Djehuti yells "Guard constructs, watch out!" The elf snaps open the book hanging from their belt and riffles to a page, barking out the words to a spell. The letters on the page burn themselves up in heatless magical fire as a pale purple energy field settles around their body like a suit of armor.
Jolánka's rapier is drawn, and she holds it defensively as she lifts her tome with her other hand and speedily thumbs through it.
The other two advance on the party. invades Jolánka's space, stabbing at her legs while does the same for Djedefre. Despite the ferocity of the tiny warriors, only one lands a blow on the aasimar, getting Djedefre in his ankle .
"So very tiny..." It is almost hard to see these things as a threat. Senemheb understands if Djedefre feels different, as those tiny spears clearly are quite sharp. He spent a moment just looking at the creatures, pondering what to do. But it looks like it is going to be a fight...
So Senemheb drops his torch to grasp his weapon with both hands. Then he takes a step right, and cleaves the red creature with a wide slash of his bardiche.
But a big weapon and a small target makes a difficult combination.
"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."
"Oh yeah? And what book did you read that in? No offense, Dame, but maybe learnin' about weapons from someone who's never handled anything deadlier than a pen isn't the best a... Agh, Hell's horses, what the...!?"
The pointed and more than a little unjust remark was interrupted by a more pointed still and entirely unjust jab to Luke's shin. The Taldan never even noticed the miniature spear and its equally miniature wielder before the former was lodged in his boot. The dolls? From the diorama? What sort of theatrics was this?! If he was to be killed in one of these godforsaken tombs, Luke would appreciate it be beneath an honest trapped boulder or some such, not a whimsical bit of puppeteering!
Dropping his torch to the ground, he drew his - sensibly straight, thank you very much - sword in backing away, just far enough to escape his tiny opponent's limited reach. The motion sent a jolt of pain through his bleeding leg. The sensation only urged him to wreck these little marionettes. These were some antiques he could do without.
Gripping his weapon with both hands, he launched an overhead strike.
Luke and Amal both manage to carve through the innate hardness of the creations, the pieces scattering across the dusty stone floor. One one remains, though its painted face shows no intent to surrender.
"Fire would be very effective against these creatures!" Senemheb shouts out the advice as he recognizes the constructs, but the sight of Luke and Amal cleaving two of the creatures almost cut him off mid-sentence.
"Ooorrr... just hitting them very hard works well also, I suppose..."
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Djehuti turns to look over their shoulder, just to make sure this isn't a two-stage trap.
Jolánka stabs down at the little construct.
Unfortunately, the awkward proximity of the doll causes Jolánka to miss, and the doll continues its assault of the Varisian. The first stab overcomes her defenses, piercing legging and thigh , but the second is parried away by her rapier.
"Good one, kid," the foreigner huffed to Amal as both sent two of the dolls flying in chunks and pieces. The last one remained ticking, however, sinking its little spear into the Ustalavan's leg. "Ibn kalb," he swore lowly. It is a curious fact of language acquisition that swears are often learnt first.
His own shin bleeding into his boot, Luke was keenly aware what the young woman felt at the moment. Even so, he wasn't particularly worried. Murderous little automatons though they were, the puppets weren't particularly dangerous. Well, not one such on its lonesome, anyway. Which was why a thought struck him in crossing the now cluttered floor to finish this farce, a cool stream that calmed the heated waters of his annoyance. Avarice, after all, was a sentiment cold as gold.
Switching to a one-handed grip, the Taldan did not swing his weapon at the last doll plaguing Jolánka. Instead he reached out with his sizeable mitt and simply grabbed the tiny construct! Small as it was, he maneuvered it under one armpit, holding it as a childhood bully might victimize the weak and stunted.
"Someone open one of those chests," he called out as calmly as circumstances allowed. "We can sell it! A live little construct? I'm betting some wizardly egghead will pay good money for a look at Ancient Osirion's golem crafting."
”Fair enough…” Senemheb strides to one of the chests, breaks the wax seal and opens the lid.
”Just toss it in. Then we need to figure out a way to the chest closed.“
Also, he isn’t sure if the chest is sturdy enough against the creature’s tiny spear, but it’s worth a try.
"Are you only motivated by greed?" Amal asks incredulously - and with more than a smidge of frustration.
"No, I also value the smiling faces of children," came the struggling reply, every syllable dripping with sarcasm thick as tar. He wrestled the flailing doll beneath his arm. "But those don't pay for another night at the inn! Someone take this rope!"
With a Senemheb opens one of the chests, finding several papyrus scrolls and a few mundane scroll tubes within. Luke dunks the doll inside, and Amal lashes the chest shut. The chest shudders from the force of the doll trying to escape, lasting about a minute before stopping. The party is free to explore the trophy room now.
Jolánka sighs a bit as the others secure the doll in a chest and the battle comes to an end.
