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Aerathiel quite audibly sighs at what appear to be yet more constructs and once more brings to mind his acid conjuring cantrip. It is not as if the elven mage did not expect guardians in such a place, but the fact that they appear to be of the sort that is highly resistant to mundane weaponry has started to irritate him somewhat. Of course, he readily admit that what better guardians for a tomb than non-living ones?
"Very well," Aerathiel mutters with a shrug before following the rest of his associates and companions out of the room and away from the strange construct.
With Pherenike free from the sarcophagus' jaws, Aerathiel once again falls back to his tried and true acid cantrip. The circumstances are hardly ideal however, as the construct is surrounded by the mage's companions, and the acid orb lands harmlessly on the wall behind the furious melee.
With Pherenike between the apparent construct's jaws, Aerathiel reaches in his spell component pouch and after a moment's search, he pulls out what seems to be a small stick of magically preserved butter. Holding it in his open palm, he utters an incantation as the fingers of his free hand trace arcane gestures over it. As he finishes the spell, the stick of butter melts and the vanishes as at the same time a layer of slippery grease materializes as a thin coat over the bodyguard's armor and clothes.
"Perhaps the secret door? It may be a decoy, but it may also lead to something of importance, valuable enough to hide behind concealed doors," Aerathiel offers.
The elven wizard sighs in resignation. Still, he has to admit, at least to himself, that he is quite interested in seeing what else the tomb is hiding. Perhaps items of arcane power, perhaps long-lost spells. "As I said, I still have all my magic at my disposal," Aerathiel finally says.
"I have felt better, that much is true," Aerathiel offers with a shrug of his slender shoulders. "I could go on, as I still have not used up my magic. But alas, it is not my resources that worry me, but our resident healer's. Without divine aid or some other way to mend wounds, it may prove too dangerous to continue lest we find ourselves facing something that proves to much for us to face. Consider, after all, the trouble the snake construct gave us."
Once again the elven wizard uses his simplest of magics against the small yet surprisingly resilient construct as an orb of magically conjurex acid leaves his hand and flies towards it.
His magic proves less than reliable this time as Aerathiel's cantrip misses the snake entirely.
Taking a better look at the metallic snake now that he is at a safe enough distance from it, Aerathiel searches his memory for whaever he might know of such creatures, if one could call it that. "Most of these constructs are made of iron, thus are very resistant to injury," the mage shares with the rest of them. "Other than that, they have a poisonous bite, as Pherenike can probably attest to by now, and, as constructs, are immune to a variety of effects, since they are more object than living creature." "Fascinating," he adds a little more softly.
Keeping a safe distance between himself and the snake construct, the elven mage continues to sling orbs of acid at it.
Waiting for the rest of his companions to join him in the chamber, Aerathiel brings to mind the words to his acid cantrip and stands ready to cast it if or when the snake construct follows them in the room.
Following the others' example, Aerathiel withdraws in an attempt to empty some room and allow Mus' ad and Pherenike the chance to strike the creature down.
As time and again since their exploration of the tomb began, Aerathiel's choice for an attack is his acid cantrip after taking a step to better be able to aim at the creature.
"Indeed." Aerathiel nods in agreement and, a brief incantation later, his eyes scan the room, now able to see beyond the mundane and into the magical.
Hands clasped behind his back but arcane words never far from his mind and his lips, Aerathiel stands back with the rest of his companions, looking curiously at the halfling and its attempt to open the door.
...the pretty Elf's... Hey!
Although the items seem of little interest to him, Aerathiel nevertheless does take the time to examine them in case not all of them are of a mundane nature.
Taking a moment to grant himself the ability to see magical auras like before, Aerathiel motions for the more physically resilient and martially capable members of the group to lead the way, the elven mage preferring the relative safety of staying towards the back of the marching formation. "By all means then, down it is. This is all becoming curiouser and curiouser, if I may so."
Waiting for the more physically inclined members of their group to see what they can do about opening the door, Aerathiel simply stands close to the Professor. Speaking softly, he muses, "I do so hope we do not get to meet too many more of those large bugs. Still, it is always nice to put my magic to good use."
Unable to get a clear view of the creatures, but not wanting to risk getting close enough for them to sink their mandibles in him, Aerathiel stands ready to use his spell of acid on the first of the large beetles that presents itself a good enough target.
