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Djedefre finds the chest a marvelous find but the lock is trapped with a poisoned blade that will attempt to strike anyone who picks the lock. While breaking the chest open might avoid the trap, it will ruin the value of the chest and might destroy anything held within, as the chest is rather delicate.
Djedefre stops Amal, "I have located another trap - a deadly one on the chest which is also locked. I believe in my lessons about ancient Osirion the feline mummies are just as important as Akhentepi's mummy. We should keep the collars and mummies together for now and take them to the authorities."
The doors swing openly with minimal scrape or undue noise, revealing a steep staircase going down to another set of doors. Opening these reveals a display room of sorts. A brightly painted chariot sits in the center of this chamber. Beyond the chariot, a large canvas stretches between two stone columns. The skins of several animals—antelopes, great cats, and crocodiles—now faded and deteriorated with age, are tacked to this canvas. A wooden chest, lacquered white and trimmed with gold inlay, sits in the southeast corner. In each corner of the room a small stone shield is molded into the masonry at shoulder height. An open hallway leads east into another section of the long display room.
The chariot is a light model of its kind, meant for one person either for racing or skilled warfaring drivers. It, along with the skins on the canvas, have suffered the ravages of time. However, the chariot could be restored or sold as is as an art piece of antiquity. However, it must have been dissembled, brought in piece meal, and then reassembled in its current resting place and would have to be taken apart to be removed from the tomb.
"Oh my...it's like stepping into a museum as Djehuti and Jolánka said! I must take sketches in case we can't remove the chariot safely."
Djedefre retrieves his journal, ink, and ink pen to take notes, sketch a primitive map, and write down translated versions of any hieroglyphics Djehuti provides.
Jolánka boggles as they enter the chamber, her gasp quickly shifting to a high-pitched squeal of delight.
"Desna smiles, it's like how I've dreamed it would be since I was an undergraduate!"
As soon as she's gotten over her initial excitement, she quickly goes about the chamber, carefully observing each piece and taking notes on it while Djedefre sketches.
After he explains the nature of the trapped chest, she gives a small "hmm" and turns to Djehuti.
"If you wish to make the attempt, I can commune with the spirits to guide your hands."
She also thinks on Djedefre's words. Something about it didn't sound quite right to her. As beloved as the cats would have to be to be mummified with Akhentepi, the only way she could imagine they'd have equal honor to his body was if they'd been the personal pets of the Pharaoh himself...and if that'd been the case, why would they have been in some military official's tomb instead of one of the great Royal Pyramids?
"Jackpot."
No cat over its cream bowl had ever sported a smile quite so pleased as that of the Taldan in surveying the memorial hall. Actual grave goods worth actual dosh! Now they were in business. Leaving Djehuti, Jolánka and Djedefre to ponder the worthiness of desiccated cats, he wandered the little space, inspecting the one-man chariot and canvas with faded skins beneath the flickering light of his torch. Evidence to Akhentepi's hunting prowess, he supposed?
According to the old adage, however, what goes up must come down. Such was the case for Luke's brow, sinking with every step. Unfortunately, there was little to find with any intrinsic value, especially after having endured centuries. Father Time had gone to work with a heavy hand here. Even the chariot looked such a hassle - needing disassembly, transport through a vertical shaft, reassembly and then repairs - that even the craven foreigner had to wonder whether its recovery was worth it.
The one exception was the chest, all lacquered, fine wood and gold inlays. But of course it came with its own challenge.
They find themselves shooting a glance at Luke. Perhaps he has another idea; flawed as it was, the backpack trick worked.
"What, is it trapped? Yeah, figures... Why would it be anything else?" the cynical young man sighed. He squatted down before the case beside Amal, wanting to hear the specifics of the mechanism. "Poisoned blade? Probably spring-loaded then. Could try to just set it off again, maybe with some distance." A dagger whispered out of its scabbard, Luke pointing it to the keyhole.
