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How could grave robbing be anything but honest work when it required so much honest toil? Luke let out a labored breath once the tomb entrance finally stood free of the sand dunes that had obscured it for however many years. It had taken some effort on all their parts and he felt it, back achy from bending down, neck hot as Crystalhue pudding and twice as clammy. This nation and its accursed sun, honestly. He could swear that wasn't the same light fixture trawling Taldor's skies.
The foreigner's muscles weren't burning quite as badly, though, and fortunately so. He eyed the ornate double door, less concerned with their elaborate carvings than their sheer weight. It would take more work still to get them opened. Not that he was averse to work. No, true to his practical mindset, Luke preferred working with his hands, much to his scholarly family's chagrin. There was a certain... dignity in actually sweating for one's pay.
Even so, cracking this box and getting inside couldn't happen quickly enough. He could do with some shade.
"Not looking to jinx us or anything," he said in jabbing his crowbar into the barely visible jamb of the door, "but on the topic of traps 'n curses, has anyone spotted anything fishy at play here? Magic men, you picking up any hocus-pocus at all? Or are we free to pull this thing apart like the rotten log it is?"
Calloused hands tightened around the metal bar.
Jolánka nods and holds up her tome, opens it and closes her eyes. There is a cool breeze, that rustles everything ever-so-slightly, accompanied by faint whispers on the edge of hearing.
"Khu Ba Heteph," she intones, and then she opens her eyes. "Seek and You Shall Find," in Osiriani, it meant. She punctuates it by slamming the book shut and then looks to see if there's any magical auras she can detect.
As you take your time forcing the ancient doors open, the more observant of your number see no traps hindering your progress. With the grating sound of sand wedged into the hidden hinges, one of the doors grinds open. Despite sitting in the sun, the air within the mausoleum is cool if stagnant.
Inside is an antechamber, all four walls covered in far better preserved murals and hieroglyphs. These murals and ancient Osiriani hieroglyphs seem to provide a brief summary of the life and career of Akhentepi, commander of Wati's garrison before the Plague of Madness. Across from you is a large stone disc set in grooves carved into the ceiling and floor.
Carved into the stone disc are three phrases in ancient Osiriani:
Akhentepi’s tomb is well defended, and those who defile it tempt the wrath of the gods.
The only thing the Guardian of the Tomb despises more than the grave robber is the unsuccessful grave robber.
Turn back while you can.
Jolánka detects no magic in the range of her spell.
Senemheb steps into the antechamber, looking around him. Specks of dust and sand float in the beam of light from the opened door, and slowly his eyes adapt to the shadows in the far reaches of the room.
"Guardian of the Tomb, eh? Certainly we are not welcome here, but I suppose there'll be same warnings in every tomb." Senemheb muses, after translating the phrases to Luke.
"I wonder if the Guardian can make between defiling the tomb and permitted entry..."
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Djedefre, while keeping an eye out for traps, notices something else. He points out to the others, "Look here: under the thick layer of dust and sand are footprints. It appears three people entered but only two exited."
"That's... ominous." Amal approaches the tracks. "If dust has had time to settle, I guess they're not recent footprints." They look around. "And they shut the door tightly after leaving."
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"That's... ominous." Amal approaches the tracks. "If dust has had time to settle, I guess they're not recent footprints." They look around. "And they shut the door tightly after leaving."
Djedefre, while keeping an eye out for traps, notices something else. He points out to the others, "Look here: under the thick layer of dust and sand are footprints. It appears three people entered but only two exited."
"Or...something closed it behind them..."
"If dust has had time to settle, I guess they're not recent footprints." They look around. "And they shut the door tightly after leaving."
"They did," Luke agreed in stowing away his crowbar to bend down over the footprints, "which I'm guessing would be the natural inclination of both any intruding Pharasmin or grave robber - one out of respect, the other in covering their tracks. And given that neither our 'sister' or the guards outside mentioned anything about the church ever breaking in here..."
Then the latter option was the likelier one and this tomb might very well already have been plundered for anything valuable. The foreigner's face sank. "... Hoping your grave guardian beastie theory holds true, Djedefre," he lamented wryly. "Only way this trip proves worthwhile."
For those without historical inclinations, anyway. The long legs lifted him back into an upright position and then traipsed inside. Ever cynical, Luke didn't have much hope they find such a crypt keeper here, perhaps with the skeletal remains of one would-be thief at its feet and untold treasures at its back. Primarily because they hadn't seen anything of the sort yet. The tomb wasn't particularly large after all. Not much space for anything to hide, least of all beasties.
