise]1d20+4
[dice=Kn. Religion]1d20 +8
"I believe these are the provisions for Akhentepi's afterlife, to sustain his soul while travelling down the River of Souls." Senemheb informs, after a moment of studying the goods for a while.
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"I believe these are the provisions for Akhentepi's afterlife, to sustain his soul while travelling down the River of Souls." Senemheb informs, after a moment of studying the goods for a while.
"Fascinating! It's like looking back in time."
Dejdefre makes notes in his journal including whatever bits of Ancient Osirian that Djehuti and Senemheb translate for him.
Djehuti chuckles to themselves about the play on words but doesn't share their insight with the group. They follow the others into the room with the grave goods.
They nod at Senemheb and Djedefre. "The Church will be interested in seeing these," the elf says as they catalog the contents of the room in their notebook.
Djedefre, as you take notes from the translations offered and your own observations, you take a moment to really check the secret door. You find a spell - a trap - carved subtly into the stone. You reach out to brush away dirt and dust, but your keen, celestial-born eyes catch the trap's nature and you snatch your hand away. For touching the secret door will summon a swarm of flesh-eating vermin, no doubt the warning preceding this chamber.
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Djedefre holds up his hands to stop everyone, "Hold! Djehuti was correct; the warning about 'consumption' is indeed specific for a reason. There's a trap on the secret door that will summon a swarm of flesh-eating vermin. Anyone with anything to combat swarms should have it in hand in case the disable attempt is unsuccessful."
Djedefre gets his acid flask in hand and shows everyone else where his alchemist fire is stored in his bandoliers.
Djehuti looks up from their book and says "A trap?" as their eyes light up with interest. "May I take a look?" Putting away their notebook, the elf kneels next to the door, inspecting the elements of the magical trap.
Jolánka, being the other foreigner of the group, does not offer commentary on the group's admonishment of Luke, though they weren't saying anything she herself wasn't thinking. Her own frail body could have been wracked by almost any aspect of that trap, if Luke hadn't been the focus of its ire...but what was done was done, and as she follows along and watches, they make new discoveries, including the next trap.
"Allow me to assist," she says to Djehuti, calling a minor spirit to guide their eyes and steady their hands.
The elf approaches the wall, flipping back the hem of his cloak as Djehuti kneels and leans in closer to the barely noticeable hieroglyphs. Seeing the symbols for swarm, touch, door, and hunger, they set to work chiselling away carefully, muttering counterspells under his breath. Finally, after an audible pop from the trap, the elf sighs and stands up, dusting themself off and confident the trap is disarmed. The elf also notes the secret door isn't locked.
"Well done, Djehuti!" Senemheb hadn't even noticed he was holding his breath. The idea of flesh-eating vermin wasn't very lucrative, as he had very little means to fight such critters.
"Shall we take a look, what is hidden behind the door?" he says, and joins the others to push the door open.