"Poor thing," she comments as she sheathes her rapier. "It may have some novelty value, but even if it doesn't try to shank the buyer the moment they open the box to see their new toy, it'll probably run away to try and get back to this tomb. Constructs like this are very...single-minded in regards to their duties. Just...bear that in mind if you try to find a buyer for it."
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Jolánka sighs a bit as the others secure the doll in a chest and the battle comes to an end.
"Poor thing," she comments as she sheathes her rapier. "It may have some novelty value, but even if it doesn't try to shank the buyer the moment they open the box to see their new toy, it'll probably run away to try and get back to this tomb. Constructs like this are very...single-minded in regards to their duties. Just...bear that in mind if you try to find a buyer for it."
"Even before the buyer we'll have to be careful. I doubt the Church of Pharasma would appreciate us giving them an uncontrolled construct that stabs people."
He does chuckle at the thought of a Temple full of clerics trying to corral the little guardian.
Djehuti laughs at the clever solution. "Amazing! They'll likely pay extra for an active sample of the magic in use at the time. Incredible!" The elf shakes its head and furiously writes notes in their notebook, eventually going over to sort through the papyrus scrolls that had been ignominously ejected from their container.
"They'll likely pay extra for an active sample of the magic in use at the time."
"Right?" the Taldan added, somewhat distracted in peering down his boot to asses the damage the marionette's little spear had done to his shin. "It's like a live sample of Osirion's spellcrafting however many centuries ago."
Luke had never had any aptitude nor indeed interest in the varied branches of hocus-pocus, but he'd spent enough time around academia to know arcanists were just as occupied by the history of their craft as every other supposed intellectual. And not for purely sagely gratification either. Cynic that he was, the young man suspected that half of all breakthroughs in modern arcana were in fact rediscoveries of ancient techniques that went conveniently uncredited. He recalled that one foppish nobleson that pressured the elder Caradoc into selling him that one funny tome with what looked like anatomical illustrations through a generous donation to the museum. One month later that same idiot toff was hailed as the youngest golem crafter in a generation. A feat he curiously wasn't able to recreate, the idiot.
"And if no one wants it," Luke concluded in looking up from his foot, "then I'm taking its toothpick, dressing it up in a tiny tutu, and consigning the damn thing to the fate of serving as some girlchild's dollie. Serves it right. That little spear nearly hit a vein... You alright, Dame?"
The query for the similarly struck Jolánka was less courtesy and more practical. After all, the young woman seemed fine. He was ready to move on and did so by joining in one last skim through the trophy room, five chests and diorama included.
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"I don't think this construct could ever serve as a toy," Amal slightly corrects Luke. "All it knows to do is fight." He picks up the khopesh, slides it back into its sheath, and takes the weapon with him - apparently not deterred by the Taldane man's earlier sarcastic comments.
"Anyone wants the shield?" they ask, eager to move on. So far, the tomb has been interesting enough, but a lot less exciting than what they thought - its secrets mostly inaccessible to non-academics. Amal can't help but feel a pang of frustration, as if there's something he's been missing all along.
They can't help but wonder about what made the previous group of adventurers flee and abandon one of their kind. Whatever was in there was clearly not dangerous enough to justify such a betrayal.
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"I don't think this construct could ever serve as a toy," Amal slightly corrects Luke. "All it knows to do is fight." He picks up the khopesh, slides it back into its sheath, and takes the weapon with him - apparently not deterred by the Taldane man's earlier sarcastic comments.
"Anyone wants the shield?" they ask, eager to move on. So far, the tomb has been interesting enough, but a lot less exciting than what they thought - its secrets mostly inaccessible to non-academics. Amal can't help but feel a pang of frustration, as if there's something he's been missing all along.
They can't help but wonder about what made the previous group of adventurers flee and abandon one of their kind. Whatever was in there was clearly not dangerous enough to justify such a betrayal.
"The shield is magical but I cannot determine whether the magic is beneficial or harmful. After getting stabbed I could use more protection but I'm leery of using something whose type of enchantment is unknown."
"Such a small creature would certainly have many uses, if one could only learn to command it." Senemheb muses. "I'm sure there will interested buyers. Well done, Luke."
Now that the danger is done and dealt with, time to resume the investigations. He goes through the constructless chests and makes sure they have not missed anything of value.
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Searching the rest of the chests and the spilled contents, the party finds a purse with 100 gold coins and 42 silver coins - both ancient circulations of currency - and a small library of records, private memos and correspondence, expense ledgers, and speeches both military and civilian in nature. Luke, having grown up in a noble household, realizes that while to most these hold no monetary value, to Orisionologists and/or historians these records and papers would be worth at least 250 gp, being a direct window into the mind of a small-time but nonetheless brilliant military commander of ancient Osirion.
The nard is worth 75 gp.
"The shield is magical but I cannot determine whether the magic is beneficial or harmful. After getting stabbed I could use more protection but I'm leery of using something whose type of enchantment is unknown."
"If you describe the magical auras to me, I can consult my notes and try to identify the enchantments laid on the shield," Djehuti says . They pat the spellbook hanging from their hip. "I have a spell I could cast that will allow me to see enchantments myself but it will only last a short while. I thought it would be most useful to save it until we have cleared the tomb and have all the possibly magical items gathered in one place."