The words come easily to Aerathiel's lips, the same with the necessary gestures, and an orb of acid flies flies towards the large beetle, making a small hole in its protective carapace.
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I believe the saying goes," Aerathiel says softly, his remark followed by a short string of arcane syllables and a brief gesture with his left hand. A small brass key is held in his right hand and, pointing at the secret door, the elven wizard moves it as if using it to unlock the door, albeit from afar.
Slowly but surely Aerathiel's projectiles of magically conjured acid eat away at the sand creature's body as another one of them connects with a soft hissing sound and a brief acrid smell.
Lips moving with the soft sound of the incantation and fingers making the familiar gestures, Aerathiel conjures another small sphere of acid that flies unerringly at the elemental creature, burning away a little more of its body.
His mind running through his memorized spells quickly, Aerathiel finds nothing that could help him and the others in this fight. Thus, the elf is forced to once again fall back to his tried and true acid conjuring cantrip, at the same time trying to remember what he knows of such elemental creatures like this one.
Tacing a few step forward and entering the room, Aerathiel conjures once again a small orb of acid with which to attack the creature menacing them.
"Well, the mirror seemed rather immune to your assurances and flattery, Professor," Aerathiel remarks with only a slight hint of annoyance in his tone as he rubs his forehead on the spot where the hieroglyphs have appeared. "Not quite so immune to a more... shall we say, direct approach? The magic was a combination of illusion and transmutation, by the way, with the former probably responsible for the various reflections and the latter for the charming little brand presently decorating our heads."
Upon entering the room and having a better view of the strange mirror, Aerathiel once again brings the same simple spell as before to mind, his lips softly forming the brief incantation. Now with the ability to see magical auras, the elven wizard directs his gaze towards the mirror and the reflections within, doing his best to examine it from a safe enough distance, at least for the time being.
"How... unfortunate," Aerathiel comments as he too studies the tapestry, his tone more or less impassive. "And how... mildly unpleasant," he adds after noticing the mummified cats. "There are symbols and hieroglyphs on this," the elf informs the rest, indicating the faded tapestry. "It appears that Akhentepi was left widowed after some tragedy or other, possibly murder or disease, befell his family." His tone betrays little empathy to the man's plight as the wizard simply relays the information to the rest of the group. "Any further insight, Professor?"
Also able to see the doors beyond Kheled's light, Aerathiel nevertheless keeps his distance, allowing the dwarf to go first and deal with any traps that may be lying around. "One can never be too careful, yes?" The question, directed at Mus'ad, is spoken softly and it is more of a conversational nature rather than an actual query.
Following the Professor's example, Aerathiel carefully and slowly climbs down the rope, the elven wizard not quite accustomed to such endeavors. Still, he manages well enough and sooner or later he joins the rest of the group in the lower room.
Reacting quickly, Aerathiel takes a step back to better distance himself from the large scorpion before retrieving a flask of acid from a belt pouch with his left hand. Muttering a quick incantation, a glowing green orb of acid materializes about an inch over the upward-facing palm of his outstretched right arm. The small sphere seems to hover there for a moment, a wispy line of greenish energy linking it briefly with the acid flask, before it is let loose to fly towards the creature, splashing against its carapace, the hard chitin sizzling as it hits.
Muttering a brief and simple incantation and passing his hand in front of his eyes, they momentarily glow silvery blue as Aerathiel adds the ability to see magical auras to his already keen senses. Moving a little closer to the shaft, he looks down, but without the ability to see in the dark, he waits for the 'pebble trick' Mus'ad mentioned. "If you would be so kind, Kheled?"
"What brings me here?" The mage echoes the question, smiling. With a shrug, he continues, his tone casual, matter-of-fact. "I am a wizard, a scholar, a seeker of knowledge. Of long-lost spells and artifacts." He pauses, his smile widening ever so little. "And of the power their discovery more often than not promises."
"My particular area of expertise is arcane and planar lore, I am afraid," Aerathiel answers Kheled. "Necromancy and undeath, unfortunately, are not. However, I am fairly certain I shall be rectifying that in due time considering what probably awaits us." "What about you though? You are a priest of sorts, after all?"