In fact, the only thing the Taldan spied of any real interest was the strange stone disc. "What's with this thing?" he wondered in walking up to it.
Djehuti had scribbled down notes about the entrance, the wall, the street outside the tomb while the others had pried open the door. Now the elf was looking closely at and making notes about the murals while copying down the hieroglyphs exactly. The elf translates out loud for the benefit of anyone who cannot read the ancient Osiriani.
To them, the pictographs on the stone disk are as easily read as Taldane letters, and they smirk at the ancient stonecutter making fun of those who came to die here. "It looks like the general had no patience for the incompetent, even in death."
"The Guardian of the Tomb is Anubis, god of the dead, funeral rites, mummification, and tombs," they say absently in response to Senemheb's comment. "But you are surely right that this won't be the last time we see such a warning."
They gestured at the disk, then the grooves in ceiling and floor. "It must be the door, Luke. Otherwise the tomb of Akhentepi is just this room. It must roll to the side."
"Such inscriptions are common in all the fragments of Osiriani tomb inscriptions I've observed," Jolánka adds. "A bit more forceful than the 'May he or she who lies here rest in peace' kinds of messages you find in Avistani tombs. Messages more for the deceased than those visiting them. Only one I've seen more like these was a Taldan playwright who said anyone who moved his bones would be cursed."
She looks about the space a bit more closely.
"No magic that I could detect, so any doors hidden here would be more mechanical than mystical."
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They gestured at the disk, then the grooves in ceiling and floor. "It must be the door, Luke. Otherwise the tomb of Akhentepi is just this room. It must roll to the side."
"Yeah?" The Taldan cocked his head, eyes roving the floor-to-ceiling wheel. A rolling stone, huh? That accounted for the groves. But not for what it doing here. Specifically, how and why was it sitting in its proper place, blocking their way?
The group had gathered that someone - presumably grave robbers - had forced their way into the tomb at some point. Three had entered, two had left. For the latter two to close the outer doors only made sense: no reason to advertise their crime to patrolling Pharasmins. Yet why bother with this inner door? Why roll it back into place, especially considering its sheer heft? Luke tapped his fist experimentally against the enormous rock. Obviously the rolling stone wasn't visible with the outer doors closed. And any patrol dead set on investigating Akhentepi's for whatever reason would discover the theft regardless. So why bother?
Was there perhaps something about the groves' design that rolled the disc back into place if moved? Was Djedefre's grave guardian theory correct, some ancient creature scaring off the scavengers before putting things back in order? Or maybe, just maybe, was Luke overthinking this?
His nostrils flared with a sigh. The young man didn't particularly like thinking, not with so little to go on, not when every inquiry led to mere speculative fancy. No, empty conjecture was the privilege of academics, one they were welcome to keep. He'd rejected their worldview at five the instance he found the view of the world from an atlas infinitely lesser than that provided by the tallest branch of an oak. And with that in mind, he'd might as well set himself to something more practical.
"Senemheb, Amal," Luke called in squatting down at one side of the rolling stone, "Want to lend a hand here? Not sure whether this will be worth it, but at least we'll have the great boon of knowing exactly why our backs are wrecked in old age." He began pushing out with his legs, straining against the wheel.
Senemheb shurgs, and moves to get some leverage to push the disc.
"When in doubt, push hard?"
But unless there is a door somewhere, and the tomb is just this room - it would be rather disappointing. So much for the prestige of commander Akhentepi.
The round stone moves far more easily than the double doors leading into the antechamber, though the sound it makes as sand and dust is ground in the channels is unpleasant. Another wave of cool air exhales through your group, this one carrying the scent of a grave. Those with dark and low-light vision can see a large hole in the stone floor, a piton planted firmly into a corner and the rotting remains of a hemp rope dangling from it.
However, before anything else can be noted, a chittering hiss is heard from behind the group. You glance back in time to see a scorpion the size of a dog attempting to creep up on the group.
"Watch out! A vermin of the desert!" Senemheb cries out, and draws his weapon. He backs away a little to find some space to operate the polearm properly, and then swings at the scorpion.
"What in Cayden's chamber cup is this?"