"Alternatively, we just sell it as is. No, really. Nothing adds to a pretty package like a bit of mystery. Ever seen one of those belly dancers, kid? The ones with the flimsy face veil? Why do you think they wear that? 'Cause there's nothing so tempting as the unknown." He nodded sagaciously. "Those girls know what they're doing. Even the most homely of half-orcs can play a knockout by making people's imagination do half the work. It's a principle that works just as well in dingy taverns as in fancy auction houses. I've sees rich collectors with more money than sense go into a bidding frenzy at banged-up urns - no price too high so long as they're whole and sealed. That's the mystery factor."
The Taldan snorted in derision even as his stubbles parted in a smirk. He might think little of the affluent, but he was happy to take their gold.
"Shame I'm too curious to go that route," he concluded. "Let's see what our long-fingered elf says." The eyes landed on Djehuti, he who had evidenced some aptitude for fine mechanisms earlier.
Jolánka gives Luke an "are you f***ing kidding me?!" look.
"I can't tell if you were joking, Luke, or if you seriously believed that little monologue would disguise the fact you were suggesting we sell the chest to someone while its trap is still armed and not tell them?!"
As the party piles and peers into the chariot room, the lights are cast down a short hallway, each wall bearing two golden funerary masks for a total of four. Three are humanoid, with one being that of a lioness.
The next chamber is a more obvious trophy room dedicated to Akhentepi's military career. A diorama to the north depicts a section of Wati's walls with defenders repelling a savage pack of invaders. This diorama features clay and stone dolls barely taller than a foot in height. The east wall displays three different shields, two wooden and the third metallic. The south wall holds a rack with a composite shortbow, a khopesh, and a spear. Five chests and a clay urn ring the room.
"The tapestry in the previous room and perhaps the chariot, I might be able to call upon the power of Ra to restore them a bit. It's worth a try but I will need to do so tomorrow after I pray to Ra."
Djehuti looks back over their shoulder in the direction of the previous room. "I could do something similar, though certainly not as well as a blessing from Great Ra, praise be to His name. But consider that without the patina of age it becomes very difficult to authenticate items. Who is to say something that appears as good as new is not actually new?"
"I recognize the masks. The first two depict Pharasma and Abadar while the other two depict Sekhmet and Osiris. They are deities in the Ancient Osirion pantheon and represent war and the afterlife respectively."
Djehuti hurriedly scribbles down notes in their notebook. "That makes sense. Give me a moment to finish putting down my thoughts and I will look at the chest." After a few more seconds of writing they shut their notebook, securing the clasp to keep it closed and putting it in a side pocket on their backpack that looks like it has been custom made to hold the notebook.
The elf goes over to the chest and kneels down to peer into the keyhole. They detach a bundle from their belt that turns out to be a roll of tools, which they unroll onto the ground. Djehuti takes a few moments to consider the lock and the tool and then selects a pair of items and inserts them into the lock.
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[dice=Kn:History re scarabs + Akhentepi]1d20+10
[dice=Kn:Local re scarabs + Wati?]1d20+9
"The tapestry in the previous room and perhaps the chariot, I might be able to call upon the power of Ra to restore them a bit. It's worth a try but I will need to do so tomorrow after I pray to Ra."
Djehuti looks back over their shoulder in the direction of the previous room. "I could do something similar, though certainly not as well as a blessing from Great Ra, praise be to His name. But consider that without the patina of age it becomes very difficult to authenticate items. Who is to say something that appears as good as new is not actually new?"
"Ah the age old question which Luke loves to lecture us about: value in monetary terms versus historical and cultural value. We'll have to consider what we think is best."
Djehuti's deft fingers slide slim tools into the barely noticeable slot a blade would slash out from to deliver its poison or disease. A few tense moments later and a faint but satisfying click heralds the elf's success in disarming the trap without damage.