"I can only assume that the group of women must be the Daughters of the Desert," the elf offers. "And as for the Scorched Hand -for that must indeed be them, if Marrn's charming little expression is any indication- they appear to be devotees of Nethys. At the very least they openly wear his symbol, with the exception of the half-orc woman."
"You get it," the wizard addresses the halfling, referring to what he said to Aristedes but a moment earlier. "Nothing quite so pretentious, unlike some other entries. Your group's name is simple, yet to the point. Concise. Much like ours; no unnecessary pomposity, no silly attempt to sound fearsome." "Perhaps we should talk again, Marrn," he adds, affording the Professor a sidelong look and a smile. "I am sure our group and yours will both do splendidly and we will have many an anecdote to share."
"Some of the other groups do not share your modesty, Professor," Aerathiel comments as he manages to sneak a peek at some of the other names the acolyte has written down so far. "The Cryptfinders, the Daughters of the Desert, the Scorched Hand, the Sand Scorpions... I do admit that I am torn between the last two as to which one is my personal favorite," he says with a smirk, his tone intentionally mocking, if only by a little.
A recent arrival to Wati, the elf walks the city's streets casually, seemingly lost in thought. He had heard of the city's necropolis and its many tombs before, of course; what self-respected scholar and seeker of knowledge -and the power that usually comes with it, he adds in his mind- would not have? Still, it was not until a little more than a month ago that he decided to actually act on that information and see for himself what secrets such a place might hold. Still, after finally arriving, even he did not expect that there would be so many people, adventurers and treasure hunters and archaelogists and more, that had the same thought as he did. Soon enough he learned of the reason and it all made sense, more or less; there were humans involved and sense seemed so often a luxury where they were concerned. There would be a... well, a lottery, of all things. A lottery will be assigning tombs to groups, he ponders as he turns a corner. Although he looks like as if he is on an idle walk to take in the sights of the city, that is hardly the case. Quarterstaff in hand, the elven man has little in the way of weaponry, other than a dagger sheathed by his left hip. However, the pouch of spell components hanging from his belt, as well as the spellbook carried within his well-made backpack, mark him as a mage, and one such as he has no need for mundane weapons. And it so happens there is a man, a Professor by the somewhat complicated -at least, for a human- name of Akhenaten Unsu Aristedes, that is putting together a group and is in need of someone of Aerathiel's particular talents. Turning another corner, he looks around, and then a smile appears on his face. "This seems to be the place," he mutters softly to himself.
"A name for our group? How... quaint," the elven wizard quips with a little smile, his eyes moving from the priest to Professor Aristedes and then back to the acolyte writing down the names. Proceeding to introduce himself, even offering to correct the man when he makes the inevitable spelling mistake regarding his given name, Aerathiel then moves to the side, allowing the rest of his associates to do the same.
"Well," Corven quips as soon as the specter vanishes, "all things considered, that did not go quite so badly, did it now?" His attempt to lighten the general mood even a little not withstanding, his eyes turn from one door to the next, his expression one of thought mingled with anticipation. "So," he continues, "am I the only one curious to see what lies beyond the doors? The only question is which one do we open first; the Necromancer, the Evoker or the Diviner?"
Reaching into his spell component pouch, Corven finds a piece of cured leather and tightens his fist around it, using his free hand to execute a brief yet complicated series of gestures. That only leaves the verbal component of his spell and once that too is uttered, there is a shimmering around him as a translucent suit of armor made of force momentarily comes into being before vanishing. There is a smile on the Varisian's face as he feels the magic taking effect, pleased at the familiar sensation of it. "I believe I am ready," he states, at the same time bringing to mind the words to several offensive spells at his disposal.
"Not to mention what may lie within," Corven adds as the Professor finishes talking about the importance of the Sphinx's discovery. Uttering a brief incantation, the Varisian's eyes momentarily glow silvery blue, the effects of the same cantrip Aristedes cast earlier taking effect. "I can hardly wait to see what that may be," he remarks with a smile as his own eyes fall on the magical potions, but finding nothing else of note. "Nethys, is it? Considered a God-King in Osirion's days of old?" Corven muses as he takes a better look at the pictographs. "I did not know that about the All-Seeing Eye, I have to admit. Perhaps I should brush up on my religion first chance I get..."
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