With the stone disc rolled out of their way, the group could survey the inner chamber of the tomb, a chamber their members had alternately speculated to hide riches, a plundered sarcophagus, some ornery grave guardian, the corpse of a long dead thief, or indeed some combination of all these and more. Luke was more than a little surprised then when the space appeared, to his human eyes, entirely empty. No, more than empty. Bare as a mirrored moon and twice as mystifying. No furnishings, no coffin, not even a dais for said coffin to rest on. Nothing but barren brick.
The Taldan was baffled. Was this even a tomb at all? Did the Osirians' paranoia for their dead extend to making decoy gravesites? Or had the supposed robbers, those who had beaten them to the punch, simply been that thorough in their vocation?
Light. He needed some light to examine the space properly. "Eggheads," he addressed the scholars of the party whilst reaching for his pack's flint & steel, "Any idea what this is all about?"
The clicking hiss in reply was not that of any civilized tongue. Luke whirled around, immediately alert and hand transitioning from pack at his back to sword at his side. The creature he saw there warranted blade and more. The giant scorpion looked like something out of a child's nightmare. Without another word he rushed forward, trying to mind the tight quarters and not stab anyone in drawing the weapon.
Djehuti flinched away from the scorpion and took a few careful steps away, drawing the dagger out of their belt as they did.
While Amal and Djedefre are taken by surprise and miss their swings on the wily scorpion, the scorpion's barbed tail sinks into Amal's thigh. Senemheb and Luke take advantage of the scorpion's opening and carve into the creature. The exoskeleton cracks and releases twin pools of its ichor into the sand on the tomb's threshold.
As you tend to Amal's wound, the ten foot square hole is now free to be examined. Folks with darkvision can see the hole descends about forty feet before reaching a lightly dusted floor, with something crumpled up against a wall.
"Good work." Djehuti shakes their head and sighs. "Ghost scorpion. Normally a nocturnal predator, but it was probably looking to hide from the sun in the just-opened tomb. It probably just thought of us as competition for the shade." The elf re-sheathes their dagger and turns to the hole in the stone floor. They reach down to take the rotted rope to check its strength.
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Djedefre will tend to Amal's wound.
"Ra, I call upon thee to grant me the power to heal wounds."
"Thank goodness the scorpion's venom didn't effect you. Such an injury is beyond my current ability to cure."
Looking down into the hole Djedefre will describe what he sees.
"There is something crumpled at the bottom of the hole; perhaps our missing intruder? I have a rope we can use if we think the old one won't support us."
He retrieves his rope and two pitons from his pack and hands it to whomever looks more capable at he at securing the rope.
Jolánka draws her rapier as violence breaks out, only for it to end as quickly as it began.
"Good...good work, gentlemen," she stammers. "The dueling clubs back home would love to have quick fighters like you."
Senemheb brings the blade of his weapon closer for inspection, and wrinkles his nose at the sight of the ichor. He grabs a worn cloth from his bag, and uses a moment to clean the weapon.
"We were lucky there was just one scorpion. But it serves as a reminder that we should proceed with caution. The necropolis hides many dangers even without counting the guardians of the dead."
While Senemheb was performing his post-battle cleanup, he sees Djedefre uncoiling some rope. He joins him by the hole and peers down. "How can you see anything down there? It's pitch black!" he casts a wondering looks at the priest.
But without waiting for an answer, Senemheb reaches into his backpack to draw out a torch. "We need some light from now on."
"Good...good work, gentlemen," she stammers. "The dueling clubs back home would love to have quick fighters like you."
"I like my mug just as it is, thanks," came the deadpan reply, Luke nodding to the Ustalavan's little scar in wiping his sword clear from scorpion blood. The comment was light, yet his brow was heavy with contemplation. This encounter might have ended as suddenly as it began, and well at that, but it confirmed what the group had been told so often: the necropolis was a deadly place. While it looked the part of its moniker, a dead city at rest, it was no civilized place. This was a no man's land where beasts and worse roamed freely, same as the darkest forests, same as wildest wilds. Senemheb was right. They had to watch their step here.
Always reassuring then, to have a holy man along for those inevitable missteps. The Taldan looked on as Djedefre channeled the raw life-force that was the true devotees' to command, briefly illuminating the dim tomb with otherworldly light. He said nothing, but was glad to see Amal whole. Recent history had rendered Luke somewhat jaded, this much was true, yet such was the consequence of harsh circumstance, not a harsh person. Like a coarse whetstone to a blade, life hadn't made him similarly rough, merely given him a cynical edge. All this was to say he didn't like seeing someone so young hurt. It wasn't right.