Opening the gilded lid the party finds three potions, labeled in Ancient Osiriani hieroglyphs carved into the wax seals, and two hefty tomes each with thin, golden plated metallic sheets for pages, also written in Ancient Osiriani. Each book weighs 25 pounds. The first seems to be a brief biography of Akhentepi himself, the other a chronicle of Osiriani battles and conflicts dated from 2350 to 2450 AR.
"Let me have a look at those..."
Senemheb had been keeping his distance while the others worked on the chest, just in case the trap was triggered. But now that everything seems safe, he approaches to study the labels on the wax seals.
And greedily he also digs into the books, but quite soon it turns out they contain little of the secret knowledge Senemheb would be interested in, but turn out to be just biographies. But they might be worth something, at least.
"While these tomes are pretty, they are very heavy to carry around. Perhaps we should leave them behind for now, and pick them up on our way back. Unless someone was particularly strong back?"
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"I can't tell if you were joking, Luke, or if you seriously believed that little monologue would disguise the fact you were suggesting we sell the chest to someone while its trap is still armed and not tell them?!"
"What? No! No, of course not." No child caught with their arm down the cookie jar had ever looked so aghast, no politician caught pinching from the treasury had ever looked so injured at the mean accusation levied him by the Ustalavan. Him bleeding upper-crusters dry of their unearned wealth without regard for their safety? What an entirely unfair allegation. Of course he wasn't suggesting selling the box without warning.
Not when such a warning would only increase its value! "Of course we'd warn 'em! You're an academic. You must've met these crazed collector types. Ancient traps and ominous curses? That's what gets their monocles popping, the stupid nobs, something to brag about to their stupid nob friends. A trap only proves whatever's inside is worth protecting. It'd be awfully silly of us to leave a fact like that off the negotiating table."
Cold as gold, while this bargaining ploy was no doubt cynical, that cynicism was undercut by the smirk through which it was delivered. For Luke was in fact winding up the young woman. Well, mostly. One had to find one's fun where available. Which was to say that, yes, he had precious little sympathy for the silk-stockings of the world, yet even so he wasn't about to sell any such dangerous artifact without due warning.
Especially as the Caradoc household knew all too well just how dangerous these relics could be.
A moot point, regardless. For although the Taldan was reluctant to admit it, an unhealthy curiosity was among the few things he had inherited from his late father. This box was too intriguing to let go unopened. Fortunately, Djehuti was there to sate that curiosity.
"Nicely done," he said, really quite impressed. "Where did you pick up those nimble fingers? A previous life as a housebreaker?"
While meant as merely another jest, Luke regretted the comment the next second. The elf's past wasn't any of his business. Besides, he realized, with the fair folk's famously long lifespans, the idea of a 'previous life' separate from the scholar standing amongst them now wasn't completely inconceivable. Not that the self-professed tomb robber was in any position to judge.
"Lemme take a look at those," he therefore moved on, asking Senemheb to pass along the sturdy books. Archeology might not be his strong suit, but he'd watched aristocrats haggle over museum pieces far too often not to have gained an idea of the worth of antiques.
Djehuti moves out of the way and carefully packs up their tools as the others investigate the contents of the chest. They smile and shake their head at the praise. "I like puzzles," is their only explanation for how they learned how to finesse locks.
Once their tools are safely stowed away again they look over from the side at the labels and golden books.
The elf nods at Senemheb's suggestion. "The chest itself looks valuable. Perhaps we should just take the entire thing when we go."
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Djedefre peeks over Senemheb's shoulder and asks for translation assistance in learning both current and Ancient Osiriani.
He listens with rapt attention as he takes notes from both Senemheb and Djehuti including their description of the role of scarabs in Ancient Osirion.
"I don't support any who would deface the depictions and spirals of Pharasma. It is disrespectful! Acceptance should be given to the various faiths."
Jolánka also listens very attentively, notably repeatedly looking between the scarabs depicted and the one that rests on the cover of her tome.