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"The shield is magical but I cannot determine whether the magic is beneficial or harmful. After getting stabbed I could use more protection but I'm leery of using something whose type of enchantment is unknown.""If you describe the magical auras to me, I can consult my notes and try to identify the enchantments laid on the shield," Djehuti says . They pat the spellbook hanging from their hip. "I have a spell I could cast that will allow me to see enchantments myself but it will only last a short while. I thought it would be most useful to save it until we have cleared the tomb and have all the possibly magical items gathered in one place."
"I will do my best!"
Djedefre calls upon the blessings of Ra to bestow the ability to detect and discern magic and magical auras. He describes what he sees to Djehuti.
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Djehuti flips back and forth in their book as Djedefre describes the aura.
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Amal waits patiently for the spellcasters to come to a conclusion, but eventually he cannot repress his impatience any longer. "How about I just wave it around and see what it does?" They suggest.
Their approach to magic - for better or worse - had always been rather hands-on. There was nothing they hated more than having to read through four ancient volumes written in hieroglyphs to figure out if a wand shot lasers or healed the wounded.
Djehuti places a hand on the shield, and as Amal suggests just taking it up the elf discovers the identity of the item. It is a scarab shield, a favorite of Orisionologists for defenses against the guardians and vermin that often lair in tombs and ruins.
As Djedefre let loose another burst of raw life matter, it lit up the darkened trophy room momentarily. A gold piece held up to the tomb robber's appraising eye flashed like a little sun, catching the light. Luke smiled. Completely untarnished after centuries - that told him all he needed to know. "The gold's genuine."
He flicked the coin back into the coffer to join its circular little siblings and rose back to his feet. The latter motion came easily, certainly easier than hunching down had been; the cleric's magic had almost entirely healed his leg. Boy, these holy men sure were convenient. A pity they came with so much morality, good or ill.
"Thanks," he nodded to the god-spawn before perusing the rest of the collection whilst the more magically inclined inspected the shield. Luke wasn't particularly taken with the thing, not beyond its value in cash. While good armor was always appreciated, he preferred flexibility in a fight. Simply having a hand free was not to be underestimated.
Like when fighting in total darkness, say, in an old tomb with nothing but plain old human eyes. Awfully nice to be able to hold a torch then. And with that in mind, he picked up the one he'd dropped earlier and looked back. "This room was a real prize, but it's also a dead end. Should we head back to those dusty cats, see where that southern hall leads?"
"If there is only one way to go, then we should take it."
Senemheb wonders if the warnings about Anubis were just to scare. And this path had guardians as well. Albeit tiny and not-so-dangerous.
"The shield sounds useful in case we encounter any swarms of spiders or other crawly creatures. I can switch to a shorter weapon and take it, if no one else wants it."
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"By Ra's talons that's a dangerous way of learning what something does. I don't know that any of us have the means to free you from a curse and I also don't know that we've found enough to sell to purchase such means."
Amal is pretty sure that removing most curses would simply take asking one of his parents to do it - although no doubt his father would sigh about having to sacrifice one of his precious scrolls because one of the kids did something dumb. He can just about hear his gentle reproach in his head. Oh, Amal... That one was both rare and expensive. Pray be careful next time.
Maybe that kind of privileged thinking is part of the problem. Maybe he should stop relying on his parents too much.
Amal lets go of the magic shield with a pang of disappointment. It sounded very useful - but they of all people knew that spellcasters couldn't really be nonchalant about their own security.
Djehuti nods at Senemheb. "Certainly useful. Vermin like that like dark, enclosed spaces like sealed-up tombs. One of you with those shields should definitely swap yours for it." The elf looks at Djedefre, Amal, and Senemheb, all of whom carry a shield.
They agree with Djedfre and Luke. "Let's finish this place off and go get another assignment," the elf says with a smile on their face.
Perhaps moving the chests to the T-section of the hallway for easier removal, the party then passes the mummified cats to head south. Another pair of double doors and a downward sloping stairway leads into the next chamber. A massive mirror stretches across the southern wall of this
chamber, flanked by two statues. The statue to the east depicts a tall, gaunt woman in a flowing, hooded gown, holding an hourglass. The figure to the west is that of a jackal-headed man carrying a scepter or staff in his hand. Stone double doors, standing slightly ajar, lead to the east and west. Torch holders sculpted in the shape of bird skulls are built in each corner, and a thin layer of dust covers every surface.
The light source of the party allows the bronze mirror to catch their reflections, and any who take more than a passing glance at the mirror see something else in the room with them. A man with dark bronzed skin, similar in appearance to the depictions of the interred military man Akhentepi, stands in a corner - or leaning against a wall - or seen through the ajar doors in the room - or even replacing one of your companion's faces with his own. Each of you sees him in a different place than the others. His arms are crossed and his stern face wears a most disappointed expression.