What probably also wasn't right was the god-spawn's supernatural sight, but it was appreciated.
"How can you see anything down there? It's pitch black!"
"Seriously," the foreigner concurred in peering down the pit. "Black as Hell's coal cellar down there. The crazy eyes aren't for nothing, huh?" So there was more to Akhentepi's tomb than merely this bunker? A cautious hope fluttered within the skeptical young man. This excursion might prove worthwhile after all.
Retrieving flint & steel from his pack, Luke lit a torch and - with a silent prayer that the hole didn't in fact culminate in coal or other flammables - dropped it down the shaft. He then asked for Djedefre's proffered rope and pitons. "Hand me those." Hammering the oversized nails in place with his crowbar as best he could, the rope was then tied to these securely - and then more securely still, the Taldan adding another knot in looking over Senemheb's armor. Better safe than sorry.
"I'm off spelunking then." The remark was remarkably breezy given the steep drop, Luke making ready to climb down. But then it wasn't mere bravado that compelled him to descend first. Luke was a confident climber, but even should he somehow fall, he knew he would not come to harm. Not if that old witch who'd given him the trinket could be trusted, anyway.
"This'll be fine. Who ever heard of gravity letting anyone down?" There was no humor like gallows humor.
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In response to Senemheb and Luke, "Indeed my 'crazy eyes' are a blessing from Ra and proof that, somewhere in the distant past, a celestial is one of my ancestors. They allow me to see in the dark and some other gifts as well."
Seeing Luke both tying the rope and then preparing to climb down it Djedefre once again calls upon Ra to guide Luke's hands.
Djehuti moves over to make way for the others to secure a rope, then pulls out their notebook to jot down some notes while Luke scouts ahead.
They also carefully put away their tinted glasses in a hard leather case, revealing the reason they usually kept their eyes covered. While most elves have uniformly black eyes, Djehuti's eyes look completely white. Seen in the light of day Djehuti might even appear blind. The torchlight, though, reflects weirdly back from them, opalescent like oil floating on top of water. Like Djedefre, they also had not appeared to need the light of a torch to see in the pitch black.
As Luke descends, he notes the shaft is smooth and devoid of any handholds or other markings. He might think himself fortunate to have pitons, rope, and companions here to help him back up, as he'd struggle indeed if something went awry. The shaft is thirty feet long, opening into a room with a ten foot ceiling.
Luke finds himself in a 20x20 chamber, lightly dusted with sand compared to the initial antichamber above. Mirrored images of the same warrior as could be faintly seen on the tomb's doors are again presented on another pair of doors, these unaffected by the weathering of time.
Luke's nose wrinkled as the smell of decay got more intense the lower he descended, and looking at the foot of the doors he saw the source. A crumpled body lies atop a dark stain on the floor, broken tools scattered about and its bony fingers outstretched to the doors.
Jolánka descends after Djedefre and looks impassively at the dead body.
"That would be our third entrant, I suspect," she comments.
"Human or aiuvarin, most likely. Broken legs, probably from a long fall."
She turns to look back at the way they came in, trying to gauge if that was the fall in question or if it was from something further in.
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Despite his fresh wound, Amal insists on climbing down to see the body for himself.
They make a face as Jolánka explains what probably happened. Poor sod.
Even in the low light, his eyes are sharp enough to make out usable equipment beneath the torn remnants of the thief's clothes.
They rummage through the rags, taking out a hammer that is not too rusty, three pitons and two vials that he inspects with a critical eye. "Anyone well-versed in potions? They're probably not healing ones, or else they would have fixed their legs."
Jolánka takes out her tome and repeats the ritual she did before, looking down upon the vials.
"Yeah, I figure you're right." Luke squatted down to inspect the desiccated body, concurring with the Ustalavan. "This is probably our third man."
As might be expected of a self-professed tomb raider, he showed no qualms rooting about the crumbling remains alongside Amal, fingers smudging with corpse dust. The sharp eyes lingered on the broken legs in particular, once indicated by Jolánka. Holding his torch high, he looked up to the shaft in the ceiling. The flickering light sent shadows playing upon the chamber's walls. It lent the figures painted there a certain volatility, as if dancing, playing, maybe even ready to step forth to stop these intruders to a sanctified space.