When the books reveal themselves, she gingerly examines and admires them. When Semheneb suggests leaving them unless someone has a strong back, she immediately attempts to heft them.
"I've lugged hefty books around campus for years! This is nothing!"
The fact that she's obviously wobbling to keep her balance as she tries to hold all three at once makes that declaration immediately suspect.
Djehuti gestures at the chest. "If we're taking the chest we might as well just keep the books in it til we leave." They gesture at the archway on the path toward the exit. "Let's just move the chest over there to make sure we don't forget it on our way out. We could even put other things in it for safekeeping."
"In that case, best hope we don't trigger the trap when we reclaim the books." Senemheb casts a wary glance at the chest.
"These two are potions of healing," he points at the flasks with similar label. "And this one gives sight in darkness. All will be useful in our travels, I'm sure. Who should carry these?" Subconsciously, he hides the potions from the man already showing his talent in throwing his gear into corridors.
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"If we're taking the chest we might as well just keep the books in it til we leave." They gesture at the archway on the path toward the exit. "Let's just move the chest over there to make sure we don't forget it on our way out. We could even put other things in it for safekeeping."
"That works too. Probably even better."
"And this one gives sight in darkness. All will be useful in our travels, I'm sure. Who should carry these?"
"I'd like a potion of healing, in case we meet other scorpions," Amal jokes. "I'm also interested in the one that makes you see in the dark, but so are three other people." He glances at Senemheb, Luke and Jolánka. Whether to cast a spell or stab an enemy, the potion would be useful for all of them.
For once, Amal feels quite frustrated from not having inherited his mother's genes. Lidhalla never even bothered to turn a light on when she entered a room, and her sight probably bested even Djedefre's.
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"Ra, peace be upon him, will hopefully protect me in our exploration. But in case it is Ra's will that I be tested perhaps someone could use the potion to heal me? Then I can heal everyone else."
Looking at Amal's intimidating physique he comments, "Books? It looks like you could carry a wing of a library."
"Makes sense," Jolánka says with a nod to Djedefre. "I can carry that, and I have the means to heal with magic similarly, though I don't propitiate a god directly."
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"Ra, peace be upon him, will hopefully protect me in our exploration. But in case it is Ra's will that I be tested perhaps someone could use the potion to heal me? Then I can heal everyone else."
Looking at Amal's intimidating physique he comments, "Books? It looks like you could carry a wing of a library."
Amal gives Djedefre a quizzical look, wondering if the guy is pulling his leg, before remembering he's probably referring to the easiness with which he carried Jolánka's bag the day before. "... Thanks?"
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"Ra, peace be upon him, will hopefully protect me in our exploration. But in case it is Ra's will that I be tested perhaps someone could use the potion to heal me? Then I can heal everyone else."
Looking at Amal's intimidating physique he comments, "Books? It looks like you could carry a wing of a library."
Amal gives Djedefre a quizzical look, wondering if the guy is pulling his leg, before remembering he's probably referring to the easiness with which he carried Jolánka's bag the day before. "... Thanks?"
"You're welcome! If it weren't for the chariot being so fragile, and needing to be disassembled to fit through the doors and halls, I'm confident you could carry it back."
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"Ra, peace be upon him, will hopefully protect me in our exploration. But in case it is Ra's will that I be tested perhaps someone could use the potion to heal me? Then I can heal everyone else."
Looking at Amal's intimidating physique he comments, "Books? It looks like you could carry a wing of a library."
Amal gives Djedefre a quizzical look, wondering if the guy is pulling his leg, before remembering he's probably referring to the easiness with which he carried Jolánka's bag the day before. "... Thanks?"
"I could," Amal says with zero hesitation.
Jolánka keeps close to the core of the group.
"Shall I light a torch?" she inquires.
Djedefre and Jolánka step into the short hall bearing the funerary masks, using their celestially blessed eyesight and academic perception, seeing nothing nefarious other than the rather stern masks' expressions.