"So what are we thinking happened here?" the Taldan mused aloud. "Three grave robbers enter what they hope is little more than an oversized jewelry box, they find the pit where a grave should be, one of them falls down said pit, and... the other two get spooked and run off?"
As stories went, Luke supposed it fit the facts as presented down here. Yet something about it rang hollow to him, like a garbled message passed through a child's game of whispers. He only realized the notable something missing from this tale as his searching gaze fell upon the corpse again. Its bony fingers lay ossified in grasping for the doors. "Oh, you poor bastard. He was still alive, crawling on his broken legs and reaching for the doors. The doors going further in," he added, voice hesitant with dawning understanding. "Because there was nowhere else to go. 'Cause his 'friends' closed the entrance above, just as we found it."
Expiring broken, battered and betrayed in the pitch-black of a millennia old tomb. Hell of a way to go. One that was potentially worse still. For nothing in the foreigner's hypothesis established whether these fleeing compatriots had left due to cowardice - or whether this was all premediated. The Vulture Court might very well be standing in an ancient murder scene.
Not their problem. Such was Luke's conclusion, although he idly wondered whether the Pharasmins would be interested in hearing of this. Laying bodies to rest was sort of their whole deal after all. No, what really concerned him was the rope now hanging from the shaft, the same they had all traversed in getting down here. It was their only means of escape, their very literal lifeline. And he'd be damned if he shared the same fate as this sorry sod.
"Hand me that hammer you found and one of those pitons, yeah?" he asked Amal before reaching for the rope. "Going back up. Gonna see if I can wedge that wheel in place or something."
It might be the most cynical of precautions, but then getting stranded down here because another scorpion nibbled at their rope would also be the dumbest of deaths.
Djehuti slides down the rope, not so much climbing as a barely controlled fall. They don't look that strong and might need help climbing back up. They look curiously at the potions as the other spellcasters check out the vials. "What do you see, Jolanka?"
Senemheb is the last one to descend, arriving to a scene of observations from the others. He has little to add, but the mystery of the corpse is interesting one.
"Or maybe the trio went in deeper, and found something that made them turn tail. The something caught this one, and the others cut the ropes so it couldn't follow."
One doesn't need to run faster than the enemy. Only faster than one's allies...
He kneels down for a closer look at the corpse, and the broken legs does indicate the robber fell down. Did the others cut the rope while he was climbing?
"Bit of a mystery, the fate of the three robbers..."
Senemheb stands up and sees everyone taking turns wondering about the two vials. So he decides to join in, removes the stoppers from the vials and takes a sniff.
The combined efforts of Jolánka and Djehuti's rituals and Senemheb's sense of sulfur and accelerant, they discover these are two still functional vials of alchemist's fire. Luke - perhaps aided by Senemheb or Djehuti back up the rope - returns to the circular door and puts his healthy paranoia to use.
The doors leading deeper into Akhentepi's tomb are heavy and stiff, but they give way after . The corridor's walls depict the clash of gallant armies. The bas reliefs show Osiriani warriors clashing with gnolls, raiders, the militia of rival cities, and the myriad beasts of the desert, the noble Wati forces commanded by Akhentepi himself. The other sides of the doors you just opened depict him younger but still of a commanding rank. The doors opposite show him at the height of his career, a majestic scar across his left profile. The doors - rather than bearing mirrored images - show Akhentepi riding a magnificent chariot.
Djehuti follows the group into the next room, moving slowly as they take copious notes.
"Alchemist's fire. Not magical, but still useful," Jolánka comments.
As they explore the chambers, Jolánka begins making rubbings of the most prominent reliefs.
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Amal does his best not to roll his eyes at Djedefre's patriotic outbursr. Why nations and cities would be at their most glorified every time they spilled blood was beyond him. It was always the battles that were deemed worthy of going down in history - for some reason, the construction of a thousand schools never seemed to be a matter of pride.
As Djefedre marvels over the bas reliefs, he notices there are several small holes craftily hidden so those moving west wouldn't notice them. His eyes trail westward, and his darkvision allows him to notice a panel just in front of the west doors that is slightly lower than the rest of the corridor. A clever trap that wouldn't be noticed, but would trip up the unobservant, causing their body weight to carry them forward and onto the pressure plate. This corridor appears to be trapped with darts.