Stepping into the trophy room, the party gets a better look at the items held within. The five chests are not nearly as ornate as the trapped one with the chariot, nor to they bear any locks or traps, merely sealed with a thick cord of wax. The urn is similarly sealed, another hieroglyph pressed into the lid.
Should anyone be detecting magic the shield pings as magical, but otherwise their are no other auras in the room. The shortbow and khopesh are masterwork, but the bow's string has eroded away and would need to be replaced.
"Let me take a look..." Senemheb says, and pushes Djedefre gently out of the way. He brings the torch closer to get a bit more light for studying the hieroglyphs.
"Oh, this is.. But that is not... I have absolutely no idea, it doesn't make any sense."
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"No idea either," Amal shakes their head.
In truth, they spent very little time inspecting the hieroglyphs - only sparing them a glance. They get almost immediately distracted by the beautiful khopesh displayed on the wall, running a finger down its smooth blade to test its sharpness. They let out a whistle of admiration. "This is one hell of a sword."
As though hypnotized, they take it off the wall and take a few experimental swings at imaginary opponents. They're not holding it right, though, and seem to have some problems figuring out how to strike with such a curved blade - and one that weighs twice as much as a scimitar, on top of that.
Djehuti had stayed in the hallway, writing down descriptions of the masks, until they heard Djedefre ask a question. They go over to look at the hieroglyph pressed into the lid of the urn. "Well, it could be..."
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"Nard?"
It might not compare to that let out by the beasts felled by Ahkentepi the great hunter, but the foreigner's torch gave a little roar of its own as he turned from the weapon racks. "The perfumed oil?" Bending down to the urn, he took a couple experimental sniffs. "Never liked the stuff. Always smelled like wet dog after rolling around in a pepper plantation to me. Still, pricy stuff." The fragrance might not be to his taste, yet the bright eyes were pleased once they looked up again. "Someone will pay a pretty penny for this."
This said, he returned to inspecting what was presumably the late general's armory. Luke was no weapons aficionado. They were tools like any other, a means to an end, that end being defending oneself. It just so happened that one had to do just that fairly often as a procurer and even seller of antiques. Having an eye for weapons was prudent in this line of work. And that bow was quite impressive, if given a new string.
Certainly more impressive than the funky sword. "You can't be serious, kid." He raised an eyebrow at Amal still admiring the ancient blade. "That thing's bent like a hag's spine. It can't possibly be any use. Must be some sort of display piece."
Surely not even Ancient Osirion could mess up the simple science of 'sharp-metal-go-stabby-cut'? This was what passed for a sword back in the day? What was wrong with designing a normal sharpened length of steel? This sandbox and its pretensions, honestly...
The Taldan's plain longsword jostled at his hip as he briefly looked over the shields - missing the magical one in their midst entirely - before descending on the chests. No traps, huh? "No objections to opening these, right?"
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Jolánka watches as the others examine the chamber. At Luke's commentary, she chimes in.
"Good nose," she says of the discovery of the nard. On the khopesh, however, she scoffs.
"Nonsense! The curved shape is meant to distribute the weight more towards the top, lending itself to chopping, downward swings, like an axe. The Taldan falcata functions much in the same way."
As the party admires the weaponry, the discovery of thousands of years old nard, and several chests, a noise is heard to the north from the diorama. Three of the miniatures have hopped from off the model's wall and, armed with spears and shields, these tiny constructs shake their weapons and leap to attack.
The doll rushes into Luke's space, stabbing twice at his boot with its spear. While the first stab doesn't pierce the Taldan's boot, the second goes higher, below the knee and lands a blow.
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"You can't be serious, kid. That thing's bent like a hag's spine. It can't possibly be any use. Must be some sort of display piece."
"It's not blunt," Amal shakes his head, barely able to repress a bit of an ironic smile. Clearly Luke knew little about Osiriani warfare.
His smile, however, disappears entirely when tiny soldiers jump off the diorama. "What on earth-"